Sunday, June 28, 1998

Catering to the Catered (journal entry)

I'm waiting for the Boyd people to show up. It's 7:50 AM. I could've had another cup of tea. I rode in on BART, everything still new, but it's not as overwhelming as before. I'm sitting in the hall of the SF Mart, an orphan in service black and whites.  I could have used that last cup of tea, I'll be upset if they don't arrive by 8 AM as I struggled to get here on time. I'm early again because I don't know the ropes. How close to shave it in terms of time?

What was I dreaming? Evaporated, the alarm jostled me back to this world, and for some reason, I have such strong memories of Leningrad and Amsterdam whenever I ride BART or the metro. That link with Europe via the underground railway. It's the odor, and I think how an entire culture exists underground, even if it's only transitory. Not just the vendors, or the homeless, but those enroute, as well as those who are always caught between worlds, never arriving.

added 6/17

Sunday, June 21, 1998

Catering the US Open Golf Tournament

21 June, 1998, the longest day of the year, and the last day of the US Open golf tournament at the Olympic Club where we're working. The caterers Ridgewell's, the sixth largest catering company in the United States, also caters White House events. They give us many rules. We are an invisible tuxedoed army.

This is how we celebrated the first anniversary of our car accident, and Neil's 44th birthday. As penguins in cumberbuns and bowties.

It's been interesting working the event. We're stationed in the Bayer Aspirin cabana. I now have catering experience under my belt. A new skill. Light bartender, server, sous chef, even busboy experience, all in one job. I was having to fluff out my résumé. I didn't expect to do it at the Olympic Club.

We had ringside seats at the Bayer cabana. The Bayer representatives take pity on me and offer me some aspirin. When Tiger Woods stepped up to put, you could hear the reverence roll like a wave over the links. It was a holiness of sorts. Everyone was dressed in woolen kneepants and Argyle socks, as if they stepped out of the 19th century. I looked for Model T cars on the horizon. Mostly Caddies in the parking lot. Even a Rolls Royce or two. It's that kind of crowd.

I learn words like birdie and mulligan and wondered about the backstory, what Irishman did what to get that one named after him.

We were hired through a connection of Neil's, a Marin caterer, Fred Martin. It's sporadic money at best, I needed to earn something anyway. We've been so exhausted each evening, so it's a training ground, or a battlefield where we attempt to prove our mettle.

added, revised 6/17

Saturday, June 20, 1998

Asleep in the bath

I'm mad at Neil for hogging the tub. I asked him not to stay in the bath until 2 AM, so he lumbered out at 1:30 AM. Meanwhile, I fell asleep on the couch, exhausted. And then it was too late to take a shower or so I thought. But then, because I needed a bath, I couldn't sleep. So, I crawled off to sleep in the bath, Norwegian Wood style. Every muscle aching. But the water was too cold. More grueling punishment tomorrow at the US Open to watch Tiger Woods rack it in.