Once at work, I did the usual set-up for the Graduation downstairs:
Podium-check
Tables in place-check
Table cloths-check
Cutlery-check
Wine and water glasses-check
Canadian flag-check
Sound system-check
Piano-
I had to leave the last item, as I had to rush out under the heated, coffee-laden breath of my boss to deliver the goods to the Retirement home and set up for the Catering at the Enmax center.
I made the first delivery and then checked my watch...6:00 pm. Too early, the bands wouldn’t be there yet, so I eased up on the gas. I made it to the back of the Enmax Center, flashed my flashy Catering Credentials, and the door was lifted for my fancy white catering van.
I was backstage. Nice. I gently rolled the van in, parked without squeaking the brakes, and got out. It was busy to very busy, as you can imagine backstage at a concert to be. People walking briskly, talking lots into walkie-talkies, lots of fuzzy replies (who can hear those things properly, anyway?).
Amidst all the confusion, I stood in my white collar and tie catering uniform, confused about where to set up shop. Finally, a guy with a badge stopped in front of me, and asked:
“So, you’re the caterer. Where can we put you? Hmm, just a sec.”
He was obviously not in charge, but near the top. He radioed somebody, and when he didn’t get a response, he waved for me to follow him, or more like run after him. I followed him through the gentle curve of the walkway below the stadium seats, and he stopped outside a door that was ajar. He gave a brief knock and then entered, waving me in also.
“I just have to make a phone call,” he explained briskly. Maybe he could get a hold of the Boss from an internal phone.
“Oh, hey Matt,” he greeted casually. “S’ok if I use this phone?”
“Yeah,” came the hoarse reply as I entered the room.
---quick mind thoughts---matt? Matt Good? No. Couldn’t be, don’t be stupid. It’s a worker, it’s too early...maybe it is...no, worker, boss, honcho...NOOOOOOOOO...
As I rounded the corner of the narrow room, my mind was still churning with the above thoughts. My eyes focused on the guy I was following, and then quickly darted to the dark-haired figure crunched over in front of a laptop.
Oh Shit. It was just me, behind-the-scenes-guy, and Matthew Good.
The concert guy made his phone call, and told me to wait while he went to find whoever he had called, leaving just me and Matt in the small room. My mind was racing, but I tried to play it cool. I leaned against the wall, and when he glanced over at me, we exchanged a quick eyebrow recognition gesture, and he went back to his computer.
Do I tell him I love his music? He seems busy...maybe later...there’ll be more chances. Maybe I should commend him on a rare song, one that shows I’m a fan. Maybe I should talk about his book with him. He likely gets too many gushing fans, and besides, I heard he’s a real asshole. You don’t want to sound like a 14 year old girl in these situations. I couldn’t muster a thought that seemed appropriate for the situation, and before I knew it, the concert guy was back, directing me where to set up the tables and chairs necessary.
A little disappointed at my shyness, I consoled myself with the fact that I would be back, working all night, and perhaps, as Matt lined up to be served from the catering table, I could throw in a snappy comment or two. Yeah, that would be good.
Not forgetting my duties back at the restaurant, I loaded my van, and was off.
I arrived to chaos at the restaurant, which was not unexpected, given the busy night that we were having. My boss quickly found me, and directed me to:
“pack up the white van for a new delivery, get the hors d’ oeuvres ready for the graduation, they need the piano for O’Canada, and then pack up your van for the Enmax delivery.”
Roger that, and I sprang into action. I was in a zone. Everything was going smoothly. Even the disgruntled 43 year old illiterate dishwasher couldn’t stop this momentum, as his usual grinding comments were deflected with ease, leaving him disappointed without my usual scathing retort.
I loaded the vans, (vans because I did the MGB van at the same time, looking forward to the fasted exit from the restaurant possible.) The last step was the piano deliver.
“frig, I hate this beast,” I thought of the rickety piano as I wove through the graduands and their parents.
It was in its usual place, looking all indignant and rickety. Normally, there would be two of us to move the beast of burden, but on this night, no. So, I rolled up my sleeves, so to speak, and lurched the ancient instrument from it’s cave in the foyer corner. Navigation through the mingling crowd was going to be difficult, but not impossible. The rusty, hair-and-fuzz-clogged wheels were merely a slight bump in my night’s road. I got behind her, and firmly started maneuvering her through the crowd, and towards the door of the reception hall.
“Oops, wrong door. The stage is in door 1 tonight,” thought I.
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