(I work at a country club. At a large wedding, I learn that the only thing worse than a bridezilla is an I’m-not-the-bride-or-the-groom-but-I’m-making-it-all-about-me-zilla. This ‘zilla was the girlfriend of the bride’s brother. My manager and I are helping the family do some final cleaning up for the night, and I gradually realize that this one young woman is sitting in the corner, crying. Different family members, including the bride, keep going over to try and comfort her. As we’re all heading out to the parking lot, she’s trailing behind us sobbing loudly. My manager, a sweet grandmotherly lady in her 60s, asks her what’s wrong. Both the bride and her brother try and deflect, but the woman starts yelling how she needs a sister, and she misses her sister, and it’s so unfair she doesn’t have a sister. At this point, my manager and I assume that she has lost her sister — i.e., her sister had passed away — and that’s why she was crying. My poor manager starts telling this girl how she (the manager) lost her son when he was nineteen, and offering to hug her and get her water and stuff. The woman then screams at her boyfriend/the bride’s brother:)

Woman: “NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME, [Brother]!” *lays down on the ground and sobs hysterically*

(The bride and her mother are now both pissed at [Brother] because he apparently “promised this wouldn’t happen.” Just as I and the manager are thinking these people are heartless monsters, the groom, seeing our expressions, tells us:)

Groom: “She doesn’t have a sister.”

Me: “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can—“

Groom: “No, you don’t understand. She’s never had a sister. She just gets really upset about totally random stuff when she’s drunk.”

Me: “Oooookay… So, she’s not upset because her sister died? She’s upset because she never had a sister in the first place?”

Groom: “Yup.”

(The brother pulled his car around, they loaded the hysterical crying woman into the car, and he made it all of ten yards before having to pull over so she could throw up. Repeatedly.)

(Due to circumstances, I end up as the photographer on the day two of my best friends get married. Since I have some experience with photography and they have an excellent camera, the photographs turn out pretty well. We are in the middle of a short shoot when suddenly the groom’s mother seizes the opportunity and gets me to take some photos of her during the end of it, quickly and smoothly. Afterwards, my two friends and I huddle around the camera to see how it all turned out.)

Groom: “So, how did it go?”

Me: “This isn’t something a guy should normally say to his friends, but I got some nice photos of your mom.”

As maid of honor for my friend’s wedding, I agree to manage the RSVPs. It’s a smallish wedding, about 60 people, and they’ve decided not to invite any children. After the initial invitations go out, the groom’s father asks if he could give an invite to his cubicle-mate to try to improve their work camaraderie. The couple agrees. A few days later, I get the RSVP in the mail. It’s scribbled over, an angry note attached.

“Obviously, you have NO IDEA how to be polite for a wedding. FAMILIES are invited to weddings, INCLUDING CHILDREN. It’s rude to expect people to PAY a babysitter just for YOU. WE WILL ALL BE THERE. I hope your MARRIAGE is better than your INVITES.”

Attached were RSVPs for the couple, three children they had from various previous relationships, and two children they had as a couple. All were listed as wanting the prime rib, including the seven-month-old baby.

The couple and the groom’s family had a huge fight over this. The bride wanted to rescind the invite for the whole family, but the groom’s parents were worried about how it would affect the work conditions; after all, he had invited him to try to improve their relationship. In the end, the groom’s father agreed to pay for his coworker’s meals.

The day of the wedding, the groom’s father’s phone rings just before the ceremony. It’s his coworker, saying he will be late. The father quickly replies, then hangs up in time to see his son to the altar. The family ends up not showing to the ceremony, or the reception. It’s blatantly obvious as there are seven tables, with one completely empty.

When the father of the groom gets back to work, he confronts his coworker, who says he decided not to come because the father of the groom was “terse” on the phone. However, he does have a wedding gift. It’s a coffee maker, used and put back in the box, with old coffee grounds still in it.

Needless to say, the olive branch of the invite did not help the relationship between the father of the groom and his cubicle-mate.

