Barbie World, Maid Shift
Before we split this week neatly in half and start preparing for the next weekend all over again, I should probably tell you about last Sunday and Monday, which is a story about celebrations. One of the things that amaze me is how some of the best friendships exist between people around me. Not the people you happen to dance next to once in a while, but friends who go out of their way to make you feel special.
Which brings me to SofiaBella, or Sofia as her friends call her. Her birthday party was on Sunday and when the invitation arrived, I already suspected this wasn’t going to be one of those nights with cheese cubes, small talk, and someone mischievously considering a second glass of wine. I was right.
Because when your friends don’t just buy you a gift but build an entire Barbie World for you to celebrate your birthday in, you have done something right in this life. The whole thing was gloriously over the top. Pink everywhere. Barbies everywhere. More pink than should exist in a single region, but everything was perfect and what made it special wasn’t the decorations, though. It was the people behind them. The NITE crowd had pulled out all the stops and created something that felt entirely dedicated to one person. For a few hours we were all Barbies. Or maybe we were all Sofias. I’m not sure.
What I do know is that between the dancing, the laughter, and the constant stream of people arriving to celebrate, my ambitions of serious photography quickly disappeared. Usually that would bother me. This time it didn’t. Some parties are meant to be documented, others are meant to be experienced. This was the second kind.
The next day I was doing what I generally consider a great strategy after a successful Sunday night: minding my own business. I was deep into some DIY preparations for another upcoming event, which I’ll tell you more about soon, when a message arrived.
“Doreeen?”
If you’ve spent enough time in my world, you already know that’s rarely followed by a simple hello. Sure enough, it was Opie. Arrangements were underway for a another celebration for friends, at The Continental this time - for Dra and Beanie, and apparently they had discovered a staffing problem. They were short a maid.
Now, I’m reasonably good at carrying drinks, smiling politely, and pretending to know what I’m doing. The briefing itself was refreshingly concise. A short skirt would be advisable and I wouldn’t have much time to take photos. I got the message.
A little later I arrived dressed appropriately for the assignment and it didn’t take long before it was confirmed that “maid” at The Continental covers a broad range of responsibilities. The evening started innocently enough. Drinks. Food. More drinks. The occasional refill. The usual hospitality. Then the other requests started coming in and my workload increased dramatically. Requests appeared from every corner of the room. Attention needed distributing. Company needed providing. At some point I became less of a waitress and more of a shared community resource. I began to suspect that Opie knew exactly what she was doing when she sent that message.
The evidence continued to pile up.
Every time I thought I’d completed a task, another guest seemed to require immediate assistance. Sometimes it involved sitting somewhere I hadn’t originally intended to sit, other times I ended up in the restrooms once again admiring myself at a close distance in the mirror with either loud grunting or moaning behind me. Either way, I was doing my part to ensure customer satisfaction remained The Continental’s highest priority.
The details are, naturally, protected by the sacred “no business” agreements that are in place at The Continental. Which is somewhat ironic, considering how much of the evening I was apparently everybody’s business. What I can tell you is that by the time my shift was over, I had served a remarkable number of guests, maintained professional standards throughout, and developed a newfound respect for anyone working hospitality at The Continental.
I also learned that when Opie sends a message containing only “Doreeen?”, the correct response is not “What do you need?”
The correct response is: “How much trouble?”
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This post is not sponsored or paid for in any way. I was also not blackmailed or tortured to write it.
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