May I Lick Your Plate, Sir?

We are standing behind the buffet table.

We've a job to do, dagnabit.  It is 7:30 on a Friday night, and we are working a wedding rehearsal dinner in the basement of Nye’s.  Black-pantsed and white-shirted, we smile at the crowd of happy people collected. 

Starched and pony-tailed, we are a vision of servitude. 

We have also forgotten to eat before work.

The food calls us to in a seductive – nay, wanton – display of epicurean teasery.  I am relatively sure that I can hear my stomach growl above the noise of a room with an open bar.

“I will give you five dollars for one of those pieces of cheese,” Mary whispers at me, lips scarcely moving.  I nod and smile, hands clasped behind my back.

“And I,” I whisper, through the smile I keep on my face for these occasions, “will give you five dollars for one of those Special K bars over on the dessert table.”

We sigh.

“What about the spinach dip?” Mary whispers.  “What’ll you give me for a fistful of spinach dip?”

Purloining bits of food while on the job, of course, is a no-no. 

It doesn’t stop us from talking about it.

“Do you think,” Mary whispers, “that if I were to, say, feign a seizure of some sort, that it would provide enough of a distraction for you to pocket a couple of those ribs?”

“I think that’s a brilliant idea,” I whisper, nodding at the bride and groom.  “Let’s do that.”

Mary sighs.  “We’re not going to do it, are we?”

I shake my head slightly.  “No,” I say, “but I shall fantasize about it for the next few hours.”

By 10:30, the wedding party has departed and we are running mostly-empty platters back upstairs, to the delight of the waitresses and kitchen staff milling about in hopes of snatching a bite or two.  I leave Mary to struggle with getting things to the dishwasher as I run back down to pull the remaining tablecloths and blow out the candles.

When I return, she is surrounded.  There is a slight smear of barbecue sauce on her lips.

“ – and I can count to ten, but that’s about it,” she’s saying.  She spies me.  “Hey!  Pearl!  While you were gone I got engaged!”

I look around the tight quarters.  There are three men and two women grinning at her.

“We geetting married,” one of the men says, “Ees love!”

I clap him on the back on my way to the spinach dip. “I hope you two will be very happy together,” I say.

The statement is translated to the room, and they erupt in laughter.

Mary grins.  “We done here?”

“Yep,” I say, dipping a piece of bread into the remaining spinach dip.  “We served, we cleaned, and one of us is betrothed to a man she just met."  I stuff the bread in my mouth.  "Our job here is done.”