Four Weddings and Some Annoying People
I have a contractor set-up where I run weddings at a local museum. People like to get married there. For example, Saturday there were four weddings there. So, Teacher Lady put on her wedding planner hat and ran around like a lunatic for approximately 10 hours.
If there is anything worse than a bride, it is four brides. If there is anything worse than a snippy matron of honor, it is four snippy matrons of honor. And finally, if there is anything more terrifying than a freaked-out, crazy/controlling mother of the bride, it is four freaked-out, crazy/controlling mothers of the bride.
But I think I held my own pretty well. It was actually people who had nothing to do with any of the weddings who drove me nuts. For example:
The first wedding of the day involved a bride who wore something very exotic looking. It was electric blue satin; pants and a short-sleeved top with lots of elaborate gold embroidery edging the entire outfit. She had the whole henna hand thing going on and she also had gold chains draped throughout her hair. She was Caucasian and I knew she had two officiants - a Muslim cleric and a Baptist minister. (No, this isn't the beginning of an inappropriate joke - that's really who married this couple.) Her bridemaids, however, all wore saris which I associate with Indian culture.
Upon her arrival, the security guard had contacted me via radio that morning to say, "The bride is here." Since the first three weddings were pretty much back-to-back and each bride was getting ready in a different location, I said, "Brandon, can you tell me which bride it is so I know where to direct her?" He responded, "She's in some kind of Aladdin outfit." Nice. Brandon is really a sweet guy, but come on. Those radios aren't supposed to be for conveying quiet information or inappropriate jokes. That's not really getting the day off to a brilliant start.
During the ceremony, my job is to stand near the site entrance and glare at any regular museum guests who might try to wander into the ceremony location. Of course, I'm standing in 95 degree heat in the museum garden, wearing black (as is the standard dress code for wedding and event planners), sweating profusely, praying it doesn't rain on anyone and suddenly, a strange looking couple is standing next to me. "Yes?" I ask, giving them the hairy eyeball. They both are trying to peer around me. "We just love weddings," says the woman. "We just want to see the bride." I sigh and move out of the way. "Oh!" exclaims annoying woman. "How interesting! Is she being married by a Buddhist Monk?" Why do people ask me these things? And why do I engage in these conversations? "No," I whisper, "A Muslim cleric and a minister - two parts of the ceremony." And her husband decides to take this moment to lecture me.
"Actually," he says, clearing his throat, "That can't be right." (And oh my gob, I'm having flashbacks to inappropriate sister. Unless I'm in a classroom, I honestly try to avoid telling people that they are wrong- or that I think they are wrong. Because ultimately, who cares? But sometimes I wonder: Why can't I be so unabashedly know-it-all-esque? And also? Why do I seem to attract these know-it-alls? Every-freakin'-where I go!?) "You see," he continues in his annoying scholarly tone, "The women are wearing saris. Now, a sari is a traditional Indian garment, and Indians are typically Hindus or Buddhists, so I doubt that's actually a Muslim performing the ceremony."
Here's what I wish I had said: "Dude. Can't you see I'm working? Do I wander into your office and tell you how to do your job or ask you inane questions and tell you that you're wrong? No. So scram."
No. I had to get into it. Because I'm an idiot. I said, "The father of the groom just introduced me to him and said, 'The Muslim cleric who is performing the ceremony has a time conflict and needs to perform his ceremony first, which is not what we practiced at the rehearsal,' so I'm pretty sure he is a Muslim cleric, since there was clearly some sort of relationship between him and the groom's family and they would probably know." (and I wanted to add, "and they would probably know better than you, you nosy asshat.")
And annoying dude just shook his head at me like I was a student who happened to be failing his class (due to my innate stupidity) and said, "Yeah," sighed, shook his head again and said, "I doubt it," and walked away!! One of my professors told me that she thinks I have a magnet on my forehead that reads, "Freaks," and I'm starting to think she's right. Except maybe it doesn't just read "Freaks," it reads, "Know-it-all Freaks who like to bother people when they're working." Because really? Nothing else explains my life.
If there is anything worse than a bride, it is four brides. If there is anything worse than a snippy matron of honor, it is four snippy matrons of honor. And finally, if there is anything more terrifying than a freaked-out, crazy/controlling mother of the bride, it is four freaked-out, crazy/controlling mothers of the bride.
