I ♥ Rusty Nails

(This posting will have no mention of spooge. Just sayin'.)

As always, I am looking for a new job. Yesterday I put on my snow boots and went tromping through the city hitting up restaurants with resumé in hand. Thanks to my good friend craigslist, I found several places that were actually hiring so I went to them. All of them. It took a good few hours and lot of Metrocard swipes, but I did it. Do I have a job yet? No, but I am certain that Colleen at that one place really liked my energy and would love to have me write about her restaurant behind her back. She'll be calling any minute.

One place I went to was a brand new restaurant still under construction. I know there are a lot of drawbacks to opening a restaurant, but I'm a desperate ho who needs a job. I walked in to the construction site where I was handed an application and a quiz. "Oh, great...a quiz." I banged out the application portion and then focused my attention to the quiz section. Of course it had the usual bullshit like "What is hospitality?" and "Who is the most important person in the restaurant?" I vomited out the answers and got to the more interesting stuff. They had a list of twelve liquors and we had to say if it was vodka, gin, or whatever. Easy enough except for a couple of them. And then a list of six drinks and they wanted us to write the ingredients and garnish for each one. Cosmo? No problem. Long Island Iced Tea? No problem. But a Rusty Nail? Who the fuck remembers that shit unless it happens to be your drink of choice. So I did what any self respecting waiter would do in that situation. I pulled out my trusty smart phone and looked that shit up. Yep, according to the website that Google sent me to, a Rusty Nail is made with scotch and Drambuie. I also looked up a Kamikaze because I have unlimited Internet access on my phone. At one point I looked around and every single person had their phone in their hand doing the same thing I was doing. Oh, sure we were all trying to look like we were looking up the addresses to our personal references, but we all knew what we were doing. We were cheating.

At another place, the application was handed to me by the host who told me to sit at one of two tables and fill it out. Well, there were about a hundred people at those two tables, so I squeezed my skinny ass in there and started writing. I noticed this one girl was just sitting there looking around. She whispered to the guy next to her, "Do you have a pen I can borrow?" Who the hell goes out looking for a job without bringing a pen? Why don't you just write on the top of your resume "unprepared" and be done with it? You are trying to be a sever and you don't have a pen? Her friendly neighbor dug into his bag and handed her one.
"Dead, "she said.
"What?" said he?
"I think your pen is out of ink."
"Oh, well...sorry then." He didn't care and now she was just sitting there again.
I felt bad for the poor helpless thing and told her I might have an extra one she could use. I dug through my man purse and found the one extra pen. "Oh, all I have is a purple pen, sorry." I didn't think anyone would want to fill out a job application with a purple pen, but she took it. As soon as I gave it to her, I regretted it, because I was almost finished and now I was going to have to wait until she was done if i wanted my pen back. And you know I wanted my pretty purple pen back. I turned in my app and then went back to the even more crowded table to see the girl still filling in her information. I patently waited as I watched her write in cursive with big looping letters. With the purple ink, it looked like she was writing a note to her BFF that she was going to give to her at lunch in the cafeteria. I can't be sure, but it looked like she dotted her i's with little hearts. About an eon later she put the pen down and I gently asked, "Are you all done? Can I take my pen?"
"Oh my God, were you waiting for me? I am so sorry, I didn't even think." She handed me my pen.
"It's alright. I just didn't want your application to be in two different colors of ink if I took the purple pen too soon."
"Thank you, you're so sweet," she said not realizing that I was going to blog about her stupid ass the next day.
I went on my merry way and began to wonder if her application was going to now stand out because of her bold color choice. If I find out that she got the job and i didn't, that bitch owes me a free Rusty Nail the next time I go in to that restaurant.

And the job search continues...


