Filed under: Work Bitching
Before my illustrious career as a receptionist, I had an illustrious career in the grand old hospitality industry. Yes, since day one of my working days, it has been my job to be the person that others look to when shit work needs to be done or someone needs to yell. I worked as a hostess in restaurants during high school and college, and I’ve been thinking that working again as a hostess might be a good idea during this “transitional” (read: jobless and rull broke) period of my life. Even though there was PLENTY to be bitter about when I worked in restaurants, it was also the most fun I’ve ever had at a job, partly because it’s fast-paced so time usually doesn’t drag on, partly because the median age of employees skews young, and party because drugs and alcohol are plentiful. So, grand idea on my part, no?
I applied to host at a restaurant in Manassas because it would be a very short commute. Now obviously I could get a higher hourly rate at a place in DC or Tyson’s Corner, but I figured that the cost of commuting would negate those extra couple of bucks. Anyways, the place in Manassas is the equivalent of a Damon’s or Ruby Tuesday’s as far as price point, clientele and atmosphere goes. So I walked in and filled out an application, and then the manager, who could not have been a day over 30, spoke with me. And this is what he said:
“Look, I don’t want to BS you. You’re not the kind of person who works here. You don’t look like the people who work here. You don’t dress like the people who work here. You don’t talk like the people who work here. You would be the only person here with a degree. I just want to be honest with you. The kids that work here aren’t even working here while they go to school; they’re not going to school. I wouldn’t want you to start working here and realize after a week that you can’t deal with these kind of people.”
Um….thanks for your honesty?
“So why don’t you think about what I said and then give me a call if you’re still interested.”
Yeah. So. I thanked him for his directness, because frankly, what else could I do? I’m not going to say it’s not flattering to be told I’m too classy for the joint; it is. I’m glad I don’t even look like the (apparently) complete degenerates who work there, but my question is, do I look employed? Because I’m not, and I’d like to be. I’d like to think that when I take my spot on the corner in South East DC, the other hookers will also take note of my innate classiness, but I sure as shit hope they don’t run me off for looking too clean, because homegirl needs some cash.
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