But I think I held my own pretty well. It was actually people who had nothing to do with any of the weddings who drove me nuts. For example:
The first wedding of the day involved a bride who wore something very exotic looking. It was electric blue satin; pants and a short-sleeved top with lots of elaborate gold embroidery edging the entire outfit. She had the whole henna hand thing going on and she also had gold chains draped throughout her hair. She was Caucasian and I knew she had two officiants - a Muslim cleric and a Baptist minister. (No, this isn't the beginning of an inappropriate joke - that's really who married this couple.) Her bridemaids, however, all wore saris which I associate with Indian culture.
Upon her arrival, the security guard had contacted me via radio that morning to say, "The bride is here." Since the first three weddings were pretty much back-to-back and each bride was getting ready in a different location, I said, "Brandon, can you tell me which bride it is so I know where to direct her?" He responded, "She's in some kind of Aladdin outfit." Nice. Brandon is really a sweet guy, but come on. Those radios aren't supposed to be for conveying quiet information or inappropriate jokes. That's not really getting the day off to a brilliant start.
During the ceremony, my job is to stand near the site entrance and glare at any regular museum guests who might try to wander into the ceremony location. Of course, I'm standing in 95 degree heat in the museum garden, wearing black (as is the standard dress code for wedding and event planners), sweating profusely, praying it doesn't rain on anyone and suddenly, a strange looking couple is standing next to me. "Yes?" I ask, giving them the hairy eyeball. They both are trying to peer around me. "We just love weddings," says the woman. "We just want to see the bride." I sigh and move out of the way. "Oh!" exclaims annoying woman. "How interesting! Is she being married by a Buddhist Monk?" Why do people ask me these things? And why do I engage in these conversations? "No," I whisper, "A Muslim cleric and a minister - two parts of the ceremony." And her husband decides to take this moment to lecture me.
"Actually," he says, clearing his throat, "That can't be right." (And oh my gob, I'm having flashbacks to inappropriate sister. Unless I'm in a classroom, I honestly try to avoid telling people that they are wrong- or that I think they are wrong. Because ultimately, who cares? But sometimes I wonder: Why can't I be so unabashedly know-it-all-esque? And also? Why do I seem to attract these know-it-alls? Every-freakin'-where I go!?) "You see," he continues in his annoying scholarly tone, "The women are wearing saris. Now, a sari is a traditional Indian garment, and Indians are typically Hindus or Buddhists, so I doubt that's actually a Muslim performing the ceremony."
Here's what I wish I had said: "Dude. Can't you see I'm working? Do I wander into your office and tell you how to do your job or ask you inane questions and tell you that you're wrong? No. So scram."
No. I had to get into it. Because I'm an idiot. I said, "The father of the groom just introduced me to him and said, 'The Muslim cleric who is performing the ceremony has a time conflict and needs to perform his ceremony first, which is not what we practiced at the rehearsal,' so I'm pretty sure he is a Muslim cleric, since there was clearly some sort of relationship between him and the groom's family and they would probably know." (and I wanted to add, "and they would probably know better than you, you nosy asshat.")
And annoying dude just shook his head at me like I was a student who happened to be failing his class (due to my innate stupidity) and said, "Yeah," sighed, shook his head again and said, "I doubt it," and walked away!! One of my professors told me that she thinks I have a magnet on my forehead that reads, "Freaks," and I'm starting to think she's right. Except maybe it doesn't just read "Freaks," it reads, "Know-it-all Freaks who like to bother people when they're working." Because really? Nothing else explains my life.
Labels: Wedding Planner's Assistant
posted by Teacher lady | 11:24 PM
6 Comments:
Ohhh, that makes me mad. I want to punch him (HARD) in the back of his nosy, know-it-all head. And I wasn't even there! Also, who wants to spy on the wedding of someone he doesn't even know? Freak.
Ooh, that would have burned me up. Just reading that I wanted to run after the guy myself and say, "EXCUSE ME? Are you calling me a liar?!? I think I know what the f*ck I'm talking about, you douchebag!"
You really do attract the crazies... Maybe it's your perfume? (Eau de Nutjob?)
Yes! Finally I have found another freak-attractor. Are you short? Or blonde? I can't figure out what attracts them to me, either -- although one of my aunts married one of those know-it-alls, which means that at pretty much every family function I have the enjoyment of listening to my uncle lecture me on things he knows absolutely nothing about.
The curiousity I understand. The refusal to accept an informed answer? Weird.
Part of me burns at that kind of stuff and then another part of me thinks why bother. And then the two parts get in a huge fight and end up on writhing on the floor and it's embarrassing, but not nearly as embarrassing as my apparent inability to spell anymore.
I'm addicted to these stories you tell.
Alexandrialeigh - you may have solved the mystery! I am blonde! And I am short(er)! Is THAT what the problem is? Maybe I will let my hair return to its natural dark brown shade and start walking around on stilts.
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