Too Charitable to Stomach: a story in 60 seconds

"A bone to the dog is not charity. Charity is the bone shared with the dog, when you are just as hungry as the dog." -- Jack London

The ballroom was packed to the gills, fitting given that four types of fish were on the menu for the evening’s charity gala. But Gail von Bruner could hardly mouth another morsel. For the last hour, an army of waiters and caterers had paraded past her, shouldering trays of lamb chops, rillettes, croquettes, and cream of truffle shooters.

Gail nudged her husband. “Would you believe all this food? I can’t imagine anyone will have room for dinner.”

Rupert von Bruner only laughed. “Oh, so what? Let the people have their fill. They certainly paid for it.”

At that moment, a waiter walked by, holding a tray of lobster knuckles topped with caviar. Rupert grabbed one and popped it into his mouth.

“Oh, my God!” he gagged, spitting the seafood back into his napkin. “That’s ghastly! I mean, talk about down by the docks. I swear, that bite was harder to stomach than the city’s new emission caps!”

Gail rolled her eyes and refocused her attention around the room, scrunching her nose at the opulence and abundance around her. Rupert was right; the guests had paid a fortune to be here, and they were acting like it, casually discarding lamb chops and langoustines as if they were peanut shells at the park.

All of a sudden, the lights dimmed, the band faded out, and a slender woman in a chic black dress took the microphone. “I hope you’re all still hungry,” she began, her graduated diamond necklace twinkling beneath the spotlight. “Because dinner is about to begin. If everyone would please take their seats. The first course will be served shortly.”

Someone in the audience groaned.

Gail couldn’t help but relate. Like everyone else, she was beyond stuffed and could hardly stomach another bite. Still, not wanting to be wasteful, she nibbled and picked at each passing plate: first the soup, then the salad, then the pasta, but by the main course, nearly everyone in the ballroom had laid down their utensils and surrendered. Yet the food kept coming, much of it returning to the kitchen untouched.

A waiter came around with coffee, and Gail graciously accepted a cup. As she stirred in a dash of cream, the woman in black returned to the stage.

“I hope you all enjoyed this exquisite feast…and maybe saved some room for dessert.”

The crowd snickered.

“Now, for the reason we are here,” she continued. “As you all know, food insecurity remains a heartbreaking reality for far too many people in our city. Every day, thousands of men, women, and children don’t know where or when they’ll get their next meal. Municipal programs do their best to narrow the gap, but it’s the generosity of individuals like yourselves that ensures our fellow citizens don’t go to bed hungry.”

There was a round of applause.

Gail took the opportunity to excuse herself. As she walked down the hallway past the kitchen toward the bathroom, she couldn’t help but notice a team of waiters scraping full plates of Chilean sea bass, branzino, and short rib into a row of trash cans as another group worked diligently to ready the dessert.

***Thanks for reading. If the thought of someone spitting out a caviar-topped lobster knuckle made you squirm, please like or restack this story (this is how I reach new audiences or readers).***