An Affair to Forget Really Quickly

Decorating for parties is no piece of wedding cake. It's hours of exhausting labor for a few delighted glances and then a monstrous destroyal of it all just a few hours later. It ain't fabric swatches and flower petals. It's power tools and 12-foot ladders. After this past month with the decor department, there's nothing I can't do with just zip-ties and gaff tape.

This is humbling work you see. The average set up takes about six hours. We come in and we rig up lights and hang fabric billows from ceilings. We make flower arrangements, set tables, and add little details that pull the whole mess into your own personal dream venue. And then we leave. And then the catering crew comes in to serve the party patrons and everyone tells them how beautiful it looks and what a great job they did. They smugly say thank you and then at the end of the night, they rip everything down in a rushed frenzy because they just want to go home. We come back when everyone's gone and we pack up our lanterns and vases and stay up until two in the morning de-draping and unrigging our lights. Sad stuff, right?

In other decor news, I've had my arms up over my head for a month which results in sore shoulders for thirty days BUT I'm now an unlicensed lighting professional. I've made boutonnieres and floral centerpieces, mastered scalloped draping and backed 25-foot trucks up to loading docks and bay windows. My inner handyman is delighted. My girlish artsy side is content. I'm feeling used, sore and pleased all at the same time.

Just this week, for instance, I worked 53 hours with the decor gals. Last night was my last night with them and we set up for a debutant ball. Don't get me started on those stuffy people. Actually, I'll tell you one fun tidbit about them. See the drapy sections in this picture...

Those are not structures that live in this room. We spent four hours assembling these frames from baseplates and conduit and then had to strategically drape them because, get this, the party-goers do not want any hired help to be within view of their party-going. They wanted "the help" sectioned off. Can you believe that! Oh oh! And should a debutant need to retire to the restroom, her date is required to escort her there and then wait outside while she goes. I'm surprised they even acknowledge that such ladies would need to "go."

Here I have a few Deb Ball photos. The place really looked nice even though I'm against supporting such an institution.

                        

For whatever reason, most of our parties are at Boone Hall so I'm elated to be there each day. I've introduced the other girls to my sweet fellas and now they call them by name and greet them each night which I think makes the guys feel special. The fellas come in while I'm working and just talk about life and try to help out. Last night, in the midst of all the madness, Raul was up on a ladder at midnight cutting down string lights for us. I felt so terrible but I just can't get them to not help out. The first few times this happened the girls looked on in confusion, mouthing "Who is that?" to each other before I finally explained to them that I used to work here. I just love those guys.

Enough about all this. Even though I like this work very much, having an unofficial full-time job is making me nervous. I feel trapped and non-spontanteous which has led me to lots of deep thinking about how I'm going to go about having to pull myself away from my life to make a living. You know what I mean? It's suddenly feeling much less possible to spend my time traveling and then retire to my dream farm.  

So, now that the busy season is over, my small-scale construction gig will go on hold for a while. There won't be many more parties until Spring so I've got a few months to build up more muscle for the next go round. I've been invited back for the next go round. It's not because I'm great. It's because a lot of girls just don't ever come back. In true Union fashion, the lot of us are headed off for two weeks because we're snobs that can't pass up a deal. Actually, this is Ellen's fault and though I won't complain about an undeserved vacation, I do feel guilty and I wasn't even going to go! 

But who are we kidding here?