Waiting On You- Episode One

For a brief period of time I was a private chef. At first, it all seemed so simple. Making two meals a day for two old people would be cake. WRONG. Have you ever seen the movie 'The Devil Wears Prada'? If not, have you ever heard of the Devil? Okay, that should set the scene.

She was seemingly gentle and sweet. I could tell she was very wise but I didn't know much else about her except that she and her husband had a famous, obscenely rich last name. I'm talking 'dinner plates cost more than my car' rich.
I feel as though she liked that I wasn't aware of her yet; it was just another thing she could teach me.
I pride myself on being a good judge of character right off the bat. That I can recall, I have only made only one bad assessment. But this lady was going to be a hard nut to crack. And she was definitely nutty.

With a staff of fifteen it seemed like she was paying people to make her look important. What could fifteen people possibly have to do for her? I'll tell you: walk the dogs, service the cars, chauffeur her and guests, organize closets, do her laundry, garden and landscape the acres of land, polish sculptures/floors/wall hangings, clean the estate, set elaborate arrangements for dinner parties, shop for her clothes and underwear, change light bulbs, refill bar supplies, write her schedule, pack her suitcases, fluff pillows, buy gifts for family and friends, write out cards for anyone for any occasion, search for lost pets, find anything else she misplaced, update her ITUNES, and do all of this without asking how, which, when, where, or why. The "why" was implied: because she said so.

My first day was the worst day. My first mistake was thinking that all people were equal. Probably because I never received the memo marked: Servitude. It was like I had driven an hour from home and ended up on the other side of the mirror where there were queens, mad hatters, and flamingos on sticks.

I approached Mrs. X in "the butler's pantry" to ask a simple, direct, and necessary question: "What would you like for dinner, Mrs. X?" My first lesson had begun. She rotated her neck around with great flexibility for an elderly person, rolled her eyes down to my shoes and up to my face, squinted, then pushed a piece of paper towards me and walked away. That piece of paper might as well have been a bullet to the spine, because I stood paralyzed.
Housekeeper #1 ran in not a second after Mrs. X had left, grabbed my arm, and pulled me into the kitchen. "Don't ask Mrs. X any questions," she whispered. "In fact, only smile at her until she speaks to you. Oh, my God, did she see you wearing this jacket?" I replied, "Yes, why?" Housekeeper #1's eyes grew wide. She grabbed my arm again and took me to the cellar.
She threw a clean, pressed chef's coat at me. She grabbed black shoe polish from a basket and bent down to my feet. "From now on," she said, "I will do your laundry. Just leave your jackets down here at night." I nodded my head and walked up the stairs. I still had no idea what to do for dinner. Was Mrs. X a vegetarian? Did she have allergies? Did she hate all food with a green shade? At this point I gathered the ridiculous was possible. Halfway up the steps I turned back to Housekeeper #1. "What should I make Mr. and Mrs. X for dinner?" She quickly replied, "Mrs. X is having a dinner party for 10 guests tonight. No one told you?"

TO BE CONTINUED...