(I’m attending my friends’ beautiful outdoor wedding. They are both aware that I have certain health issues regarding various food and drink, but they have done all they could be reasonably expected to do to make sure I’m not left hungry or thirsty. The food is fantastic and the “bottle bar” — serving everything but four beers out of bottles — is varied, but their soft drink selection is limited to [soda], [diet soda], and lemonade. Limited, but it’s fine.)

Me: “Can I have a [soda], please?”

Server: “Sure.” *grabs bottle of [diet soda]*

(One of my health issues is that the artificial sweetener in various diet sodas causes me gastrointestinal distress — stomach ache/cramps/increased need to use the bathroom — and headaches within an hour of drinking them. I want to enjoy the rest of the evening without writhing in pain, so I shout to try to stop them.)

Me: “No, not diet! I just want [soda]!”

Server: *ignores me and pours glass of [diet soda]* “That’ll be £2.”

Me: *thinking they might not have heard me over the music* “I said [soda], not [diet soda].”

Server: “We only have [diet soda].”

(The ceremony has been over for about an hour and a half by this point, and most people are drinking alcohol, so I am annoyed that one of their three soft drink options is apparently already gone.)

Me: “You could have told me that.”

Server: “It’s basically the same.”

Me: *looks at the menu again* “Which lemonade do you have?”

(Some of them use artificial sweeteners, and I really don’t want to only drink water for the rest of the night.)

Server: “Lemonade.”

Me: “[Brand #1]? [Brand #2]? Is it cloudy?”

Server: “It’s lemonade.”

Me: *defeated* “Just give me a lemonade, then.”

Server: *makes lemonade and puts it down* “£4.”

Me: *annoyed* “I didn’t want [diet soda]. It’s not what I asked for. I’m not going to pay for it.”

Server: “But I already poured it.”

Me: “I didn’t ask for it. I wanted [soda].”

Server: “But we ran out of [soda].”

Me: “And you should have told me that instead of assuming I was okay with a substitute.”

(Another weddinggoer walks up and orders a round from another bartender. Their order includes a [diet soda].)

Me: *to the other bartender* “Don’t pour one.” *gives them the [diet soda] I don’t want* “This one is ready to go.”

Server: “Hey, you can’t do that!”

Me: “Why not? He wants it. I don’t. I’m not going to pay for it. He will. That way you’re not wasting off stock, and I don’t have to walk away with a drink that I don’t want.” *hands over a £2 coin* “Here is the payment for my drink. If you have any problems, I’ll be over on [table number].”

(I didn’t hear anything else. I did mention the encounter to the bride and groom — after their honeymoon, of course.)

It’s my wedding day, and I made it very clear there is no dress code. I know that everyone will always dress up for a wedding, and I don’t want people to spend a lot of money for just one day. As long as it’s neat, I don’t care if it’s worn 100 times before, or brand new. My husband 100% agrees.

My father doesn’t know what to do with the dress code. He’s used to coming in a suit, fancy shoes… pretty much black tie. I tell him over and over again I don’t care if he wears jeans and a shirt, which he normally does; his presence is most important — plus, he got a wedding-license-for-a-day, so he can wed us, which is a dream of his.

The day itself is quite hot, so my dad has to change plans on the day itself. A suit is going to be impossible. He looks for a neat pair of pants in his closet and a button-down shirt. Still, he insists on wearing his fancy shoes, but he doesn’t want to get them dirty, deciding to go in worn-out shoes and put the fancy ones on at the castle where we’ll wed.

When he arrives at the castle, he puts on a shoe… and pushes the sole out! His fancy shoes are now in two parts — they were fancy for multiple years, so they are quite old. My dad starts to panic; he can’t go to his daughter’s wedding in the worn-out shoes!

He suddenly remembers his hiking shoes are in the back of the car. He takes a brush, used to clean the dogs after a visit to the beach, and cleans them the best way he can. The time is then up and he has to start the ceremony.

Nobody noticed my dad’s drama, but I’ll always remember this as the day fate told him to forget the black tie and just go as he truly was!