Saturday, December 13, 2008
So, as some of you may know, I occasionally work banquets. I work for a top tier catering company and I can say that I enjoy my job. I get to eavesdrop on potential subjects/indicted officials, I work with my best friend and some of the nicest chefs in the industry, and it pays really well. In fact, I make more in some evenings than my husband makes in a 12 hour day.
As with any job, I do occasionally feel disgusted with my clients. The privileged prerogative has always bothered me, because, as many people are finding out in this economic climate, wealth can be lost in the blink of an eye, and those assholes are always the first to ask for a handout. That being said, I will not tolerate the gentry or their ilk treating me like "the help". Especially when the client in question is a twelve-year-old boy.
Tonight I worked a Purity Ball at a church which shall remain nameless. Children aged 12-14 completed etiquette classes (Cotillion), learned a little ballroom dance, and pledged their young bodies to Christ. I'm not going to get into the Purity Ball concept right now- we'll save that for later. The clientele, for the most part were lovely, polite people, but their teenage children, well...I think this sums it up.
A twelve year old boy lifted his hand up, and as if hailing a cab, beckoned me with the call of, "Hey sweetheart." Wow, I'm sure your dad is a peach. What the fuck is this? 1956? Is this kid going to call me a BROAD, too?
I turned from the side to face him, "Did you just call me sweetheart?"
All his little buddies ratfinked on him, "He did it! He did it! It was him!"
"You know I'm old enough to be your mother, right?"
"Did you need something?"
"Well, for the record, it's ma'am, okay?"
I left it at that and continued to distribute soup. I don't think I have to remark much on the irony of having some kid at an etiquette function flag me down in this manner, do I?
I was left to quietly snicker at the thought of what's left of his trust fund.