Category Archives: Wedding

Cream, Sugar, or Pee?

You know when you are at a party, and there is always ‘that guy.’ His name is Matt, or Brian, or Zak with a K.                                                      His tie is dedicated to his favorite college sports team, and most likely a clip on.  His face is red and sweaty from all the alcohol pumping through his cheeseburger clogged veins.  He talks so loudly and so close to your ear that your eardrums buzz afterwards like you just attend a KISS concert.  And, the most defining characteristic is that you are 96% sure that at any moment is about to upchuck the 24 bud lights he has downed in the past 2 hours.

This guy, was invited to tonight’s event.

It was a wedding, of course.  Weddings are about the only time where ex-college frat boys show up at the hotel, and, with the help of the open bar, create complete chaos.  For example, at the very top of the hotel sits two tall towers, that are visible from miles away.  Upon one sits an American flag, the other a flag with the hotel’s crest on it.  One fine, drunken evening one of these out of control party boys literally scaled up the tower and stole the hotels flag.  The hotel was not too happy about this, however I was internally cheering him on the whole time.  You get that flag, oh drunk man, you get it.  Hang that in your one bedroom apartment in Ohio, yes, hang it.  You make me proud.

Anyway, so Matt Brian Zak with a K was at this party, in all his glory.  Early in the reception I noticed him, as he kept perusing past my tables to the open bar, each trip his steps became more stumbled,  his voice became louder and more slurred.  The light reflected off of his overly gelled hair, and his face was red as a tomato in his boozy happiness.

Somewhere between the 14th and 15th trip back to the bar, Matt Brian Zak with a K heard a tune that struck his fancy, and he meandered his way to the dance floor and whipped out the ultimate dance move of all time – you guessed it- the worm.  Oh the worm, how I loath you.  Perhaps at the 7th grade dance when we were first introduced, I enjoyed your silliness and felt slightly impressed by your complicated movements.  But now, 49 parties later, it is far past the time of your retirement. Now, when ‘that guy’ decides to flop back and forth on the dance floor atop of his round beer filled belly, I cringe in the awkwardness of the situation.  Oh worm dance, please, please go away … forever.

But the guy did the worm, proud and strong.  At one point he tipped a little too far forward, and smacked his face on the granite floor, but nay, this did not stop his epic dance moment.  He flopped around like a dead fish for a solid two minutes, until finally the DJ changed the track and the worming stopped.  The entire ballroom breathed a sigh of relief.

As ‘that guy’ brushed off the floor dust off of his navy blue suit coat, he made his way back to the bar for another barley pop, which he promptly chugged.  Apparently all that awkward dancing really builds up a thirst.

7 beers later, after all the courses have been served and coffee was being passed, ‘that guy’ meanders his way out of the ballroom, and down the hallway.  Perhaps he was about to ‘break the seal’, a party term my New Jersey friends taught me.  Oh New Jersey, I can always count on you for the proper party lingo.

15 minutes go buy, and the party boy is nowhere to be found. Perhaps he fell asleep in the elevator, or fell off the sea wall into the ocean? I hope not the latter.

Most of my guests had dispersed at this time, so I mosey back into the kitchen with a tray of dirty dishes, and a need for a diet coke.  The kitchen was empty, except for a cluster of dirty glasses that needed to be taken down to the basement.  I was about to enter into the cooler to satisfy my craving for artificial sweeteners and caffeine, when I heard a rustle from the small back corner room where we store the coffee pots.  Perhaps it was the ghost of Palm Beach past?  As an avid watcher of Ghost Hunters on the SyFy channel, I have always been disappointed by the lack of supernatural activity that goes on in this massive, extremely old hotel.  I mean come on people, not even one ghost story to be told?  I guess all the spirits are as freaked out by the socialites as I am.

Putting on my bravery tuxedo, I head back into the room to investigate the mystery noise.  Was it a fellow server indulging in a left over dinner?  Was it a massive jungle rat who made his way inside through the air vent? Nay, nay it was neither.  There, surrounded by the shelves of coffee pots, sat ‘that guy.’

