I gots mischief in my blood!

Last night was my last night with a certain catering company. (We'll call it "Smeat Smerformances", just to keep you guessing.) I've decided that I've had my fill. No more hating the jobs (and myself while on them). No more peanut butter and jelly with one loaf of bread for 300 waiters (when they remember to bring it. Or when they don't accidentally substitute olive bread. Have you ever had peanut butter and olives? It's a taste sensation.) No more being snapped at by captains and party planners who make big bucks and do no work. (I'm talking to you, Pool Pusher and Fat One.)

I remember the times, fuming in a bathroom stall at particularly godawful parties, when I'd imagine all the things I'd do when it was my last day. Pocket some expensive wine, eat all the hors d'oeuvres I want, maybe pinch a guest, just for the hell of it... All very Bonnie and Clyde, Norma Rae type stuff.

Instead, I found myself at a rather sedate office party. I was in the kiddie room, so even if I'd pinched one of them they'd probably just think I was playing. I was hoping for a jerky captain but instead I had everyone's favorite (I'll call him "Bubby") and didn't have the heart to mess with him. It was just so nice and easy and civilized that the only feistiness I managed was stealing five tea bags and some Stay Free pantyliners from the rest room goodie basket.

Bye-bye, gigantic catering company. I will not miss you.