Journal Entry #2
(From October 17, 2005)
The worst thing about it was the leftover juice and gravy that slopped around on the plates when you bent to pick them up. Serving and bussing at the annual lutefisk dinner had sounded like a good way for my confirmation group to earn a community service point, at the time we signed up.
It didn't hit me that I was about to spend a miserable three hours in the Fellowship Hall until the smell hit me. That damp, fish, sour, bitter odor that is produced by the cooking of lutefisk, if it was cooked at all. I tried to console myself by remembering that all I had to do was set out clean plates and serve drinks, but the experience proved to be less than bearable.
Watching the elderly shove forkful after forkful of pasty white chunks into their mouths, fish juice and gravy dripping down their chins. The overpowering smells of bitter coffee, pungeant dressing, and just plain stinky fish made me long for an open window, while watching people get for second, third, and even fourth portions of lutefisk! I was seriously considering conversion to Catholicism by my first table-clean up. There is nothing quite as nauseating as unsticking two plates from each other and using dirty forks to scrape the excess fish into the trash, and then getting gravy all over your hands from gripping the edge of the plate.
Next, I decided to switch from bussing to serving cookies. This involves walking around the tables with a heavy tray and offering one to a potential consumer. Well, lowering that tray to a height that is suitable for an old lady to see is agonizely painful on the arms. And oh! So many choices! The ladies must ponder and ponder until you want to scream JUST PICK OUT A DAMN COOKIE YOU OLD GEEZER! But no, I always smiled politely and moved quickly, for none of them seemed to understand the phrase, "One dessert per diner."
The worst thing about it was the leftover juice and gravy that slopped around on the plates when you bent to pick them up. Serving and bussing at the annual lutefisk dinner had sounded like a good way for my confirmation group to earn a community service point, at the time we signed up.
It didn't hit me that I was about to spend a miserable three hours in the Fellowship Hall until the smell hit me. That damp, fish, sour, bitter odor that is produced by the cooking of lutefisk, if it was cooked at all. I tried to console myself by remembering that all I had to do was set out clean plates and serve drinks, but the experience proved to be less than bearable.
Watching the elderly shove forkful after forkful of pasty white chunks into their mouths, fish juice and gravy dripping down their chins. The overpowering smells of bitter coffee, pungeant dressing, and just plain stinky fish made me long for an open window, while watching people get for second, third, and even fourth portions of lutefisk! I was seriously considering conversion to Catholicism by my first table-clean up. There is nothing quite as nauseating as unsticking two plates from each other and using dirty forks to scrape the excess fish into the trash, and then getting gravy all over your hands from gripping the edge of the plate.
Next, I decided to switch from bussing to serving cookies. This involves walking around the tables with a heavy tray and offering one to a potential consumer. Well, lowering that tray to a height that is suitable for an old lady to see is agonizely painful on the arms. And oh! So many choices! The ladies must ponder and ponder until you want to scream JUST PICK OUT A DAMN COOKIE YOU OLD GEEZER! But no, I always smiled politely and moved quickly, for none of them seemed to understand the phrase, "One dessert per diner."
posted by Emily at 2:57 PM
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