The worm dancing drunk ex frat boy had passed out in our back room, a beer glass still resting in his hand.  Oh my, how awkward.

“Ah, sir?” I call out gently to him.  No response.

“Sir?” I say again as I begin to shake his shoulder.  He awakens, looks around confused, and then eventually focuses on my face.

“Hey (burp, gargle gargle) baby,” he mutters out, his breath reeking of cigarette smoke.  I shudder in disgust.

“Sir, you are in our coffee pot room, you can’t be in here,” I tell him.

He begins laughing at me as if I was just told the best joke of all time.

“Haha funny, but seriously, you need to get out of here before my supervisor finds you and calls security.”

That seemed to sober him up on fraction of a percent, just enough for him to work his way up to his feet.  I guided him to the elevator, asked him what floor and pressed 3 like he instructed, and wished him a good night as the elevator doors closed.  God speed oh drunken mess, I hope you at least make it out of the elevator before passing out again.

I returned back into the kitchen, downed that diet coke, and went back into the ballroom to finish cleaning up before Gary let us all go home again.

I went right home straight to bed, exhausted from my shift and not looking forward to the next one which started in approximately 8 hours.  I was working breakfast, always an easy shift, except for the ungodly hour you have to wake up to get there. 

The next morning, I woke to Florida sunshine, and parrots screeching outside my bedroom window.  Yes, we actually do have a flock of parrots that fly around the West Palm Beach and Palm Beach area.  They are small, green, and extremely loud, but still cute.  They actually have created a nest back at the hotel, and every night around sunset make their way back to the ocean lawn where they roost, screeching at the top of their little bird lungs. Conveniently, their nest is perched right next to where the outdoor wedding ceremonies are held.  The parrots always manage to arrive just as couples are saying their vows against a sunset filled sky.  Their squawking is extremely distracting, and to me, extremely hilarious.  When planning your wedding, you don’t often think of it being crashed by a flock of parrots, but hey, at least it makes a good story.

Anways, Kyle and I put our Toyota into the employee parking lot, our Tuxedo’s still smelling funky from last night’s event.

We run into Gary just as we were clocking in.

“You two! Wake up you happy couple, and go upstairs and get the coffee ready,” he ordered, his demanding loud voice reminding me of the flock of parrots.

We trudge upstairs to the kitchen, and back into the coffee pot room where Mr. Drunk Face had passed out the night before.  The pots were still festively disheveled from where he had passed out.  Kyle and I straightened them out a bit, and picked up a couple pots to take over to the coffee station to be filed.

“Hey,” Kyle said, his face quizzical as he was scrambling to hold all of his coffee pots with one arm. “This pot still has coffee in it I think.  I hate when people don’t empty them ..” he grumbled. 

We walked over the the coffee station and set the pots down.  He takes the one with the liquid in it over the sink to rinse it out, as I begin filling up a pot.

“Oh, oh my gosh… SICK” I hear Kyle yell out, and I heard a clang as he dropped the pot into the stainless steel sink.

“What!  Moldy coffee?” I ask, half not caring.

“Get over here, this is sick, oh man I am going to puke,” He said.

I am now intrigued.

I walk over, and open the lid to the coffee pot which had landed upright.

Instead of black, cold coffee, the pot is half filled with a dark yellow, salty smelling liquid.

You guessed it, PEE.




I gagged and drew my hand back dramatically, knocking over the pot. The sticky liquid of death spill out everywhere, a bit splashed up onto my jacket.

“That freaking drunk guy!” I yelled out.  Kyle looked confused.

“I found him in there last night, he must have peed in that pot before passing out. This is unbelievable.”

Kyle, being the brave, amazing husband he is (he is the one that always kills renegade cockroaches in our apartment) wrapped his hand in paper towels like cotton candy, and picked up the heavy, silver pot.

Listen, I don’t care if that pot was made out of solid diamonds, it must NEVER be used again.  We chucked it into the recycling, and covered it up with the towels so nobody spots it and thinks it got thrown out as a mistake.

Then Kyle and I washed our hands 50 times, with the same precision I have learned from watching Grey’s Anatomy. (Best show ever.)  I then doused on so much anti bacterial gel that my hands stung.  

