the more i cater
The more attractive Socialism becomes.
I'm not going to name the company that put on today's lunch; I don't want a search homing back in on me here. Not ready to quit catering yet. Well, not true, I'm very ready. My bank account, however, is not.
This was a "Partners of Partners" luncheon--forty-four women and one man, the spouses of this company's big dogs--at the Ferry Building, which has been converted into a fancy indoor-outdoor marketplace specializing in all the fanciest foodstuffs available from local growers and artisans--oils, cheeses, chocolates, wine, charcuterie, fruit preserves, wildflower honey, bread, and so on. So of course the conversation focussed on how wonderful organic food is, and how darling the market stalls are (and they are, even if the big wooden fish hanging over one seriously needs dusting, meow), and how it's so much better to eat the very best free-range organic non-irradiated artisan oils and cheeses and chocolates and so on. It's good for the soul. Nourishes the spirit and frees the heart, whatever.
The best moment, if you like watching a waitress grit her teeth so hard she nearly loses her veneers, was when the women at one of my tables were bemoaning the poor state of children's eating when McDonald's is allowed to sell their crap in the schools. The kids just love it, said one to the table, and they all nodded knowingly as they ever-so-slowly sipped their chilled tomato soup, completely oblivious to the fact that we had two more courses to get down their throats, and half an hour in which to do so.
And here I am, right back at my point about the Governator telling the schools they can't sell high-sugar, high-fat crap anymore. I mean, bravo! Now show us the money. The schools make these deals with the Devil's food because it's the only way they can afford enough books and pencils.
Maybe these ladies' spouses could take some of the money they're making privatizing water in Bolivia and make a nice little donation, you think? One they could be honest with the Feds about (seriously, I overheard one woman tell her table that her family occasionally fudges their income tax. I nearly dropped my tray.)
Catering is like the petri dish in which I grow my bad attitude. And jobs like today's, man: growth medium.
