"Well, if it isn't my favorite blonde!" a familiar voice booms behind me. I turned around from the computer screen, where I am frantically typing in Table 40s order -- one of my favorite Boston chefs is standing behind me.
"Hey you! What's up? How are you? Long time no see!" I greet him with a big hug and a kiss. He is here tonight for the private, friends and family exclusive screening of Iron Chef America: the Ken Oringer edition. LOTS of chefs are here, actually, as well as various other "important" city folk -- owners of sports teams, former investors, important friends who go way, way back with my boss -- hey, I don't need to know the back story, all I need to know is that almost every single person in here is SUPER VIP. They are mixing and mingling with various & sundry restaurant industry professionals, regulars, parents, cousins, etc.
And I am in an incarnation of Waitress Hell. The place is so packed & congested that my job -- serving said VIPs dinner -- has become next to impossible. I can't hear a word my VIPs are saying over the ruckus, it takes five minutes to get to their table to check on them in the first place because the dining room has become a veritable obstacle course, and no one really wants to talk to me in the first place once I get there -- I keep getting in someones way, blocking the view of the TV. I have never been good at video games, with their car chases & incessant burrowing, but tonight I feel like I'm in one, dodging chairs and rich peoples' suit lapels with hands full of dirty plates -- don't drop that paella pan! One misstep and it could land in a famous person's lap. Total cluster-fuck.
Then the blonde comment. And suddenly I am transported from Waitress Hell into my blonde universe -- Undercover Blonde land, where all I think about is hair, in service of this project & my book. I recall the tentative first time I referred to myself as a blonde in public, wondering if they'd stop me, interrupt me, correct me -- Would they bust me as an underneath-it-all brunette...? How devious & satisfying it felt to get away with it.
Gee, I'm his favorite blonde! I think. Then again, I bet he says that to all the girls. Still, I'm delighted. I've known this chef since long before the blonde project began -- I wonder if he remembers me from back then? I wonder if he's noticed a difference?