The Former Traveling Spotlight

The tales of a "30" something gay former stand-up comic living in NYC who is searching for his soul mate or soul...which ever comes first.

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Richer

Provincetown is a lot like Las Vegas. Yes, what goes on there generally stays there (unless it shows up on x-tube), but also when you leave Provincetown, your money stays there. It's not a cheap place and because of that, I'm currently a little broke. Ok...a LOT broke. So I did what I needed to do, and took a catering job.

My first gig with this company was at a house party in the South Hamptons last weekend. If I didn't feel this way before...I do now. Extremely wealthy people really annoy me.

40 of us left NYC for a 2.5 hour commute out to the private residence of a Mr. and Mrs. X in the South Hamptons. I called them Mr. and Mrs. X because we were never told their names. Yes, these two people have a 15 bedroom summer home (which they occupy 2 months a year) in the Hamptons. 15 bedrooms. Why the fuck 2 people need a 15 bedroom home is beyond me, but seeing that these people were dropping over 500,000 for a party for 270 of the "best friends", all of whom have homes in the Hamptons, I can only assume that the bedrooms are for storage.

Their maid, Maria, and Mexican woman and I bonded almost instantly upon meeting each other. For one...she hates her employers. Specifically the woman of the house, who she referred to as "Mrs. Bitch". This maid was the one who gave me the tour. The master bedroom could have fit the floor of my building (3 apartments) and down the hall of the house is what Maria calls, "the recovery room". This is where Mrs. Bitch recovers from each of her plentiful plastic surgeries. She's had so many, her mouth stretches open when she bends over.

Back down the stairs, we set up the tables, chairs, place settings, and food for the party. We were fed pizza. The party guests were having Fillet Mignon, Cornish Hens, and Lobster.

Big difference between rich people and poor people. Rich people change the names of food to sound better. For instance, the passed appetizer was "black American caviar with creme fresh, on a potato crisp". Sounds exotic huh? Us poor people would call this "Fish eggs and Cool Whip on a potato chip". Seriously...they were taking "potato crisps" from a Lays bag. Come on!

Now I understand I was the "hired help", but even employees deserve common courtesy. That means when you are offered a passed appetizer, kindly shake your head or just say no thank you. Not acknowledging me only makes me stand there and repeat myself. In fact, only their dog, the most mannered of the lot, would notice us. Mainly because the chef fed him scraps from the buffet line.



I've been treated badly before...but these people were horrible. And it was while taking their abuse that I realized something. They need me. These people wouldn't know how to wipe their own butts on their own, and really only feel superior when they compare themselves to people like me. If I wasn't poor, they wouldn't feel rich and privlidged.

But this relationship doesn't go both ways. I don't need them. Sure, you are paying a caterer to have a party and this caterer is paying me, but if I didn't wait on you, I could wait on my equals in a restaurant...and be treated better. So go ahead Mrs. Bitch and call me "Hey you" one more time. I'll smile at you and get you your wine...but I'm the richer one of the two of us.

Patrick - 11:51 AM -

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