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There's No Place Like Home

After a week of training at my new job where the people are less than friendly and the protocol is ridiculously strict, it was so nice to be back at my old job last night. It was if I had just clicked my heels together three times and was suddenly transported back to a place that was comfortable. There truly is "no place like home." My old job opened up her arms and smothered me in a warm welcoming embrace. Last night, I chatted with the host who I actually like. A lot. He didn't ignore me or tell me to clear a table like those cold bitches at the new job. My co-worker laughed at my jokes and I laughed at his, not like at the other job where no one talks to me because I'm the new guy. And most importantly, at the end of the shift, the bartender made me not one, but two citrus martinis. I think I missed him most of all. He's my scarecrow.

When I took my first order and walked back to the computer, the familiarity of that old fashioned piece of crap was so nice. Seriously, the computers that we use at the old job are like from 1986. They are huge and awkward and the screen looks like an Atari video game. (If you are too young to know what that means, I officially hate you.) Sure the fancy touch screen Aloha computers at the new job are nice, but sometimes I want a throw back to the when the days were more simple and carefree. It was nice last night to know the answers to the questions that people asked instead of having to go find out or just make something up. I suppose that eventually, I will feel comfortable at the new job, but it takes time. Time that I don't want to give. No one bossed me around last night, no one told me I was being too loud, and no one made me go to the basement and polish glasses for an hour and a half.

But alas, I have taken a new job. And given up unemployment to do so. I have painted myself into a corner because if I quit I can't just go back to unemployment. Now if they let me go though, I could. (Note to self: get fired.) I thought I could find something better in the world of food service, but I didn't. I understand now how Dorothy felt. "If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again. I won't look any further than my own backyard. Because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with." True dat, Dorothy. True dat.

And if you like that image of the ruby slippers, you can fucking buy it here. Yeah, I painted it...)


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I Got a New Job

Did you hear the angels singing yesterday? Did you see the rainbow form in the sky and end at my doorstep with a unicorn sliding down it? Did you get a whiff of the sweet smell of success? I started a new job. (Cue confetti cannons and balloons, please.) I began training yesterday with what we all know and love: trailing. For those not in the know, trailing is when a new server follows behind someone who teaches newbie the ropes. I hate it. Give me a table chart, a menu and tell me how to ring in food and I'm good to go. It's especially annoying when the one who is training me is younger than my Smiths concert t-shirt that I sleep in. But what choice do I have? None. Like a helpless puppy, I follow Mike around so he can tell where the salt is kept in dry storage. Important, yes, but there are so many other things that I want to know about on my first day of work but you just can't blurt these things out:

• What do we get for shift meal and when is it?
• How much did you walk with yesterday?
• Which of the managers is a bitch and which one is cool?
• Are we really not supposed to use our cell phones or is that just something they say to the new people? Because I saw that girl texting in the sidestand.
• So the manager said that our jeans had to be a certain shade so I went and bought a new pair, but now I see people all over the place with faded ones. What the hell?
• Is the chef who is expediting always so cunty?
• Which of the servers are not cool, because I don't want to waste time getting to know them if they are losers.
• Do Jay Z and Beyonce really come in here all the time or is that something they told me at the orientation so I'd be all excited about my new place of employment?
• Are the managers gonna have an issue with me needing off November 15-17 because I kinda want to go to Washington DC for a couple of days?
• It's great that we have a barista who deals with all the coffees, teas and cappuccinos, but how much am I going to be tipping their asses out?
• Do I really have to use a tray to carry a single glass of water because that is so dumb.
  
• What happens if I fail my menu quiz? At Bennigan's we were told if we failed it, we couldn't wait tables. I failed it but still waited tables. Do I really need to memorize every fucking ingredient in the chicken liver toast appetizer?
• Which hostess is the biggest whore? I just wanna know.

I suppose all of these things will eventually be known to me. It's hard being the new guy. None of them know how totally cool I am and that they will soon be starring in this blog. I shan't tell anyone though. It took me long enough to find this goddamn job, so I ain't risking telling the wrong person about The Bitchy Waiter and get my ass fired. I'll just write about them. Soon someone will do something that warrants a whole blog post but will they know about it? Hell no. This is our secret.

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