....then maybe you can afford some teeth.-Sarah Lees (she is brilliant).
I was fired from my good friend and her French immigrant husband's company when I was 23. It was one of the most adventurous days of my life.
They co-owned a gourmet French catering service & I sometimes helped them cater events. The event I was fired from was a three hour drive away from Baltimore (the company, as well as my former life, took place in Annapolis, not Baltimore, but no one knows about east coast cities...not many in California at least.)
The event was decked out like a scene from Lord of the Rings- when they go into the forest with the elves. A blue lake, with fire tortuous and fireflies, overlooked the gazebo bar. It was the middle of a summer evening during an east coast July. The catch: the husband was the son of the French ambassador, the wife, from Brazil. Hardly any guests spoke anything but French and Portuguese.
Both parties of the guests showed the most gracious and wonderful party-hosting generosity I have yet to see again. Even though I kept getting the service wrong (mixing the wine in the water chalice by mistake), they never cared. The French were the funniest: all the French tables kept telling me, "Young lady, we are French! Stop bringing the water pitcher and just leave us two bottles of wine. Only wine!"
The single most adorable site was seeing four year old children in white dresses running around this surreal atmosphere speaking Portuguese and French.
But the actual job was work. Lots of running around. I could not pronounce the name of the food that was being constantly rearranged and changed for me to serve. I don't speak any other language (an embarrassing fact), so I could barely communicate. I understood, "We are French...wine please." and that's about it.
I had been catering this event from 6 in the morning (including driving time and preparation), and it was nearly midnight.
The party seemed so interesting- a one time cultural event tide together by a wedding- that I decided to join. Actually the groom's bestman came without a girlfriend, and he was flirting with me all night, so I broke down and accepted a dance and to retreat away from the noise. He took a bottle of expensive Champagne and we sat next to the fire tortuous and talked, just talked, for about 45 minutes. He was a gorgeous 26 year old French pilot with a choppy, almost indecipherable accent, that I knew I would never met again. That's what made it all the more beautiful. He said it was like a dream. We drank champagne, talked about me skipping out of work, "So do you want to work at places serving people when you are older?" was one of his questions. He stole a rose bouquet and placed it on my lap, then gave me one French kiss good-bye. I never even knew his name.
I ran up the hill to find my co-workers, tipsy on champagne, with the bouquet of roses my friend had made for the wedding in my hands. The car ride home was almost 3 hours. I was in the dog house. The next morning her husband fired me, after giving me a one hundred dollar tip that went solely to me for entertaining the girl-friendless best man. The wedding was a hit regardless.
---------
The following day I met up with my eccentric Uncle Mark and told him I was fired. I played dumb and acted like I did not know that you could not just skip out on work (although it was freakin 45 minutes after well over 12 hours of solid work!) My drunk Uncle laughed: "Rosie, I would like to live on an island were beautiful women feed me grapes, but that will never happen!" He then went on to give me a speech (a mad rant really), in front of a friend I brought over, about how when he was in the Merchant Marines he was not allowed to sleep with prostitutes, even though the temptation was always there.
My point is, that in a drunk or sober rant I always get from family, friends, neighbors, and strangers, I constantly hear the, "Get a job" speech. It sounds like fingernails running over chalk at this point, nearly 30 years old. No! How about them apples? How about I lay around, write my friends snail mails, write in my journal, jog in the park, expand my mind, and do whatever my heart tells me to do? I have a violent physical reaction to Time cards, sexualy domination by bosses and co-workers on the higher ladder of the totum pole, and really don't like to listen to that stinging top 40 music while slaving away in a kitchen, or a clothing store, or whatever.
That day I was fired was one of the best days of my life, simply because I skirted my bullshit responsibility to do something that could never be repeated in my short lifetime. It felt so glorious to be a fuck up. Let them label me that way. Who is having more fun?
I was fired from my good friend and her French immigrant husband's company when I was 23. It was one of the most adventurous days of my life.
They co-owned a gourmet French catering service & I sometimes helped them cater events. The event I was fired from was a three hour drive away from Baltimore (the company, as well as my former life, took place in Annapolis, not Baltimore, but no one knows about east coast cities...not many in California at least.)
The event was decked out like a scene from Lord of the Rings- when they go into the forest with the elves. A blue lake, with fire tortuous and fireflies, overlooked the gazebo bar. It was the middle of a summer evening during an east coast July. The catch: the husband was the son of the French ambassador, the wife, from Brazil. Hardly any guests spoke anything but French and Portuguese.
Both parties of the guests showed the most gracious and wonderful party-hosting generosity I have yet to see again. Even though I kept getting the service wrong (mixing the wine in the water chalice by mistake), they never cared. The French were the funniest: all the French tables kept telling me, "Young lady, we are French! Stop bringing the water pitcher and just leave us two bottles of wine. Only wine!"
The single most adorable site was seeing four year old children in white dresses running around this surreal atmosphere speaking Portuguese and French.
But the actual job was work. Lots of running around. I could not pronounce the name of the food that was being constantly rearranged and changed for me to serve. I don't speak any other language (an embarrassing fact), so I could barely communicate. I understood, "We are French...wine please." and that's about it.
I had been catering this event from 6 in the morning (including driving time and preparation), and it was nearly midnight.
The party seemed so interesting- a one time cultural event tide together by a wedding- that I decided to join. Actually the groom's bestman came without a girlfriend, and he was flirting with me all night, so I broke down and accepted a dance and to retreat away from the noise. He took a bottle of expensive Champagne and we sat next to the fire tortuous and talked, just talked, for about 45 minutes. He was a gorgeous 26 year old French pilot with a choppy, almost indecipherable accent, that I knew I would never met again. That's what made it all the more beautiful. He said it was like a dream. We drank champagne, talked about me skipping out of work, "So do you want to work at places serving people when you are older?" was one of his questions. He stole a rose bouquet and placed it on my lap, then gave me one French kiss good-bye. I never even knew his name.
I ran up the hill to find my co-workers, tipsy on champagne, with the bouquet of roses my friend had made for the wedding in my hands. The car ride home was almost 3 hours. I was in the dog house. The next morning her husband fired me, after giving me a one hundred dollar tip that went solely to me for entertaining the girl-friendless best man. The wedding was a hit regardless.
---------
The following day I met up with my eccentric Uncle Mark and told him I was fired. I played dumb and acted like I did not know that you could not just skip out on work (although it was freakin 45 minutes after well over 12 hours of solid work!) My drunk Uncle laughed: "Rosie, I would like to live on an island were beautiful women feed me grapes, but that will never happen!" He then went on to give me a speech (a mad rant really), in front of a friend I brought over, about how when he was in the Merchant Marines he was not allowed to sleep with prostitutes, even though the temptation was always there.
My point is, that in a drunk or sober rant I always get from family, friends, neighbors, and strangers, I constantly hear the, "Get a job" speech. It sounds like fingernails running over chalk at this point, nearly 30 years old. No! How about them apples? How about I lay around, write my friends snail mails, write in my journal, jog in the park, expand my mind, and do whatever my heart tells me to do? I have a violent physical reaction to Time cards, sexualy domination by bosses and co-workers on the higher ladder of the totum pole, and really don't like to listen to that stinging top 40 music while slaving away in a kitchen, or a clothing store, or whatever.
That day I was fired was one of the best days of my life, simply because I skirted my bullshit responsibility to do something that could never be repeated in my short lifetime. It felt so glorious to be a fuck up. Let them label me that way. Who is having more fun?
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