I have a job. I am making money that is mine to spend, which of course I will have to spend on bills for money I've spent that was not mine to spend. Regardless, Erika Wasser has a job - and for the first time it is not one I mumble under my breath when one asks "Well, what do you do"
If your wondering what those previous mumbled responses were, I have run the gamete from day school camp counselor in the Hampton's where Christie Brinkley's kids and the like made my life a living hell of ass wiping and around pick up time, ass kissing - all the way to receptionist at a five star gym where while working I also belonged - riddle me that? My logic: great! I love the gym, its a great place, and I always say I'm not there enough (to work out) so why not make sure I'm there, in khakis, for seven hours straight. Check please.
The true story is that the sports club and I "separated". It was summer, they wanted me there at 9am, and apparently Hangover doesn't go with Khaki (take THAT prepsters who say it goes with everything!) Embarrassed by the getup, mascara down to my ankles, hair straight of "How the West was Hung" - I stood there, swiping membership cards of people who thought they were better then me, solely for the 100 bucks of gym bills a month. Little did they know, that I too was a member and they had in fact met me before, as many claimed they did, as I was probably the one who in fact did flip them off during that yoga class where I learned that fuck was not a mantra - but that was before my "how can i help you" days.
One day in my usual uniform of red bull, Marlboro lights and cheap champagne stench, I looked up to swipe the card not of a pretentious member, but of the boy I lost my virginity to. Parker was a member, and I just swiped his membership card looking like a cast member of Planet of the Apes.
This was not me. And as such, I quit,.. and apparently in the nick of time as I was told that we had all had our fair share of seeing me in ill fitting khakis.
As an employee they were supposed to pick up my gym tab - which they did not - which in Wasser words meant that I could return to my elliptical where I sweat out the night before in true Wasser fashion - spandex - all black.
At my new job I am required to dress well, and in black - could life be better? I am now working as a hostess at a trendy, brand new ultra chic restaurant and lounge located in the South End. For those who know nothing about Boston, if Cher were a neighborhood - she would be the South End, but all things cool start with the gays, then the girls and then everyone else will follow. The gays we have down pat, were still waiting for some of those girls - however I love my job.
As I write this, there is a 50% chance that I should be saying I lov-ed my job... and all because I am an idiot. Like most things I love, I found a way to put stress on the situation, and my lack of brain power may leave me only with a lack of buying power.
Standing at the hostess stand, watching amazing looking food be created, and then enjoyed by someone other then me - that's a lot to handle. And as such, one Tuesday night I decided it was time to stop looking at the food, staring peoples tables down like a hawk (which actually works if you need them to leave), partake in the Banq experience and like all experiences worthwhile in my life, this one too required wine.
I shuffle in at 9pm for dinner with my girlfriends. 6 of us in total, 2 of which are 21, 4 of which, including myself, are close, but no cigar. We order, I'm excited to try all the things I've seen and smelt and just by second nature I order a drink.
Now this is where some of you might be saying, "wow, she really is a moron. does she not remember how many times she had to write her birthday down and that's before they had a copy of your passport and license"
And well, while I agree with you in retrospect, I have been drinking in restaurants since I was 16 years old, obviously never worked in one, and since I've been able to confidently think I deserved my Chardonnay, I've been able to confidently drink my Chardonnay.
This was until last night. My drink comes, shortly followed by my manager.
"Can I speak to you for a second"
I'm pretty sure all the food I just ate is now in the back of my throat. There goes $100.00 but if I was in fact fired and am not able to thank Michael the manger later - you did help me out, in my crazy head the calories from dinner were not absorbed.
If your wondering what those previous mumbled responses were, I have run the gamete from day school camp counselor in the Hampton's where Christie Brinkley's kids and the like made my life a living hell of ass wiping and around pick up time, ass kissing - all the way to receptionist at a five star gym where while working I also belonged - riddle me that? My logic: great! I love the gym, its a great place, and I always say I'm not there enough (to work out) so why not make sure I'm there, in khakis, for seven hours straight. Check please.
