The Case of the Caterer’s Contract

The helicopter touched down in a clearing encircled by a dozen flaming torches, and I, along with several other wedding guests, ran beneath the rotating blades as the nimble aircraft leapt skyward to collect more guests on the mainland.

The Vienna Boys Choir welcomed us, singing “Step this way, please” and pointing to two massive, 40-foot ice sculptures of paperclips that marked the beginning of the aisle, where a plush, red silk carpet divided 2,000 La-Z-Boys.

It’s not every day that Poppy Starlet, one of the world’s biggest pop stars, marries trust fund kid Rust Lunkid, the heir to the paperclip fortune. And thanks to a chance encounter with Rust last year, when I helped insure his days-of-the-week yachts, I was one of the lucky guests.

Now, I’ve been to my share of opulent events, such as last month’s museum charity ball where they served all-you-can-eat chicken wings. But this wedding took opulence into a new and bizarre dimension.

Besides the La-Z-Boys—a grand idea in itself, allowing the guest to nap during the three-hour ceremony—the spectacle involved Ringo Starr and Sir Paul McCartney as ushers, the wedding party racing down the aisle on diamond-studded Segways and a squadron of tuxedo-wearing chimpanzees flinging Belgium chocolates at guests (at least I hoped they were chocolates).

After the ceremony ended, I desperately wanted to snap a photo to post on Facebook, but there was a strict no cameras policy since Annie Leibovitz was shooting the affair. Throwing caution to the wind, I pulled out my smartphone, shielded it inside my jacket and was instantly tackled to the ground.

“What the heck,” I said to the attractive blonde woman suddenly on top of me.

“I can’t let you take that photo, sir,” she said, standing up and smoothing out her dress.

“Why? Are you security?”

“No, I’m the caterer. As you surely know, Poppy and Rust are very private people. They made me and my employees sign a confidentiality contract, basically stating that we cannot take any pictures or reveal any information of the event. I signed it quickly, thinking, why not. If one of my employees slip up, my CGL will pick up the contract and cover me. But then I got to thinking, will it? So until I figure that out, I can’t let you or any other unauthorized personnel take a photo.”

“Miss,” I said, still prone on the ground, “I think you’re tackling this the wrong way.”

How would Ace prepare this dish of wisdom for the caterer?

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Jonathan Hermann (hermannism@gmail.com) is an IA contributing editor.