The remainder of my shift I felt disgusting, I felt dirty.  Although I scrubbed and scrubbed the tiny fleck of urine that made it onto my jacket, I still felt like every time I walked fast a wave of pee smell made it to my nose. SICK.

I didn’t see the drunk guy that morning. I am sure he was either sleeping off a huge hangover, or had already checked out of the hotel.  If I would have saw him, I would have offered him a cup of coffee, and asked if he would like cream sugar, or pee with it.  But, judging from his inebriation, I am sure he would not even recognize me, nor remember peeing in a coffee pot smack in the heart of one of the most classy hotels in the world.  But, I would have loved to remind him.










Bra: Necessary Wedding Accessory

Ah….yet another wedding.  It was lavish, it was lush…yadda yadda yadda it was another rich wedding. 

It seemed that almost no detail was forgotten.  The table cloths matched the napkins, which matched the lighting, which matched the signature drinks passed upon arrival.  It was beautiful as always. 

The ceremony took place in one of the smaller ballrooms.  Filled with about 200 people, the gold painted ceiling glistened in the candle light.

There was a traditional Jewish chuppa made entirely out of flowers that seemed to tower over the whole room, and filled it with a delicious scent.  There was a string quartet playing,  and a handsome groom standing up front awaiting his new bride.

Again, it seemed that no detail was left out of this joyous event….well…except for one.

One small, absent detail that will probably be the most remembered detail of the entire lavish evening.

All the bridesmaids were bra-less.  And all their nips were staring everyone right in the face. 

Oh my headlights.  I mean, every single one of them had large, surgically enhanced chesticals to begin with that were loud and proud on their own.

But now they were resorting back to the ways of 1975, and were flying free and fearless without a Victoria Secret underwire to hold them back.

As I said..I am sure the food was great, and the music just dazzling.  But even with all that money spent on decorations and dresses…only one thing will be remembered. 


Enough said. Bridesmaids…wear a bra.

Oops forgot about that $1 million dollar non-refundable wedding deposit…what to do what to do.


Okkk….so you want to party like a big shot?  Then you have to bring the big bucks…

 One lovely bride to be had planned this huge, extravagant wedding and put down a hefty chunk of cash as a deposit.  However, maybe they should have invested a little more into their relationship…because eventually the wedding was called off. Bah bum baaaammm!!! (That was some ‘OH NO!’ music…can’t you just hear it?!)

Anyways, sorry to inform you oh bride of wealth, but you can’t have your money back.  We already reserved the space and it is too late to re-book it, therefore…we keep the cash.

HOWEVER!  You can ‘reformat’ your so called wedding plans, and just use that million…on your closest family members and friends!

AKA a WOO-HOO lets have a HUGE I am not getting married party!

And that is exactly what this woman did. 

PLEASE can you imagine being asked to come to this celebration.

What was once a wedding for 300 turned into a small party of 40…using all the same amount of hot cash.

What?! Seriously? Can you imagine?  All in all the total bill for just the DINNER and DRINKS of each guest individually…was:




Oh my word.  $1,400 for one dinner.  It was INSANE!  Can you imagine what it took to fill that bill? 

What else could one get for $1,400?

Well, this car for example.

Or a years worth of daily delicious Starbucks overly priced coffees.

Or 466 bags of Doritos….just saying… maybe that is my fantasy.
However the ex-bride did not serve up a Cadillac with a side of ‘Tacos after Midnight’ Doritos ( a new, way, way random flavor), with a open bar of frappucinos.

But…it was a five course meal.  At this point I can’t even remember what exactly they were eating…probably steak wrapped in gold with a side of diamonds.

(Side note- eating gold is actually something that goes on in these parts…My friend works at Mar-a-Lago AKA Donald Trump’s house.  She brought home cookies or something to that effect that had real gold painted on.  Sometimes in life you come across things that you eat just to say…that you ate it.  That was one of those times.  I ate gold.  And I feel like a ridiculous and spoiled American because of it.  Please don’t use this as a disclaimer to eat your wedding ring.)

