MC Hammer pants — check. Triple-layered Dr. Scholl’s Treadsafe black kicks — check. Oversized white blouse and black vest — check. Bowtie — check. The suit is complete. No, I am not a female version of James Bond. Unfortunately, I have a closer resemblance to a 20-pound heavier version of myself.
Welcome to the life of a University Catering employee.
For the gentlemen of the Academical Village, it may sound strikingly similar to an old-fashioned classroom wardrobe. For the self-proclaimed fashionistas out there, it may sound horrendously ugly. But honestly, like any costume, the uniform helps one play the part. Since my start in the catering business, I have began to enjoy the feigned sophistication of a bow tie and have even been able to overlook the waist of my pants hugging my upper ribs.
Along with the oversized penguin suit, there are other perks to the job. For example, employees, a mixture of Charlottesville citizens and students, get a sneak peak at VIP events and gatherings. In my experience, though, serving at invitation-only events is similar to when the loser is invited to eat lunch at the cool table in high school and then not given the decency of a seat.
But at least catering also gives me the excuse to participate in one of my favorite pastimes: people-watching. As silent observers, this flock of penguins is instructed to stay behind the scenes, move like phantoms, and live by the mantra, “the greatest compliment a caterer can get is that they didn’t even notice he was there.” This invisibility allows me to guard my station with quiet fortitude, swift eyes and keen ears for University gossip among students and professors. The night’s entertainment often escalates if wine is being served with dinner. Believe me, hearing things firsthand is much better than anything Facebook’s “Overheard at U.Va.” could offer.
If it were not for the constant fear on the back burner of spilling all over the VIPs or dropping a large plate of food to bring all conversation to a grinding, screeching, silence-searing halt, I would truly know what it is like to be a fly on a wall.
VIPs move in and out of events, and most of the time, I am not even aware of their presence until afterward. At the football games, important political figures visit in the president’s box, and I often miss that memo. It always seems someone has to point out these celebrity VIPs to me. For example, during one specific moment of stealth at a dinner at Carr’s Hill, I had become so engrossed in my black and white invisibility cloak that I had almost forgotten about my actual presence as a tangible human being. A tall, lanky white-haired man dressed in all black — just like Anton Ego from Ratatouille — approached me and asked for my name. I replied, “Linnea, sir, it’s a Swedish wild flower,” to which he replied, “Ah, you were aptly named, Linnea.” I found out later that a star of a hit TV show had complimented my name! How glorious and yet how shameful I didn’t know who he was at the time.
University celebrities also pass through various catering events. I was told after my first-year Convocation ceremony on the Lawn that the two times a regular student sees University President John T. Casteen, III include Convocation and Graduation. I believed whoever this was, but now I see Casteen all the time. He’s basically my BFF.
Besides the VIP perks, an empty stomach is never forgotten among the staff. The shifts are sometimes long and the troubles of salivation and cottonmouth are common for me while serving events. But luckily, the intensely cruel temptation of divine smells intoxicating my senses pays off — employees get to eat the food, too, which is ultimate payment for a poor college student.
Those delicious smells and tastes, however, quickly vanish when clean-up comes around and the trash cans on wheels become swamp pools of grotesque decay. I once compared looking in a catering trash can to sticking one’s face into an open, gutted giant’s stomach. Imagine dumping that into a Dumpster at the end of the night.
In all actuality, as an employee with University Catering, I have learned valuable fine dining etiquette, from table settings to serving methods. Although I’m sore and smelly by the end of the day, I may even walk away with a bouquet of flowers for my apartment.
At what other job can you get paid $9.75 an hour to rock out in a tux, serve VIPs, eat great food, work on your guns and then proceed to ride around in rickety trucks fearing for your life? I haven’t heard of any other job at the University where you can be a penguin, a spy, a server, a celeb hunter and a body-builder in one.
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