Southern CA. Jim was working for a large bank. We had met all the parents, separately, in different corners of the country, and were planning to be married. I was invited, as his fiancee, to the event of the year, big hotel, four ballrooms each with band and different kind of food.
There was a line to get in, and everyone had to get a couples’ photo taken by the professional photographer. This bank employed a lot of entry-level phone staff who reeled in people to whom to lend money (hint: they started the practice of loaning money to poor people to buy a toaster or a vacuum cleaner) and who called to dun clients for nonpayment. This party was the reward for working all year in a small cubicle, like veal, and they dressed the part.
As we entered the fray, I was astounded by the vast array of costumes. Jim was in a suit. I wore a simple, demure black cocktail dress and low black pumps. A rainbow of colors was ahead, and a pattern came to light. While I hate work holiday parties, I got a big grin on my face. Jim was clueless. This was our first work party together, and his first at the company. During the half-hour we stayed, we didn’t run into any of his team-mates. We knew one of the bands and caught up with them a bit. All the while I was looking at these absurd dresses and saying in my head “bridesmaid, bridesmaid, definitely senior prom, bridesmaid, prom, prom….” Yes I was the dowdy one and the swans had their day.
This was Friday night. Serves me right that Monday Jim’s project was de-funded by HQ and as he was last hired, he was the first to be laid off. He showed up at my condo and shared the bad news. He’d been dot-bombed the year before and came back to CA to be with me and work at a bank that would be more stable than a start-up. Wrong. HR never let him go back to his desk to get his stuff, umbrella and such. They put the kibosh on the couple’s photo as well. I guess we should have known a few weeks before when they told him his fish – a Betta in a coffee pot – was using company water and needed to be taken home. It’s a Java joke – his name was Mocha Joe, MoJo for short.
At his next full-time job he was a contractor in TX and office parties don’t usually include contractors. Then on to a large and currently solvent bank as a full-time employee for four years. They had their events in a small hotel ballroom, 600 people in the room. Crowded like sardines, no spouses allowed, and no way to get to the food or drink. So, in the seven years we’ve been together, Jim’s spent five hours at the office holiday party, I’ve spent three. Over two hours were spent last evening in a relatively small gathering with quality food and ambience, and conviviality. An oasis of adults in “business casual” dress. An oxymoron. No one was in jeans and a nerdy t-shirt, and some of the women were drop-dead gorgeous.
I dressed up, for me. No jeans or Crocs. Actually I bought an outfit and even got a haircut, what a good wife.
In addition to trifle, I’m going to try to cook up batches of split pea soup, and cauliflower cheese soup. I’ve a NY Strip that I’ll cook and cool for Jim and make him steak sandwiches for dinner on the road tonight. Perhaps I’ll try to stick in some arugula and a horseradish mayonnaise. I poached a chicken breast and chilled it overnight so I’ll make chicken salad sandwiches for me, with tarragon, celery and roasted hand-picked Texas pecans from the freezer. I’ll defrost some egg rolls I used for our Thanksgiving journey. My goodness, I’m sounding like Jim’s mother. All I need is a chest freezer!
I can’t pack clothing until after the dog (who freaks out when she thinks she’s going to be abandoned) goes to her “spa!” So I’ll hit the grocery store for fresh fruit and cook the morning away. Now all we need to do is eradicate the age-old question. “Hi, I’m Kate.” “I’m Mark. So, Kate, what do you do?” Even fifty years ago that was considered impolite. Now I say, “I have a blog.” At least it gets the conversation rolling and no-one gets into lengthy discussions about writing software that runs the economic engines that will keep our global humming regardless of the current recession.
Keep cooking! Dee
Cooking with Dee 