Here's the surprise of the century, kids: I have yet to figure out the real world. (But I find it rather fascinating, nevertheless.)
It all started on monday night. Come in at five, said Doug aka Mr. Modai himself. And remember there's a staff meeting. So I did. Four fourty-five, actually, in full uniform, wigged, make-uped, perfumed, and ready to make a fool of myself.
Apparently Modai isn't open on Monday. The rest of the staff showed up in tank-tops and sandals and promptly draped themselves over the lounge's furniture.
"Why are you in uniform?" asked Mimi. "Why are you NOT in uniform?" I replied. To my delight, I managed to make her uncomfortable for a split second before she remembered that I was just the new girl and didn't know shit from shine-ola anyhow.
The staff meeting began with a brisk car ride to an immense pavillion called Moolah, which I suppose must be the ancient Babylonian word for "casino/movie theater/bowling alley/bar". We entered the mosque-like building and proceeded to the basement. Doug herded us into a couch-lined nook between the jukebox and the bowling alleys. Plate after paper plate of bar food alighted on our table. Drinks all around. Needless to say, the serious talk did not last for long.
At last, I had the chance to get to know my coworkers. Toby, one of the bartenders, bought me an extra-dry bombay martini with a twist, and talked about music with me for 45 minutes. Jessica, Angelo, and I bowled a magnificent game before flopping down and conversing over a schafly, white russian, and gin and tonic respectively. And on and on and on . . .
Eventually I ended up at my rented room. The old man, as always, was asleep when I came home, so I took extraordinary pains not to wake him. Partway through creeping in the back-door, I realized that I was sneaking in. This grieved me. I was no better off than I was in high school. At least this time my housemates weren't lying in wait for my muffled foot-steps. Why, I don't even have a car to take away anymore! Mwahaha!
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Tuesday was my first 7 hour shift of waiting tables. I had never walked back and forth so much for so long in my life. I've always appreciated good service at a restraunt, but never before had I considered the minutae that go into napkin folds, for example. Or the alignment of plates. Or how to carry four bowls of miso soup without melting the skin from my arm.
The shift wore on. Crowds came, dined, and went. Josh, the kitchen chef, and I joked around between armfulls of dirty dishes and heaping platters of squid-on-a-stick. He knows more about Japanese cuisine than Doug, I suspect.
Joihie (i have no idea how to spell his name, but it sounds like "joy-heyay"), one of the sushi chefs, told me I was extremely "kawaii." Consequently, kawaii is one of the few Japanese words I actually know. At least my anime training comes in handy for SOMETHING! ^_^;
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Wednesday leaves me wondering whether or not I'm going to stick with the job. Even though it's enjoyable hard work, I'm afraid I'm not going to get payed enough to sustain myself. The restraunt, after hiring me, went to a different pay method where the waitresses share their tips with the other wait-staff (who had previously been on hourly wages around 7 bucks). Tuesday was a busy night, so i panned out about even. However, Wednesday was so slow that I only made about 20 bucks for an evening of hard work. Shit! I can't live on that!
So, unless Friday turns out better - at least 70 bucks, between wages and tips - I'm going to start looking for another job.
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