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As I put on my new, brightly woven shackle, a thousand years of my
ancestors started to waken. At that moment I didn't want to hear what
they had to say. Looking around me, I saw each one of my brother
caterwaiters shut off his feelings and fall into the same deep soul
silence that I was in. And then I protested. I had brought my tuxedo
all the way from Manhattan, and now I wasn't going to be allowed to
wear it. I was ignored, of course, because Miss Hi-Society had
created a wonderful theme and had hired the right props and special
effects. As she adjusted a sash to one of my brother caterwaiters,
looking on him with great pride as one would when one's pet corgi has
just won the blue ribbon at the Imperial Dog Show, she said, "All you
need now is a spear." Right then, it became clear to me just how
important the tuxedo is to the caterwaiter. It identifies you as
someone of nondescript professionalism, someone who has been hired
for a job, but doesn't belong to the person who is hiring; yes, it's
all about servitude, but at least you retain some dignity.
A funny thing happened in the middle of all the costuming. A woman came into the quarters that we were changing in; she was the house servant and said she was just around to see that everything flowed nicely in the kitchen. The rest of the staff had been given the night off. She was a white woman. Hmmm, I thought, how odd. They have servants, but not the authentic kind of servants thays needed for this little extravaganza. I suppose you just can't get good colored help today. At this point I felt a need to chant.
 Moments later, we were summoned to the tent. |
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