We can't possibly serve dinner to all these people

Stroganoff noodles, corn, baked potato, Sprite, an ice cream bar at Lodge (turned in my petition!), a bowl of cereal later after I got home.

I'm back working for NG again, but instead of a byzantine old meat packing building it's in a cavernous little old house with many rooms. There's a woman working there who looks like the mean one-armed mother from Boston Public, but she operates like Bubble from AbFab. He's pulled some tables out in a dining room, and instead of setting them up like hors d'oeurves and snacks, she's set them with place settings and pulled chairs around. As people start to show up, they think that we're serving a sit-down meal. And Bubble actually takes a step in confirming the misunderstanding, as she quickly plates up a little salad and drops it for each of them. I'm increasingly anxious, though-- we aren't serving a meal here, and we shouldn't have ever given signals that we were. Damn it. Now we're scurrying around the kitchen looking for dishes.

Bubble is scooping up some Adzuki beans into little parfait bowls. In a cupboard I find a strange pile of red and white pills, formed into a bowl shape. They only barely stick together, and I crush and crumble the whole mess in my hands. The tactile sensation is somewhat like crushing hunks of pomegranate seeds. I look back up into the cupboard and see a white sculpted polymer clay ring, formed like a series of foetuses, the whole thing about the diameter of e cereal bowl, and the pill bowl would fit down nicely into it. I realize then than this is one of Josh's sculptures, something from back in school, and I've just destroyed it. Damn it! But wait, oh my Lord, did Bubble get the pills mixed up into the beans? Has she been serving bowls of pills? I'm not certain.

In any case, people are starting to lose interest in our meal, as we obviously are hard pressed to serve them anything. I'm still scrambling around. R comes breezing through and is useless, only throws a further wrench into the works. I finally go bursting back into the dining room with armloads of plates and bowls, only to find that everyone has given up and abandoned the dinner tables. Sigh.

[This is obviously coming from a few different directions. The fear of not being able to feed a crowd is springing from me putting myself in Adam's place back at Lodge, considering how I would fare as JW, if I had to pull together meals. The crushed artwork issue references when I broke Josh's Child of the Earth figure (made of white Sculpey, just like the foetus ring), which is on the brain because of Kris Mill's Jerusalem Cricket (another name for a CotE) show at Harwood. That I'm stuck back at the gallery probably stems from recent professional frustrations with the OPS/IAS, and the lack of dishes, which equates to a lack of tools to achieve what suddenly I am expected to do, also ties in there...]