I'm still unemployed, though it isn't for lack of trying. None of the seven hotels within walking distance are hiring; most of the businesses in the industrial park nearby are government-contracted, which thus renders applying to them confusing. The Italian restaurant isn't hiring and the sub shop where my brother worked abruptly shut down last week. (He also tutors math and science at his college, though, so it isn't as though he's destitute. Also, he got to bring home jars of banana peppers and 50-packs of sliced provolone and 3-gallon tubs of ice cream.) Even the freaking Denny's isn't hiring; the manager there told me he's had to cut hours. Shit's for real when even Denny's has to cut hours.
The one place that gave me an interview? Waffle House.
Obviously this is not my idea of a lucrative, satisfying job. But it is a job, and it pays. I'll fully admit to crying my eyes out this weekend - well, after about five Black Russians and a bong hit - at the idea of having to become an employee of a roadside establishment whose claim to fame is hash browns with chili on top. My friends tried to console me, but at that point I was too wasted and instead fell off my chair and then demanded to watch Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Let me tell y'all something: do not ever drink straight-up Black Russians starting at 7 PM and not stopping until 1 AM, because you will feel like a semi ran you over the next day.
Anyway. I just came back from the interview. It is literally impossible to fail an interview at this place. Lord knows I tried.
Manager: So what brings you here?
Me: I need a job.
Manager: No, I mean, why do you want to work for us?
Me: I have student loan bills to pay and I need money.
Manager: Fair enough. So when does that boot thing come off your foot?
Me: Well, I see the doctor on December 9th. I can walk and everything. This is more, like, for support.
Manager: Here's the thing. I want to get rid of four or five of my servers because they're honestly thieves. I can't do that just yet because it's the holiday, and I need to have people ready to replace them.
Me: I'm not into the thievery bit. Not my scene.
Manager: Can you work nights?
Me: I'd really prefer not to. I mean, if you need me to work at night I will, but I'm not crazy about doing it. [Let me insert here that they just got robbed two weeks ago. At night.] Hey, wait, what are you hiring for anyway?
Manager: Would you rather cook? I mean, when servers do really well and they want to learn to cook I train them in that.
Me: Nope. I'd rather just wait tables. I'm sorta tired of cooking right now. I mean, not like I might not change my mind after a while but right now I'm good with waiting tables.
Manager: Okay then. My big thing is honesty. If you're short on your rent or something, I'd rather you came to me instead of dipping into the till.
Me: Oh, I'm definitely honest.
He doesn't know the half of it.
Despite my clear lack of enthusiasm, wearing yesterday's jeans which smell rather herbaceous, and yawning through the whole thing, I've been given a second interview with the manager's boss on Wednesday morning. They must be desperate to find a waitress who doesn't steal from the drawer to support her meth habit.
My coffee is rather liberally dosed with anisette this morning.
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