Hot Dinner, Cold Reading
Assigned seating? The last time I had assigned seating, I was a little shit in kindergarten.
The early evening weather is perfect for a group dinner on the upper level. Three dozen attendees, some crew members, the presenters, and event staff settle in for views and brews before the meal is served. The Curd Queen, having disembarked, barely chugs along faster than the lazy current.
As Ivy explains, the assigned seating is to, "Make sure the presenters are evenly distributed among the attendees. This makes it easier for everyone to warm up to each other." Jade assures Zandra it'll be "fun," too.
So long as I don't have to sit next to that creep Aaron, I guess I'm fine with this. Wanted to grab some food and go back to my room.
Zandra shuffles along the tables and chairs, watching for a placard with her name on it. She avoids eye contact with the attendees looking equally lost.
Please not next to Chad and Bexley. Please not next to Chad and Bexley.
"Oh, hey, Zandra. You're over here," comes Chad's voice three tables away. He stands up and waves his arms like he's signaling a helicopter. His unzipped leather jacket flaps at his sides, treating everyone to a good look at the bones of his ribs.
Ugh. Shit.
Zandra groans and scoots by Rev. Cash on her way over. He's already quoting Bible verses to a group of enthralled women. Somewhere in the distance, pDano® laughs a little too loud.
"See? We were meant to be here," Bexley says.
Zandra plops down in a chair across from Chad and Bexley. The short walk winds her more than normal. She coughs into her sleeve, and then sparks a cigarette.
I hope it's not just us three at this table.
"Can I borrow one? Mine got wet when we, you know, fell in the water and everything," Chad says, referring to the cigarettes.
"No," Zandra says.
"OK, OK, cool, cool. Just so you know, I've got a dollar. I wouldn't borrow it for free," Chad says. He reaches into his jacket pocket and rolls a soggy wad of money onto the table.
Bexley looks at the wad, then at Chad. "Did you lose your wallet again?"
"Yeah, in the river when we fell in. There wasn't anything in there anyway," Chad says.
"Oh, wow. Lucky," Bexley says.
"Yeah, so lucky."
I'm not going to make it through another dinner with these two fuck-for-brains.
"One isn't going to last you this trip anyway. Answer is still no," Zandra says.
Zandra takes a deep breath in. Were it not for the company, the fresh air, the views of the wooded shoreline, and the soft gurgle of the Curd Queen cutting through the water would be downright hypnotic. Instead, she watches Bexley grab a fat stack of napkins and dab the fresh "stitches" on her arm.
"If anyone asks, it's ketchup," Bexley says to Zandra and places the napkins back on the table.
Another couple takes a seat at the table. Fortunately for Zandra, they're more interested in Cherry Peach's presentation about camming.
As a couple? Or one films the other?
Zandra doesn't ask. She lights another cigarette and watches Rev. Cash hold hands in prayer with his new flock.
A few more attendees sit down as well. They look to be attending on their own, and they're too shy to say what they're here for. A silence drapes over the table, interrupted only by Zandra's coughing and smoking.
"Can I borrow one?" a voice asks Zandra.
She's ready to tell Chad "no" for a third time, but she stops. It's Captain Mel. He stands, burly arms crossed, at her side.
It's only fair. I owe him.
Zandra holds a cigarette and lighter out for him. He lights up and takes a long look at Chad and Bexley.
Chad pushes his glasses back up his nose and says to Zandra, "I thought you said you were out."
"I never said that," Zandra says.
Chad mutters something under his breath.
Captain Mel squints at Chad. Chad shuts up and straightens his posture.
"You've wanted to quit anyway," Bexley says. "If this is all meant to be, maybe that is, too."
"Yeah, that's a good point. I shouldn't smoke anymore. Just 420. And vape," Chad says.
"See? You got lucky again," Bexley says.
"This is the best trip ever. Love you, babe," Chad says. He leans over and kisses Bexley on the lips. The kiss lingers and morphs into loud tongue sucking. The couple interested in camming gets it on video with their phones.
Fuck me, this is painful.
Captain Mel finishes his cigarette with a "thank you" to Zandra.
"Welcome," Zandra says.
