Caviar

I work as a busboy at a country club. It is an awful, humiliating job, but the most amazing, humbling experience I've ever had. I've had countless bouts with the antics of rich people, and have been looked down upon many times because of my "lowly" position as busboy, but I'm not going to talk about any of those experiences; I'm going to talk about sturgeon eggs, Catnip for the wealthy, caviar.

Last night I was in charge of the caviar stand during cocktail hour for some event. I arrived at the table with some mini spoons; on top of the table was an enormous bowl of ice with bowls of egg, onion, and parsley , and in the center of the three foot tower was a flimsy tin with a black paste in it. It looked kind of like Floam but creamier and slimier.

I stood still by the table for a while, inspecting a spoonful of the stuff. I felt it, squished it between my fingers, and ultimately put some in my mouth. While the essence of dead fish wasn't pleasant, I wasn't repulsed; just interested. The first connoisseur arrived just as I put my fingers to my nose, and as I grimaced, he whispered

"hey, smells like a 90 year old's unclean vagina, right?"

I nodded my head, face still contorted. "Yes, yes it does."

"Do you know how much it costs?" I shook my head no. "That can? Probably 200 dollars."

I stood back, perplexed.

"Can I let you in on a little secret?" he leaned in closer. "We only eat this stuff because we're rich. That's why the egg and onion's there. No one actually likes it."

He backed up and asked for a heaping spoonful.

Suddenly, I was enlightened. I saw through the lady who complained to the manager because there was no lemon to squeeze on (read as hide the taste of) her caviar, through the man who asked for three spoonfuls to impress his friends, through the lady who told me it was "Crapiar" because she had eaten beluga caviar the night before, and through the lady who complained that I was wasting valuable caviar by throwing a way an empty can with three eggs left. People were shoving each other to get to it, pushing me out of the way and forcing me to let them serve themselves, calling me over so I would get them six or seven little pieces of toast full of caviar.

I called my boss over and asked, "Why is it that the most expensive foods also happen to be the worst tasting and the worst smelling?"
Some things just can't be explained.

I'd rather be a bum and live on McDonalds than have to eat grandmapussy just to prove to people I'm rich.