Just when I thought I had the catering routine down, something happened to jack me up. My catering routine usually goes like this: before leaving the house, I wear chef (black or checkered) pants and a white t-shirt. I carry a chef's jacket if required, along with sharp knives and my everything-you-need-tool kit. Add ons like a snack or sandwich and a side towel and apron are usually with me, too. Sunglasses are also a great idea, since a lot of times, moving of food and equipment takes me outdoors.
I was more than twenty five minutes into my drive yesterday when I touched both of my pockets. I realized I had left my cash, ATM card, driver's license, and lip balm at home. Shit! I could see them in my mind, sitting on an end table at the top of our stairts. My plan to eat lunch and fill the ever decreasing gas tank would not be happening as planned. Since I gave myself ample time before the gig for these errands, along with a Share Our Strength event conference call, I had time to weigh my options.
Scenario 1: I'd find maybe ten dollars in my car's storage area.
Scenario 2: I could visit the site early, and beg my gruff supervisor to loan me some dough. I really didn't want to do that if I could help it because it seemed like I'd look like an unprofessional ditz. But maybe a "I'm only human" joke could smooth that out?
Scenario 3: One of my Peninsula gal pals would magically be in the Los Altos area and able to meet me.
Scenario 4: Borrow $ from a co-worker. I had one guy in mind who I knew would be working with me. Problem with this is if I waited til the event started, I would not be able to sneak away. There is NEVER a guarantee of a staff meal while catering. Even if there is a staff meal, it can be gross: nasty ass grey chicken and leftover rice or other unappealing castoffs. Grabbing bites that are meant for clients is easy to do but don't let anyone see you, and you may not fill up.
(I'm Totally Dreaming) Scenario 5: A ten or twenty would magically appear on the road or sidewalk. I've found cash on the street and BART before but only as a complete surprise. Never in a potential crisis like this.
While I sat on my conference call, I dug around for cash, which added up to $3.80. There was hope. Still, I couldn't bring myself to go to the nearby Taco Bell or McDonald's. I got out of the car and rooted around under the seats. Checked the pockets of my jackets in the trunk. All this searching reminded me of fruitlessly rummaging for change with my Dad when I was a little girl. He didn't have bridge money, and we had to pull over and go into a transpo office to get a voucher.
I went to the work site and looked around for my boss. There was no catering van in sight. Two friendly posh lady volunteers greeted me inside. "Have you seen any of the caterers by chance? They may not be here til three," I asked.
They grinned at me and said, "Oh, you mean for tonight? Well, no. There isn't anyone here yet."
While they grinned and looked me up and down (I know the chef pants with the elastic waist are SEXY!!) I was staring at their donation bin. It was a clear box stuffed with dollar bills and change. I fantasized about breaking the box or asking either lady for a loan. They were dripping with dough in their designer duds and salon 'dos.
One lady asked, "Would you like us to give them a message or something?"
I shrugged and kept eyeing the donations. "No, thanks. I'll be back at three."
"We're open and here til four, if you need anything," she responded.
"Okay, thanks," I said as I turned and headed out. I was checking out the floor and even corners for dropped change or cash. So this is what it feels like to be desperate for money?
Next I headed out to downtown Los Altos. Lots of mid to pricey restaurants with a Togo's and Posh Bagel thrown in. I was bageled out from our NYC trip and knew my $3.80 wouldn't buy more than a bag of chips at Togo's. A stroll into a pizza place yielded zilch. "Our personal pizzas are $6.50, with a soda," the bored worker told me.
"You don't do slices? All I've got is $3.80," I told her.
"No. No slices," she said.
Safeway, here I come. I walked slowly around the parking lot, and checked under cars for money. I even took my time walking the aisles in search of grub. I couldn't make my own sandwich because pita or bread was a good $2.50 a pop. An individual baguette was almost $2. I was getting more and more depressed about missing a sit down lunch opportunity. At the deli counter, I bought half a roast beef sandwich for $3.29. I was so glad I brought a huge bag of almonds and water bottle, to round out the sad looking meal.
One of my on-site pals was going to loan me money until I started talking about my husband, who offered to Cal Train down and meet me with cash. "Oh, you're married? Forget it, then," he said in a dorky jokey voice.
"Whatever!" I responded.
A female chef witnessed this exchange and took pity on me. She let me eat some samosas with cilantro spicy dipping sauce, and kept trying to give me flatbread with pears, goat cheese and candied walnuts. She was pleasingly plump and told me, "You get the whole samosas since you ate almonds for lunch. Sad. I'll totally give you twenty bucks."
"I'll drop a check in the mail tomrrow morning. I'm good for it," I promised.
Much later, those twenty bones got me almost a half tank of gas. The first thing I did when I got home was write out a check to the Friendly Female Caterer, along with a card singing her praises. She has to know she saved my ass! It was a total bonus that she didn't expect to date or screw me for the loan.
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