The interview.

[dragonlady7]

Dave's thought of the day:
"You know, no matter where you live, you should be able to say, 'Things are better here than in New Jersey'".

Apologies to New Jerseyites, but Dave lived there two years and hated it. (Jersey City. Blech.)
***********

So, the interview.

I took the bus, and the bus took me from almost my door right to the airport, but it spent an hour and a half meandering around a bunch of loop-de-loops I'd never seen before. Man, I've seen more Cheektowaga...

Anyhow.

So the guy came out and we sat in the restaurant with the people running by and eating and drinking beer and the soldier in desert camoflage running out the arrivals gate to hug his shrieking wife and excited child and happily weeping elderly mother, and this man proceeded to interview me.

It went well-- he seemed pleased with my qualifications. Less money than I'd heard, but then there's tips which are apparently decent; not such weird hours as I'd heard, but I'd surely have the weirdest of them as I'm junior and also not in school; I'd have to join the union but I'd get benefits through them; the company provides my uniform and reimburses me after I buy myself a pair of black pants that actually fit. What else? I don't remember.

But first, I must go take a drug screening test tomorrow, and they won't get those results back until Monday or Tuesday next, and then they'll call me and if I'm hired I could start the 29th or so. (So, thanksgiving at home.)

I left there feeling quite good about things, and rode the bus the long windy weird way home. Upon arriving home, I walked the half-block to my street and then quite suddenly realized that the little bar/restaurant about a tenth of a mile from my house had a Help Wanted sign up.

So I resolutely veered across the road and went right in there to ask them what positions they wanted.

"Every position!" the harried waitress behind the bar answered. "Wait," she said to her compatriot on the other side of the bar, "what's in a Manhattan, bourbon or whiskey?"
"Whiskey," I said.

So I filled out the application, and left it with my resume, and skipped home.

Sweet as it would be to work full-time at the bar in the airport, it would be sweeter to get a job .01 miles from home, because the walk is shorter than through many parking lots. I could walk the half a block to my house at 3 in the morning. I wouldn't care.
And it's a slow bar at night, but the joint jumps at the dinner hour. Fridays, you can't even get in there because their fish fry is so good that everybody comes out for it. Not that the junior person would be working on the good nights like that, but who knows.

Even if they just wanted me for a few hours it'd be a nice little corner-filler.

Anyhow. I feel accomplished. Even if neither of them wants me, at least I'm trying. I might try that new club downtown next. I'm on a roll. Somebody's gonna hire me. I just know it.


:D

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