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A catering nightmare
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A catering nightmare
  After talking to several of The Weekly Journal advertisers, I've discovered a market niche that was waiting to be filled. Food catering to the miserly. They don't care whether the food is edible or not, as long as they can feed whatever crowd they're needing to feed for less than $5 per person. I immediately set about finding ways to slash the price to $3 per person, thereby almost guaranteeing me the bulk of that burgeoning market. The solution came to me in a dream.  The first thing to consider was not the menu, but the labor. To solve that problem I approached the Fat Old Guy Swimming league, which was until recently the Fat Old Guy Bowling League. Still unknown to the general public, the Foggy Bottom Boys, as they prefer to be called now, volunteer their services to anyone so they can show off their massive manly physiques, which is a lot since they must weigh more than 350 lbs. to join. There were a few hitches involved in using the Foggy Bottom Boys, the first of which was their insistence on appearing in public in swimsuits, most of which are Speedos, but many preferred thongs. That was one of the reasons they had to leave the bowling alley. That leads to the second hitch. The health department isn't that keen on body hair in food, but that problem was solved when all of them shaved their body hair. On catering days, they used baby oil for that healthy sheen.  The third, and perhaps the most problematic, is that the table waiters liked to wear rollerblades. That frequently led to falls, which often required calling the fire department to help pry all of that glistening flesh from the floor.  The menu was the second hurdle. It's important that what I serve won't need steam tables, or anything invented in the 20th Century, to keep the food warm. Also conventional cold cuts, like sliced turkey, beef, and even bologna, were too expensive. The problem was solved when I found a butcher who would thin-slice a generic equivalent of Spam. That, combined with day-old bread, condiment packages liberated from area fast food outlets, and pork rinds bought in 100 lb. bags (which are about the size of a twin bed mattress), and you've got something to put on a paper plate. Granted, paper plates and plastic cups were a bit of an extravagance, but having nearly nude, greased fat men skating from table to table hurling hard sandwiches, condiment packages, and pork rinds, while dishing out drinks from a bucket with a dipper, met with resistance from the health department.  That's okay, though. The final package was not only the most memorable catering experience anyone could remember, the profit came to about $2 per person. I was well on my way to becoming rich, with hundreds of events scheduled, but the problem was how to find enough fat guys for the league. Sure, plenty of them had no problem with the full-body shaves, or appearing in public in thongs, but too many of them were anarchists and wouldn't join the league. It was a nightmare.  A nightmare, that's what I'd been having. In truth there are plenty of good caterers among the Weekly Journal's advertisers, but you have to remember one thing: You get what you pay for. Unless you want unsweetened Kool-Aid™ served to you in a dipper from a bucket at your daughter's wedding reception, be reasonable when you do your bargaining. They all deserve to make at least a buck or two for their efforts.  |
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