The job was in another state, hours from where I currently lived. I was reluctant to move so far for a waitressing position. She told me they were promising that I would make about $900 a night, have a 401 K, all kinds of insurances, a flexible spending account, employee discounts, education reimbursement, and paid time off. Intriguing? Yes. The possibility of making that much money in a single night would be any recent college graduates dream.
I was excited for about five minutes before that fizzed out. I was busy watching TV, the thought of having to pack up my house and move sounded too exhausting. I forgot about the possibility for a while, but when I went to visit my mom a couple weeks later, my friend was again calling and begging me to come to lunch at her wine bar so she could convince a manager to give me an interview.
My mom heard how much I could be making and demanded that I go visit Phoebe. She told me I would be crazy to pass up on a possibility like that, and I would regret not giving it a try. I was still against the idea so I threw on high heeled boots, skin tight skinny jeans, and a v-cut top. It wasn’t much of an outfit for an interview. Perfect.
I trudged out to my car and threw myself in. I zoned out, as I always do on boring trips, and took the hairpin turns at a relatively slow pace compared to my usual NASCAR style driving. Once there, I wandered leisurely into the place, waving off the greeter, and sat at the bar. The menu was a little high class for me, so I took a stab at a glass of sweet wine the bartender recommended and a cob salad. No tomatoes, no corn, no blue cheese.
After being verbally molested by the bartender for twenty minutes, his endless stream of inappropriate jokes had him laughing like a hyena on many occasions, I was beginning to shove the food in my mouth a little faster. My overwhelming desire to flee this man’s company was making the prospect of working there less promising by the minute. I was saved by a man walking out with a large case of wine. When I looked at him, he said, “Who’s ready to crack some of these open and start drinking?” I laughed, thinking he was a delivery man of sorts.
Phoebe appeared a few minutes later, grinning like a fool. The guy I had assumed was the delivery man wasn’t far behind. “So, Pheobe says you are hoping to get a job here. If you want an interview come with me.” He walked away, expecting me to follow, not looking back to see if had gotten up off my seat.
During my interview, I told him I didn’t really know anything about food, or wine for that matter, and that I wasn’t very good at upselling. I think I was subconsciously trying to sabotage my chances. He told me he liked my honesty. When I said I was good at reading people, he asked me to read him. I told him that he liked his job and took it very seriously, but you had to be careful what kind of jokes you made around him. But don’t let that fool you he knew how to relax and have fun. His eyes widened to an alarming size and he said I was exactly right. He was so impressed he hired me on the spot.
I was in too much shock to say anything. When he went to get the paperwork, I glared at Phoebe. “You totally just threw me under the bus!” He came back and all I could think about was that I didn’t really want to take the job, but there wasn’t much I could do. He wasn’t exactly asking me if I wanted it.
He asked me if I was really going to go through with it, went over my resume, stopping to note that I didn’t have any waitressing experience. I pointed out that the four previous jobs were hostessing and waitressing. Clearly the man can’t read. He said I hadn’t made this very clear. I underlined words on the paper with my finger. “Describe you position and what your job requirements were:” My answer, “Waitressing: serving customers, side work, occasionally hostessing and bartending.”
My previous appreciation for this man and his ability to make a joke, even in his position, was beginning to turn into a sliver of dislike. At our departure, he informed me that I would never be able to drink there again. Understandable, I guess. Also, I wasn’t allowed to drink the $13 a glass of wine he had so rudely interrupted me from finishing earlier. Not cool. I chugged it when he wasn’t looking. He stopped his retreat to turn back and promise me that I would make more money there than I had ever made before, and more than I would ever make living in New York. It’s very nice of him to pretty much assume he is saving me from a life of poverty, but oh well, I now had a big girl job. Who’s ready for a celebratory drink?
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