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What a spaz

September 5, 2005

This weekend has been a long one. And not just because of the Labor Day holiday and getting one extra day to sleep in, but it was just long.

We had four weddings (and a funeral — ha ha, kidding) at the golf course this weekend, and that took a lot out of me. I about walked out on Friday, but my photography connection kept me from doing so. I found out today that one of the weddings, I think it was Saturday night’s, was the brother of one of Kevin’s friends from Fargo. Small world.

The weekend was quite eventful, to say the least.

Friday night’s wedding was 250 people, and seeing that our facility holds only 140 or so, we had a tent set up on the back lawn and more tables out there. And of course because there were so many people, it was a plated dinner with three choices of food. We were all ready to handle the mob though, our game plan was set, the gun went off, and then I don’t know what happened, but total chaos ensued. We got through it somehow. My head was still spinning when I left that night. I counted and polished so much silverware that I was having dreams about it.

I just caught the tail end of Saturday morning’s wedding, but reports were that it was the lamest wedding ever. We attribute it to the fact that it was at 10:30 am. Strange time for a wedding.

Saturday’s wedding was great, but the cake nazi put us all in a bad mood from the get-go. Plus, we were overly sick from sitting in a room that was filled with gardenia scented candles. Overkill doesn’t even begin to cover it. Back to The Cake Bitch, as we affectionately named her. Normally, if you are put in charge of something, isn’t it your responsibility to make sure that it gets done? So when you arrive for the wedding, wouldn’t that be the first thing you would do before sitting down for the ceremony? That’s what I thought. Well, just as the ceremony let out, this bitch comes storming into the room screaming at me, asking who is in charge. Her husband then comes out of nowhere, bursts into the kitchen yelling something about, “I put them in this fridge right here!” I had to push him out of the fridge and finally figured out what they were talking about. Rather than wedding cake, they had made five cheesecakes and they were supposed to be placed on this spiral cake tray thing that someone else had set up and served with special sauces. Apparently, someone forgot to mention to anyone that we were supposed to do it, and so it wasn’t done. She was rightfully upset, but instead of asking what happened, she just started screaming at all of us and calling us idiots. None of them had said a word to our crew when the cakes were dropped off at nine that morning. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I went outside to pick up glasses and overheard her telling everyone what had happened, and how we were a bunch of morons. Had she not said anything, no one would have known but her and her husband. The rest of the night went well. Either that or we were high from the methane gas leak coming from downstairs.

I now know how to fold napkins into fans. And after folding 150 of them yesterday afternoon, they didn’t even look like a 5-year old did them. So on my napkin folding resume: roses, triangles, and now fans.

Yesterday’s wedding was the icing on the cake for me. It was like the murphy’s law of wedding disasters. This is the point that I turned into a total spaz. An ornery old man practically broke the window trying to get inside, and as soon as I pulled open the door, he pushed me aside and ran through the room. I wondered, “what got into him?” and then I got a whiff of the trail he left behind. He had crapped his pants and was running to the bathroom to clean up. I felt horrible for the poor guy. I had set up our appetizer table for the cocktail hour, and about 20 minutes later, it caught on fire. Yep, caught on fire — napkins, hors d’ouvres, tablecloth, the whole table lit right up. A very kind guest put it out and came in to tell us. I thanked him later by dumping chicken fingers and ranch dressing on his 2-year old son, and ketchup on his daughter — the flower girl — in her white dress, while trying to serve their meal. I topped off the night by breaking the groom’s champagne flute while trying to wash it. I don’t know what my deal was, but I was glad when the night was over.

Although we did get some entertainment from the guests. I’ve never seen a room so full of people that have no rhythm. It was like watching 40 people trying to mimic Elaine’s dancing, but they weren’t doing it on purpose. That was pretty funny, but I still felt like a tweaker trying to work all night long.


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