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The time I accidentally humiliated an innocent man.
I used to work for a sports technology startup in New York City that held an annual end-of-year luncheon at the 40/40 Club. For our non-douchey readers, the 40/40 Club is Jay-Z’s “luxury sports bar” that offers a whole bunch of huge flatscreens, stadium seating, and Cristal bottle service.
The stadium seating came in handy, since the main attraction of the holiday lunch was our ESPY-style award show where we gave out trophies to the company’s top performers. But before we got to that, there was a big buffet for everyone to enjoy.
The thing to know about the 40/40 Club is that while it is indeed extremely overpriced, that doesn’t mean the food isn’t extremely delicious. Specifically, the dry rub chicken wings are the MVP of the menu.
And another thing to know is that our workforce was predominantly young men in their twenties who loved to eat bar food. Jay-Z’s catering team simply wasn’t prepared for how hard we were going to hit this buffet. Ten minutes into the festivities, the gigantic tray of dry rub chicken wings was already completely empty.
I simply couldn’t let this stand, as I hadn’t even gotten my hands on a single drumette yet. Being the proactive team player that I am, I pulled the nearest waiter aside.
“Hey man, we’ve got a really hungry group here. Do you think you could reload on the chicken?” I asked politely.
“Sure, I’ll bring another couple dozen wings up right away,” he agreed.
“Hmm, I don’t think you understand. These guys have each had three or four pre-lunch beers and they’ve been talking about the dry rub all week. Let’s make sure we’re well-stocked.”
The waiter looked a bit bewildered. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said as he walked away into the kitchen.
I didn’t think I was being too obnoxious, but several coworkers within an earshot gave me a mild amount of shit for busting the waiter’s balls. Their unfair critiques were thankfully interrupted when our CEO announced that the award ceremony was about to begin and that we should all take our seats.
We all did as instructed, and remained uncharacteristically attentive during the big boss’s opening remarks. About three minutes into his speech, with the entire company quietly looking on from our plush, elevated viewpoint, a curious sight emerged from the kitchen.
My waiter friend was walking delicately, five massive hotel pans of dry rub chicken wings stacked precariously on top of each other. To reach the buffet table, he had to cross in front of the award presentation area. And, to his credit, he tried to do so as tactfully as possible. He ducked his head and quickened his pace, but failed to dodge the microphone cable running along the floor in front of him.
Then he tripped and absolutely ate shit.
The chicken wings flew everywhere, the mic stand toppled over, the speakers started feeding back, and the gathered audience let out a collective groan. Our CEO tried to help the guy up, but the wings had left a greasy film on the floor that he kept helplessly slipping in. It was one of the sorriest sights I have ever seen in a culinary setting.
When the commotion died down, one of my coworkers finally spoke.
“God dammit, Matt. I think you killed him.”
I didn’t get any chicken or any awards. But I did make a lifelong mortal enemy at the 40/40 Club in Manhattan. Stay hungry, my friends!