Postapocalyptic Catering Future

Oh look, let’s get rid of federal funding for school libraries. Because we don’t want anyone other than the rich kids in private schools to be literate, right? It might give our middle and lower class kids ideas. Crazy ideas, like equality or the right to basic education or something.

You can hear me snarling, can’t you.

Speaking of kids, last night I was on Punch and Cake Duty for the Princess’s Honor Society shindig. Which basically meant I was In Charge of wrangling a dozen to fifteen kids, corralling them and keeping them contained with setup and preparation to feed over 60 people cake and punch. I have never been so glad of “that catering experience that almost killed me almost a decade and a half ago.” Seriously. Highlights of the occasion included:

* taking a butcher knife away from one kid and informing him that if there was going to be any stabbing, I was going to be the one doing it

* answering the “what will we do if the punch runs out” question about twenty times

* announcing we would NOT be spiking the punch with anthrax, booze, or spit, because we needed those items to take over the world after the upcoming Armageddon-Rapture-whatever-thingummy

* repeating “WE DO NOT RUN WITH THE CAKE TROLLEY, YOU BEASTLY LITTLE THING” at a volume high enough to penetrate a teenage boy’s skull

* showing a couple girls how to wipe a cake spatula clean. Seriously, they don’t teach this anymore? How can you be thirteen-fourteen and NOT KNOW?

* passing the teacher who nominated me for this duty and remarking, “There’s not enough booze in the world.” To which she replied, “Don’t I know it.”

* informing one particular gentleman that the cake table was not a pig trough, and he needed not to be standing in front of it shoveling multiple pieces into his gullet

* giving one teenage girl the gimlet eye and telling her she could have cake after the work was done, and if she gave me any more snot about it she could be on doorway greeting duty

* waving my arms and saying, “Then just make them look pretty for Mama, darlings.” Which is something I haven’t said since the last time I had a crew of big musclebound brutes doing yard work, years and years ago. Good times.

I could go on, but you get the picture. I got home and collapsed on the couch. The Princess loved it, and was pleased as punch (ha ha) that I was there to help out. “I’ve never seen those kids work so hard,” she told me. Apparently I’ve got a future in this sort of thing. A postapocalyptic sort of catering future, but a future nonetheless…

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