I do remember the Cristal was flowing freely.   A case of 2002 Cristal currently is priced at.. around $2,600.  Not a big deal.  Lets eat and drink our money away…wow!

Anyways, this amazed me.  A wee Midwesterner whose price per head at her wedding was a mere $20.  And although I did NOT serve gold and Cristal, I did have a wicked cheese plate!

Just another day on Palm Beach I suppose.


Magical Wedding Cake Resurrected

Ok…so I had previously written about a $50,000 wedding cake that I wanted to punch in its third tier.  But apparently when you buy a cake at that price, it comes with…MAGICAL POWERS!!!! muahaha.

Setting: Ballroom. Event:  Super nice wedding…as always. Cake: Right in front of the door so the world sees it when they walk inside.

There the 5 tier cake sat it all its glory.  It had its own table, and its own spotlight.  Its crystal sugar glistened in the candle lit room.  Sigh.  I bet it tasted delicious…

Anyways, things started getting exciting.  People started shaking their booty’s, and the drinks were flying.

Not sure exactly how it happened…but someone drank and shook a little to much around the shrine of the cake…and


Emergency! Cake down!  Cake down!

It collapsed.

OMG.  That thing probably cost a ton ton ton.  And it was done done done.

So, chefs more frazzled then the bride hustled out with a wheeled table and hoisted the once radiant pastry onto it.  With their white hats erect like little cake making Keebler elves, they whisked it away into who knows where land.

This is where the hotel and all its wealth conjured up the spirits of the late Henry Flagler and worked its magic.

No exaggeration.

About 7 minuets later….out came the cake.  Looking better then it did before. 



A mystery.

How did they do it??!!

The big question of the night: can the chefs take me into their magical room and make me look better then when I went in?

Not if I am still wearing this tuxedo. Sigh.

Guido Whale Noise Wedding Speech.

Ah…weddings.   Such a classy event…especially at (insert name of Palm Beach hotel that I leave out for purposes of trying to keep some anonymity but still its really obvious what I am talking about.)  Every wedding I have ever worked on Palm Beach has been truly beautiful…sigh….EXCEPT!

for the…


Literally this was the absolute most ridiculous thing I have ever seen, especially at a 5 diamond hotel where one wedding would cost more then probably more money I would ever make in my lifetime.  Sigh.

So…the scene was outside in the Beach Club.  It is a smaller venue, right on the pool.  Cocktail hour is usually outside, then the dinner inside.  Lovely.

I remember the decorations were beautiful.  Huge flower arrangements that probablycost more then my wedding’s entire flower budget.

I thought to myself…whoever designed this wedding must be classy, beautiful, and tasteful.  It will be such a great wedding.


NEVER in my three years of working had I ever seen a more trashy wedding.  Never in my LIFE!  And I am from MINNESOTA!  Not exactly the most classy upscale state… I mean, most cities up there center around wall-eye statues the size of my Toyota. 


In walks the bride.  The BRIDE.  Lets just say….she was huge.  She was loud.  She was yelling curse words at her new husband all night.  She was …crazy?

Que the groom: GUIDO!!!

According to the credible, wonderful, educational website known as Wikipedia, a Guido can be described as

“Guido” (or “Gino”) is a slang term for a younger lower class or working class Italian-American. The Guido stereotype is often portrayed as humorously thuggish with an overtly macho attitude and an unyielding pride in his Italian ancestry.


I guess they all flew down from Brooklyn, NY.  Now, I am sure that there are many, many amazing lovely people from Brooklyn.  But they were not invited to this wedding.

And so it starts. 

I had a whole table of black spiky overly-gelled haired men with thick NY accents and gold chains dangling around their neck.  If it had been 1970 I am sure these men would have had on powder blue tuxs. Rented. Anyways,  as I would walk up to each one and offer an hourderve, they would send me right back..there best pick up line.  I think someone even tried to make conversation about my white mickey mouse serving gloves in a half attempt to flirt I guess? Sigh.  Sometimes it doesn’t pay to be blond.  It is going to be a long night.

