To get to the off-site catering venue, I take the subway further north than I ever have. I polish an annoying amount of rented plates and try to feel grateful for having a job. We force the Austrian busboy to go to McDonalds, because the kitchen guys are too busy to feed us.
When the guests start arriving, I want to puke because I haven`t eaten McDonalds in a year. I cross my fingers that a grimace will pass for a smile, and grab a plate of canapes. Luckily, I don't even have to circulate the room. A swarm of twelve year old, curly haired boys surrounds me, eager for skewered quail and coconut shrimp. Someone tells the Austrian busboy that the dip for the crab cakes is called `STD sauce` and steers him towards Bubbe and her friends.
I try to pass off the last mini cups of cauliflower froth with caviar - "It's really tasty. You're gonna love it," I coo at one kid. He wrinkles his nose. I push my tray towards him. "Just try it!" He glares, saying "Don't force me!" before running away. My arm is getting sore and I want to go home. At least there's an awesome band and a few hot men to check out. And the teenage girls are amazingly well dressed. I spot three Coach clutches and a boob job during one round of clearing empty glasses.
One of the security guards (yes, bouncers at a bar mitzvah!) points out that there are a few important people in the room. "Look, there's that guy from Kenny and Benny." If I thought I was popular with a tray of kosher chicken skewers, then this local celebrity is a rock star. "You mean Kenny vs. Spenny?" He shrugs and continues to scan the room, as the kids clamber to get their photo taken with him.
At one point, the chef sends me into the blizzard with $45 and an order to get as much chicken bouillon as possible. I contemplate not returning, but I think I`ve flirted enough with the bartender to have secured some free alcohol if I go back. Plus there`s a huge tray of cheese that I need to make friends with. I relieve the grocery store of their bouillon reserves and trudge back.
When the end of the night arrives, I load up a garbage bag with at least six loaves of bread that would actually end up in the dumpster, and lug it home with me on the subway instead. Mazeltov.