Breaking vases
I went to my cousin’s wedding — let’s call his fiance, Beth. The ceremony was gorgeous, in a garde with the couple under a vine-covered pergola. While the gentiles were having their pictures taken, I noticed the maid of honor having strong words with the bride.
The groom’s sister, a bridesmaid, let’s call her Claire, told me that Beth was freaking out on the maid of honor to put back on the earrings that all the bridesmaids were wearing or she would ruin the pictures.
The maid of honor was having a reaction to them. Claire said her earlobes were so swollen she couldn’t put the backs on.
Dinner was inside, buffet style. I was in the ladies room when I heard yelling in the hallway. The bride was freaking out on her planner and the catering manager because there wasn’t enough food, even though BOTH of them had advised to up the amount because at a buffet you can’t control portion sizes.
The chef says he can add more sides and salads for a fee, but she’s basically screwed on the prime rib and chicken.
Somehow Beth had found out that in another dining room there was a 50th wedding dinner for a couple, and they were having prime rib too. She demanded he give her any remaining roast.
He says no, so she then screams at her planner to get it for her or she’s fired. I leave the ladies room because I want to see faces.
The chef is clearly astounded and the planner says there is no way that she’s going to ruin her reputation or working relationship with the venue over a situation that Beth created by not following their advice.
Beth grabs a vase of flowers off the side table between the restroom doors, smashes it to the floor and screams “you’re fired!”
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