Ok Bull, but I feel compelled to tell you the butler story since you posted the work "butler" and my ears perked up.
My girlfriend Max and I were broke. Dead broke. Max saw an ad in the Boston Globe. Someone was looking for a couple to cook, butler and chauffer. One or two problems here. I could drive but I never buttled. And Max couldn't cook. I think she'd never seen the inside of a kitchen. But we called and had an interview that day at 2:00. We showered, Max threw on a dress, I put on my best pants and shoes. But my hair was a bit long so I tucked it under my hat. I have many hats.
The lady was 84, lived in Wellesley Mass. and was built like a refrigerator, a Kelvinator.
The lord smiled upon us and we were offered the job. Live-in, room board and $400 a week.
The lady had her family to dinner every Friday night. They all came of course, hoping to be remembered in her will. During the week she's have 5 or 6 of her cronies over for lunch. She sat at the head of the table of course and underneath was a buzzer. When she wanted something she'd put a foot on the buzzer and I'd come scurrying out from the kitchen. "We shall have the soup now," and off I'd go to pour the soup into bowls and return to her table.
Oh, I was dressed in black slacks, a white dinner jacket, a white shirt and a black bow tie. [I still have the black bow tie behind me on my wall. You never know.]
So dinner for her family of 10 that Friday night would be chicken and a few vegetable dishes, rolls and butter and a souffle. I made the souffle, prayed it wouldn't collapse. It didn't.
The buzzer sounded and I hurried out. "Dinner will be served," she said. "Yes m'am_ I responded. I bowed a bit and went back to the kitchen.
"She wants the chicken now," I told Max. She gave me a look. I knew we were in trouble. I walked over to the stove, she hadn't turned it on. I turned it to 'broil' and said I'll go out and try to stall a bit. I poured more wine, cleared some small plates. Went back to the kitchen opened the oven door. It looked cooked, the skin was a crispy brown. But I knew it wasn't cooked. They'd all hate it or get sick and be taken to the hospital. So you can imagine my surprise when half an hour later many of her family came into the kitchen to thank us for a fine meal. Whew!