Bexley reuses her bloody napkin to wipe her mouth when she and Chad are finished. The camming couple sets their phones down.
Dinner arrives a few minutes later. Rev. Cash leads a prayer before the forks hit the plates.
Zandra is hungry, but she doesn't feel like eating. Instead, she watches presenters at other tables make small talk. A few tidbits of conversation drift her way in the breeze.
"Hey, dinner came. You can eat now," Bexley says to Zandra from across the table.
Zandra smokes and leaves her food untouched. She soaks in quiet observation.
How many people are up here total? Forty-five? Fifty?
"If you're not going to eat, can I have yours?" Chad says.
Zandra pushes the plate toward Chad. He grins and hunches over to grab the plate, pressing his naked belly into the side of the table. The table scoots an inch, rattling the dinner spread.
Let's say 50, counting three dozen attendees and everyone else. Ages of attendees range from 20s to 50s. Diverse, controlled for central Wisconsin demographics. Half wear wedding bands. Almost everyone wears sneakers. Two pairs of those sneakers have Velcro. Lots of T-shirts with big logos. Tags sticking up near the collar of three attendees. Postures accommodate elbows on the tables.
This is everyone's first impression of each other, and no one is trying to flaunt. No one eats like they pre-gamed a meal before getting here. No picking at plates. They eat because they're hungry. Look at how few napkins everyone grabbed from the dispensers at the centers of the tables. Lots of finger licking between bites, relative to the norms.
Sure, they could all be Silicon Valley billionaires, but this isn't California.
This entire event is, at its gimmicky core, a business opportunity. This dinner is a networking function. And yet everyone is behaving like it's an elementary school cafeteria.
Zandra rubs her eyes. Now she's ready to make small talk.
"How many of you have full-time jobs?" Zandra says to the attendees around her table.
No one responds.
I'm being too direct. They're shy.
"This is an event to learn about side hustles, yes? So how many of you are going to treat this like a side hustle?" Zandra says.
One of the attendees—not Chad or Bexley—speaks up. "Kinda looking for a full-time income."
The others agree, in one way or another.
"How can you afford this if you don't have a full-time job?" Zandra says.
It's not cheap. I saw the ticket prices.
Another attendee says in an echo from inside a glass of lemonade, "It's an investment."
"Have to spend money to make money," the first attendee says.
"Thanks," Zandra says with a nod. She turns back to smoking and watching the other tables. Aaron pantomimes throwing a football while relating a story about a playoff victory.
Once dinner finishes, but before the dessert arrives, Ivy and Jade ask for everyone's attention. Zandra tunes out Ivy's formalities, but she snaps to attention when Jade says, "Now who's ready for a psychic reading?"
Excuse me? No one told me about a reading.
"We're honored to have world-famous psychic Zandra here. Everyone, give her a hand," Ivy says.
Zandra shrinks as 50 pairs of hands clap for her.
Stop clapping, you seals. Someone tell me what's going on here.
Ivy waves to settle the clapping. "Now, you may be wondering if this is a trick or a setup. I can assure you it is not. We didn't tell Zandra that she'd be performing a group reading for us."
Zandra hoists herself to her feet and offers a weak smile.
This is annoying as hell, but also well played. Nicely done, Ivy.
All heads turn toward Zandra. She rubs her palms together and says, "I didn't see this coming."
There's a pause, and then her audience laughs.
Zandra glances at Aaron.
This may work out after all. Perfect opportunity to send a message.
This isn't the first time Zandra's performed what is known as a "cold reading," but it's been a while. One-on-one readings work better because there are fewer variables to control. Fifty people pose a risk she hasn't needed to manage since she did corporate events several years ago.
The more people, the more generic the "reveals" need to be, so that there is a higher probability of a hit. Throw out that someone's grandmother died and wants to reach out, and at least half of an adult audience will raise their hands. That's not a good look, though. It's not specific enough.
To get specific, you need time to evaluate your mark. You need to get a baseline and some "tells." That's not possible in a group this large. Time isn't on your side.
But there are ways to do it. The human mind runs on shortcuts, and those shortcuts can be exploited.
Zandra clears her throat and begins.