Day 138
Last night was one of the most interesting evenings I've ever had at a job, and quite possibly the most difficult work-wise. The former champion of hell shifts was one particular denny's graveyard shift in which I was asked to stay past 7am (until 9 or 10) to help with the sunday breakfast rush.
Yesterday was a 430pm-230am shift, there were four of us serving a wedding party of 80 from sit-down at 5 until the end of festivities at 1am. But what made this wedding extra special is that it was a couple from Lethbridge, who decided to marry in Victoria for the hell of it.
The night started well. Appys went out, plates came back. Dinners went out, plates came back. People at weddings like to switch seats around with each other, and this makes plating very tricky because of course everyone has ordered a specific item (chicken, fish, steak, vegetarian) and has their name to a specific seat. But dinner went well.
I quite enjoyed the "break" period of wedding catering. Speeches, a slideshow, and the first dance. In this case the young groom sang his own cover of Barry Manilow's "Oh Mandy," because the wife happened to be named Mandy. We don't have to do anything then as staff, because the audience in the hall is captive and shouldn't be interrupted.
And then the party started. Cake was cut, flowers were tossed, music began, the bar got busier. Hour after hour I spent going in and out of the hall clearing drink glasses and chatting with guests about things to do in victoria. The bar was a toonie bar, subsidized by the tab.
10pm rolled on, then 11pm, the music got louder, the dancing got more vigorous, and the copious quantities of alcohol began to release everyone from their social boundaries. Running drinks and glasses became increasingly difficult amid staggering, loud-mouthed guests, as well as the several cougars (and several younger women), all drunk, who insisted on hitting on me at nearly every pass.
The the Karaoke started. The music increased again in volume and decreased in quality. The backstreet boys found their way to the speakers, kanye west, madonna, that 90's hit "cottoneye joe" was played not once but twice... and the hits just kept on coming. Two or three girls my age predictably drank way too much and ended up sobbing in their friends' arms over whatever. Alcohol does that to girls every time.
One man passed out altogether.
The final tally was 15 bottles of wine, and nearly 500 bar drinks, for a party of 80. Keep in mind about 20 of these 80 people were elderly or child non-drinkers.
The worst part about catering is the anticlimax after the party. The work is hard but invigorating so long as the music is on and everybody is having fun. But when 1am rolls on and everyone leaves, we're left to clean the mess up. And what a mess. The end of the night consisted of me in the "garbage room" (a title well-earned in sight and smell) in the bowels of the building at 2am sorting cans from bottles and dumping the trash.
On the plus side, the bar tips and tab gratuity pushed our pay up to nearly $30 an hour, and I managed, in leiu of dinner, to wolf down more wedding cake than the bride and groom put together.
Throughout, I spend many hours watching the dynamic of the event and pondering the day some woman will inevitably convince me that marriage isn't such a horrifying idea after all. I don't think I'd ever want a wedding event of this sort, with the meals and the little traditions and the attention. It's just a huge look-at-me festival, with a bill of over ten grand. It seems intuitive to me that a wedding ought to be deeply personal and intimate; a family and close friends kind of deal at most. With this big party (which actually isn't that big relatively speaking), the people getting married and those closest were more caught up in organization, in making sure all the casual acquaintences and distant relatives had a happy time. The bride walked around the room like it was her job to give everyone some return attention.
This seems to me to defeat the purpose of a wedding, if there even is a purpose.
Yesterday was a 430pm-230am shift, there were four of us serving a wedding party of 80 from sit-down at 5 until the end of festivities at 1am. But what made this wedding extra special is that it was a couple from Lethbridge, who decided to marry in Victoria for the hell of it.
The night started well. Appys went out, plates came back. Dinners went out, plates came back. People at weddings like to switch seats around with each other, and this makes plating very tricky because of course everyone has ordered a specific item (chicken, fish, steak, vegetarian) and has their name to a specific seat. But dinner went well.
I quite enjoyed the "break" period of wedding catering. Speeches, a slideshow, and the first dance. In this case the young groom sang his own cover of Barry Manilow's "Oh Mandy," because the wife happened to be named Mandy. We don't have to do anything then as staff, because the audience in the hall is captive and shouldn't be interrupted.
And then the party started. Cake was cut, flowers were tossed, music began, the bar got busier. Hour after hour I spent going in and out of the hall clearing drink glasses and chatting with guests about things to do in victoria. The bar was a toonie bar, subsidized by the tab.
10pm rolled on, then 11pm, the music got louder, the dancing got more vigorous, and the copious quantities of alcohol began to release everyone from their social boundaries. Running drinks and glasses became increasingly difficult amid staggering, loud-mouthed guests, as well as the several cougars (and several younger women), all drunk, who insisted on hitting on me at nearly every pass.
The the Karaoke started. The music increased again in volume and decreased in quality. The backstreet boys found their way to the speakers, kanye west, madonna, that 90's hit "cottoneye joe" was played not once but twice... and the hits just kept on coming. Two or three girls my age predictably drank way too much and ended up sobbing in their friends' arms over whatever. Alcohol does that to girls every time.
One man passed out altogether.
The final tally was 15 bottles of wine, and nearly 500 bar drinks, for a party of 80. Keep in mind about 20 of these 80 people were elderly or child non-drinkers.
The worst part about catering is the anticlimax after the party. The work is hard but invigorating so long as the music is on and everybody is having fun. But when 1am rolls on and everyone leaves, we're left to clean the mess up. And what a mess. The end of the night consisted of me in the "garbage room" (a title well-earned in sight and smell) in the bowels of the building at 2am sorting cans from bottles and dumping the trash.
On the plus side, the bar tips and tab gratuity pushed our pay up to nearly $30 an hour, and I managed, in leiu of dinner, to wolf down more wedding cake than the bride and groom put together.
Throughout, I spend many hours watching the dynamic of the event and pondering the day some woman will inevitably convince me that marriage isn't such a horrifying idea after all. I don't think I'd ever want a wedding event of this sort, with the meals and the little traditions and the attention. It's just a huge look-at-me festival, with a bill of over ten grand. It seems intuitive to me that a wedding ought to be deeply personal and intimate; a family and close friends kind of deal at most. With this big party (which actually isn't that big relatively speaking), the people getting married and those closest were more caught up in organization, in making sure all the casual acquaintences and distant relatives had a happy time. The bride walked around the room like it was her job to give everyone some return attention.
This seems to me to defeat the purpose of a wedding, if there even is a purpose.
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