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Posted on: December 16, 2007 by Martha Petteys Related Categories: drama

How hard could it be?

I worked at a restaurant in college. And, I’ve watched lots of Food Network.

Hosting a church Christmas banquet couldn’t be that difficult.

"THE SOUP! CHECK THE SOUP!" yelled my cohort, the gal who wrangled me into putting on a sit-down dinner for 70 people.

She pulled off the lid. "Too late. It’s burnt," she said. "Everyone will have to get salads."

"No, no, no, let’s taste it. Maybe it’s not burnt," I said, dipping my spoon into a liquid that stunk like beef-scented cigarettes. "It’s not THAT bad. Seriously, we could call it a smokey beef barley soup? Try it."

Seeing the desperation in my eyes, my friend tasted the stinky soup.

"Martha, it’s burnt. Just roll with it."

But I didn’t want to "roll with it" or "go with the flow" or any other cliched expression that meant giving up on that soup – a soup made two days in advance so it would marinate, a soup seasoned and re-seasoned to perfection, a soup Bobby Flay would toss up his hands at and say, "I can’t compete with that."

"Taste this," I said, swinging the spoon around to my husband. His cringe said it all.

We began plating salads. Each portion size got smaller than the one before. The miracle of the loaves and the fishes wasn’t translating to Ceasar salad. Someone would have to go to the store to buy more lettuce.

"You! Can you drive!"

One of the girls helping to wait tables looked up at me.

"Yes...I can drive...but I’m not supposed to ... I’m 12."

"OK, who here can drive a car?"

The hands of the teenage wait staff in the kitchen went into the air.

"LEGALLY!"

Hands dropped.

My husband grabbed a set of keys and dashed for the door in a Superman-like motion, minus the removal of any clothing.

The mayhem was contagious. People began losing their minds.

"Table #2 needs water. What should I do?" said one young waiter.

"Well, give them water!"

He stood motionless, needing more instruction.

"Turn on the tap and fill your pitcher with the stuff that comes out!" I said, while wandering around the kitchen trying to figure out what to do with a steaming pot of broccoli.

We had run of pans and bowls. And, as we only had two pots in the whole kitchen (one of which was filled with stinky soup), I needed to dump the broccoli somewhere. I found a pie plate.

"These seafood Alfredos are ready to go. They just need garlic ....," my cohort stopped mid-sentence. "OH NO! We forgot to put the garlic bread in the oven!"

A dish fell to the floor and shattered. One of the young waitress slipped on a puddle of water, falling to all fours. The microwave died. And, people began asking where their food was.

"Table #2 wants salt and pepper," said the young waiter, making his return.

"Well give them salt and pepper!"

He stood motionless.

"Reach up on the shelf and get the things with a big ‘S’ and a big ‘P’ on the front!"

Three hours and four flesh wounds later, it was done.

"Never, never, ever will I do this again," I said, slouched over a table piled high with dishes.

"Me neither," said my friend. "Unless of course...we did buffet style. Yeah, maybe next year we could do buffet. That would be nice.... we could serve..."