Catering Confessionals

Essay #1 — View from the 39th Floor

— where I bartend for a law firm in Midtown that does $100K in catering — per week. 😱

Tuesday night —

I’m due to work a dinner in a Midtown law firm. The address leads me to an office building with 40 gleaming floors. From at least 20 of them, you had views of Radio City music hall. From the other 20, you could see the Empire State building, with the Hudson River stretched out in the distance.

As is common in these buildings, I have to present my ID to the doorman. They love to card everyone, right down to the GrubHub delivery guys. I get a flashback to my 21–year-old self, turning my oversized tote upside down to look while the line sighs behind me.

I go to the 39th floor. I’m pointed down glossy, glassy hallways to a back office. There, I meet Dennis, a fifty-something gentleman in a plaid suit and Warby Parker glasses. His polish is somewhat undone by the sweat on his forehead and his bombastic tone. Both of which are enough to make me wonder if he’s doing lines in this office.

Dennis whirls around, shouting instructions 360 degrees at me, at his staff. He beckons me to follow him to the liquor room, where he introduces me to Albert, my coworker for the night.