They were bossy, they, were loud…and they were confused.

One G-do looked at the menu and noticed the entree was filet mignon.  He looks at me through his pudgy black eyes all squinted and confused and asked “is there anything else?”  The bride did not offer other choices.  I had to get him some nasty chicken from who knows where.

WHATS wrong with you man?  Us servers die for those filets.  We shove them down our throats in back dark dirty corners of the kitchen at record speeds, and force ourselves to swallow when our managers come around the corner…sometimes almost chocking ourselves to death.

But its worth it for the fillet.  Sigh.

Anyways, cue wedding speech.

The bride waddles up to the front.  And the speech begins.

It. went. on. forever.


Listen up kids.  If you want to know how to give a classy refined speech at your wedding…THIS IS NOT IT.

Every couple words she would break out… in whale call noises.

Please click HERE for an excellent example of a variety of whale calls in which the bride portrayed. WHALE CALL NOISES.

OK, it actually was her crying.  But she would just sit there for 60 seconds and literally try to speak to the humpbacks swimming far out at sea!  Or at least it sounded like it….  I just didn’t understand. Sigh.

She got especially emotional when she talked about some special memories she held dear to her heart:

“I remember the first time I got drunk…sniff sniff…whale noise…and high…sniff whale.”

She was fondly remembering her first moments of inebriation in front of an entire wedding party at a wedding that probably cost over $200,000.  WhAt!!  It happened. Believe it.

So, 2 hours later when the whale noises stopped…the fun continued.

As I stepped around puddles of vomit from the father of the groom, and avoided all the spiky black hair rented tuxedo bud lite drinking men who as the night went on became even more chatty… I began thinking.

How did they even PAY for this wedding?  Are these people from EARTH?  And when will this night from Guido hell endddddddddddddddd…..muahahaha

Cake: $50,000. Wedding: …Priceless?

Sometimes, when we emerged from the depths of the employee basement dungeon, we would find ourselves in a ballroom decorated to look like a fairy tale.  Most of these overly decorated events would be weddings. 

I always appreciated a highly decorated wedding.  It was beautiful to look at, and besides, they usually rented glasses and plates, so less work for us.   Honesty.

But one particular wedding stood out more then most.  It was in our biggest ballroom, the one that used to host the 1,000 people lavish open bar fillet Mignon black tie employee Christmas party pre-recession.  That sadly, was taken away from us.  We all took a day of grieving.

I’m not bitter. grrrrr…

Moving on.  This wedding was decorated to the 9’s.  It had a full stage set up for  a band performance, flower arrangements that probably cost more then my entire wedding budget, and of course, a cake.

It sat in the back under its own spotlight, illuminated like it was some sort of god or shrine.  It had white flowers covering the entire thing, made completely out of sugar. Edible.  (Yet they tasted like cardboard.)

Meh. O.k. cake, I thought.  I have seen prettier.

Well apparently I hadn’t.  My supervisor walked by and told me under his breath how much it cost.

Fifty. Thousand. Dollars.

That is $50,000. Or fifty thousand dollars. Or you can write it FifTy ThOuSand DolLarS.

I almost choked.  I could not believe it.  Suddenly, the cake became a person.  I person I could glare at, talk bad about, and even envy.

I hated that cake.

All night I would walk past its illuminated sugary self, and I would glare.

I was glaring, at a pastry.

But all I could think about was how that pastry, was the same price as my student loans.

And the best part about weddings like this is, by the time you get around to serving the cake people have already eaten 5 courses, and hardly ever take a bite of the wedding cake.

AH!  Do you know what it is like throwing away $50,000 worth of CAKE!  All I could think as I scrapped each untouched piece into the garbage was $100, $200, $300….sigh.  Insanity.

At a similar wedding, there was a cake for $25,000.  I served the brides family all night, and took note that the brides father was not in the best mood.  Finally, as the night ended, and he saw his $25,000 worth of sugar flour and frosting being dumped into the trash, I heard him grumble…

 “I cant believe we got that cake.  We should have just gone to COSTCO.”

I ate a piece of the cake.  It was good.  But so is Costco cake…