A Pour Move

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“Shall we have Farrah do the honors?” I froze as I heard Simon’s mellifluous voice utter the sticky, sweet words. That’s it. I’d had it. The table smiled and one older man awed and patted his wife’s hand in approving renown as they all bore witness to my superior bestowing a coveted opportunity upon me to service their tasting and officially showcase my knowledge. That’s what they thought, anyway. The generous gesture of an approving supervisor to the untrained eye. To mine, a selfish and lazy play by a total baboon of a man who has successfully cracked the code on gaining brownie points for doing absolutely nothing. 

What the sweet, old man and his family were not aware of was the fact that Simon and I were hired within the same week, in fact, with my tenure technically earning me 3 days his senior. But the moment our guests entered the gates, past the long winding drive up to our hillside winery estate, Simon had mastered the recipe of establishing a status quo within minutes after their expertly crafted oxfords and slingback kitten heels met the gravel of our parking lot. One spritz breath freshener, two from counter cologne samples, and a pocket comb to sweep through the leftovers of a 2pm nap was all it took. And more frustratingly, he oozed charm and smelled fantastic. I knew what he was up to and even worse, I truly didn’t know how to put a stop to it without risking looking crazy or being chastised for losing composure in front of clientele. So when I heard things like, 

“Farrah’s new and has just been blowing us away”, 

“You know, she has been so shy but is a wealth of knowledge” 

“We are so happy to have her on board now, I have been dutifully training her under my wing.”

I knew that any contest to these remarks would be received as me just confusing and making the guests feel uncomfortable, all masked by Simon giving me praise, in a streamlined victory to having me ultimately do his job for him..again. Was he actually a genius? 

But I was done. I rubbed my tongue over my teeth in preparation for the forced “tour guide smile” to plaster onto my face as I turned back around.

“You know, Simon, truly has been a guiding light for me here. For example, he has the most incredible story regarding his studies under Jules Chauvet in Loire Valley, you really must tell them, Simon.” The eyes at the table lit up in direct contrast to Simon’s now slits.

Simon cleared his throat, Aha, well yes, Jules and I are still good friends, of course he walked me through the vineyards, really got in those flint-y Loire soils, uh..he had a dog named chap--”

“No, no, pardon me, Jules Chauvet has been deceased for 40 years. And he was the father of Carbonic Maceration in Beaujolais, not Loire…so sorry....hmm, so who were you talking about then, Simon?"