In Which I Get Sad and Sore. Or, Another (Damned Early) Breakfast Event.

Today I was a one-woman special event show. Arriving at 7:30 AM I swept the space and set up the coffee service. Our clients arrived at 8, at which point I started serving and bussing all by my lonesome. Their guests arrived at 9- I was on till noon. The good news? No tip sharing. The bad news? I am really fucking sore. The "tray" I would hold for 15 minute intervals was not a tray but a wooden butcher board, approximately 10 pounds. Now, I'm no weakling, but you try holding ten pounds of circular wood with bite sized treats on it with one arm for a grand total of four hours and see how your wrists and shoulders feel.

The event was fascinating. A fashion PR firm transformed our event space into a store showcasing the sartorial goodies of their client. Buyers, editors, and stylists came in like an open house to view the clothes and get swag from the firm. Dress code was either cute little dress with black tights and black tall heels or slouchy jeans rolled with wedges and a sensibly feminine men's shirt. The whole scene was very "Kell on Earth."

What really effected me though was how these women (and three gay men) ate. The bites we served were in no way light, just little. Some women literally salivated as I described each item, but couldn't bring themselves to lift their hand to my tray. Some women took one item, and nursed it. Others abstained, claiming huge breakfasts. Some would eat, swoon from the long forgotten taste of carbohydrates and fat, and then talk for at least a minute and a half about how large they were getting this month. Others ate happily, and to them I say, Cheers! You need to eat to live so you might as well enjoy it once in a while.