Catering Confessionals — Essay #2

Rediscovering Nickelback at the United Nations 🇮🇹

How the hell’d we wind up like this?

I was only one week into my catering career in NYC, and worried I had already made a fatal error.

As soon as my direct deposit was set up, the temp agency had began spamming me with jobs. I’m talking, five an hour, all caps —

THIS SATURDAY, PIER 60, 4 PM TO 2 AM, BLACK SHOES, WHITE TOP, BLACK TIE, ARRIVE 15 MINS EARLY!!

I said no to all of them. Partly because I was busy with my play, partly because I didn’t want to work the Piers. The Piers are located on 12th Avenue, right on the Hudson River. I don’t mind catering in Davy Jones’ locker, but who wants to get off at 2 AM, then walk 20 minutes to the closest train?

Albert, my supervisor, called to ask why I was declining jobs.

“I’m just really busy with my play,” I sighed, portrait of a selfish artist.

Suddenly, the spamming stopped. It was as though the guy calls 3x per day from the tax relief center had gone on vaca.

So when a job for a luncheon at the United Nations came in, I pounced. This sounded cool. I pictured myself serving tea sandwiches to ambassadors to warn-torn countries…