In the words of the infallible Fergie, "A little party never killed nobody!" And boy do these rich folks know how to party. All they need is an excuse! Under the guise of throwing a sweet 16 for their bratty daughter, a power couple will rent out the Grand Ballroom at the Plaza and hire Pharrell Williams for a cool hundred thousand to croon for 30 minutes tops. One of the most ironic events I've had the displeasure of working was a gorgeous quarter million dollar party at the Top of the Rock at Rockefeller Plaza; there was an amazing spread of food only bested by the views of the city. I had no idea what the event was for until I had wrapped up my knives and headed downstairs past the sign welcoming "How to Profit from Bankruptcy and Asset Liquidation" so they were essentially throwing a several hundred thousand dollar party celebrating the fact that they can make money off of people with no money. Awesome. One of my favorite venues I have ever worked was Madame Tussaud's wax museum in Times Square. The owners reminded us that each figurine cost upwards of $250K so we should try not to spill anything on them. I don't know how many times that night I excused myself to an immobile Brad Pitt or offered a waxy Ru Paul a canapé! Speaking of Ru, I could finally tell which of my cater waiter co-workers were hetero when they asked if Miss Paul was Beyoncé. For shame.
Most of my colleagues are super cute gay boys (we really make the best servers, we can compliment the ladies of the party without making their dates uncomfortable) and are a blast to work with. For the most part we are all aspiring entertainers of some sort, in fact, I ran into a fabulous drag queen the other night and it wasn't till the following morning that I realized we have brushed elbows as bus BOYS on more than one occasion. Unfortunately a lot of us cater waiters are gorgeous male model types and boy do they know it! They seem to think that because they have chiseled jaws and Chicklets for teeth they don't have to work as hard as us more modest looking boys, but I am always more than happy to let them know they are picking up rich peoples trash, just like the rest of us. In fact, I've found that most of those handsome douchecanoes have set the bar so low that when I pull out my prompt/polite/hard working Midwestern Shtick that I tend to make an excellent impression.
I'll leave you with a list of the top 8 Faux Pas to avoid when at a catered event:
1. Please don't ask me what an hors d'ouevre is as you unhinge your jaw to to devour it whole.
2. Refrain from sweeping/shoveling appetizers off of my tray and onto your napkin... Seriously, this is not dinner and I think you can afford a slice on your way home.
3. It is not acceptable to eat only part of a complete dish (ie: the fried quail egg from the top of a croque madame.) If you don't want all of it, don't take any of it.
4. Don't leave/put your trash on a tray/counter with edible food on it.
That is dis-gus-ting. Don't shit where you eat folks.
5. If I'm carrying a tray full of other peoples' dirty cups and napkins, don't ask me to bring you a drink... Cause I will, without wasting time to wash my hands.
6. Don't, under ANY circumstance, snap your fingers or whistle to get my attention, I am not a work animal.
7. You know as well as I do that it is incredibly difficult to have a conversation with someone who refuses to make eye contact with you... Just pretend for a second that I'm worthy of your gaze when you ask for more free booze.
8. While your children may be the heirs to your sizable fortune, they're just miniature, snot nosed versions of you and treat me about as poorly; please do not allow them to have food fights, or orgies or set the centerpieces on fire. Thank you.