We expected luxury, not labor, at our friends’ wedding.
As the bride handed out “to-do” lists (setting tables, serving drinks, even cleaning bathrooms), our excitement turned to outrage.
While they enjoyed the party, we were unpaid staff… until we decided to serve up some justice.
I should’ve known something was off when we pulled up to the Belmont Estate. The place was gorgeous, all marble columns and sweeping gardens, but there wasn’t a valet in sight.
My husband, Jake, had to park our car himself, which, okay, fine.
But then we walked up those grand steps in our fancy outfits (me wobbling in the heels I’d spent way too much on), and instead of being greeted by a smartly dressed wedding coordinator, we found Sarah, the bride, practically vibrating with nervous energy.
“Oh thank God you’re here!” She grabbed my arm, her French manicure digging into my skin. “We need to talk to you guys right away.”
Jake shot me a look that clearly said, What now?
All I could do was shrug back at him. We didn’t know the couple very well, and I’d suspected from the moment I saw the invitation that Sarah and Tom only invited us to fill up space at the wedding.
Boy, was I wrong!
The real reason we were there was much more insulting.
Sarah and Tom, her soon-to-be husband, pulled us into a side room where a handful of other guests were already gathered. That’s when they dropped the bomb.
“So, funny story,” Tom started, tugging at his bow tie. “We, uh, had some last-minute issues with the staff…”
Sarah cut in, words tumbling out rapid-fire.
“Basically, we don’t have any. No caterers, no bartenders, nobody to serve or clean up. But!” Her voice went up an octave.
“We thought, who better to help us than our dearest friends?”
I felt my jaw literally drop. Jake’s hand found mine and squeezed — hard.
“You want us to… work at your wedding?” someone asked. It might’ve been me.
Everything was a bit fuzzy.
“Not work, silly!” Sarah laughed, but it had a manic edge. “Just help us out. As a favor.
We’ve got it all organized!”
“Please, guys.” Tom gave us all a pleading look. “We hate having to ask you, but we really don’t have any other choice.”
I sighed and looked at Jake. I could see he was thinking the same thing I was.
“Okay, we can help you out,” I said, “but you really should try to get hold of some people to replace the staff—”
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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