The true story is that the sports club and I "separated". It was summer, they wanted me there at 9am, and apparently Hangover doesn't go with Khaki (take THAT prepsters who say it goes with everything!) Embarrassed by the getup, mascara down to my ankles, hair straight of "How the West was Hung" - I stood there, swiping membership cards of people who thought they were better then me, solely for the 100 bucks of gym bills a month. Little did they know, that I too was a member and they had in fact met me before, as many claimed they did, as I was probably the one who in fact did flip them off during that yoga class where I learned that fuck was not a mantra - but that was before my "how can i help you" days.
One day in my usual uniform of red bull, Marlboro lights and cheap champagne stench, I looked up to swipe the card not of a pretentious member, but of the boy I lost my virginity to. Parker was a member, and I just swiped his membership card looking like a cast member of Planet of the Apes.
This was not me. And as such, I quit,.. and apparently in the nick of time as I was told that we had all had our fair share of seeing me in ill fitting khakis.
As an employee they were supposed to pick up my gym tab - which they did not - which in Wasser words meant that I could return to my elliptical where I sweat out the night before in true Wasser fashion - spandex - all black.
At my new job I am required to dress well, and in black - could life be better? I am now working as a hostess at a trendy, brand new ultra chic restaurant and lounge located in the South End. For those who know nothing about Boston, if Cher were a neighborhood - she would be the South End, but all things cool start with the gays, then the girls and then everyone else will follow. The gays we have down pat, were still waiting for some of those girls - however I love my job.
As I write this, there is a 50% chance that I should be saying I lov-ed my job... and all because I am an idiot. Like most things I love, I found a way to put stress on the situation, and my lack of brain power may leave me only with a lack of buying power.
Standing at the hostess stand, watching amazing looking food be created, and then enjoyed by someone other then me - that's a lot to handle. And as such, one Tuesday night I decided it was time to stop looking at the food, staring peoples tables down like a hawk (which actually works if you need them to leave), partake in the Banq experience and like all experiences worthwhile in my life, this one too required wine.
I shuffle in at 9pm for dinner with my girlfriends. 6 of us in total, 2 of which are 21, 4 of which, including myself, are close, but no cigar. We order, I'm excited to try all the things I've seen and smelt and just by second nature I order a drink.
Now this is where some of you might be saying, "wow, she really is a moron. does she not remember how many times she had to write her birthday down and that's before they had a copy of your passport and license"
And well, while I agree with you in retrospect, I have been drinking in restaurants since I was 16 years old, obviously never worked in one, and since I've been able to confidently think I deserved my Chardonnay, I've been able to confidently drink my Chardonnay.
This was until last night. My drink comes, shortly followed by my manager.
"Can I speak to you for a second"
I'm pretty sure all the food I just ate is now in the back of my throat. There goes $100.00 but if I was in fact fired and am not able to thank Michael the manger later - you did help me out, in my crazy head the calories from dinner were not absorbed.
"Sure" - oh shit. He had the tone your mother has when she comes back from parent-teacher conferences to find that you did a show and tell on her lover.
"Are you drinking wine?"
Okay I've been caught. In yes or no questions it is very hard not to seem like a snaky liar without answering either one.
"Yes"
"Are you 21?"
Again with the yes or no questions! He's good.
"No"
"You do realize that you put the entire restaurant in jeopardy, you jeopardized Mario's job, as well as your own"
Plaintiff: I really am just stupid sometimes (and yes I am aware if sometimes is often, sometimes becomes - "you are just stupid") And if its any consolation, I didn't even drink the wine.
Defendant: Right now I wouldn't mind watching you, Erika, drown in wine, or any liquid substance suitable for drowning and as such may just fire you.
Verdict: There is no wine in the world worth being told your a fuck up by an over bearing gay man who has mastered Jewish guilt by telling you how your sip of wine has burnt the place down with everyone inside of it turning to ash. However, if I am getting the boot out - can I have that full glass to go?
"Are you drinking wine?"
Okay I've been caught. In yes or no questions it is very hard not to seem like a snaky liar without answering either one.
"Yes"
"Are you 21?"
Again with the yes or no questions! He's good.
"No"
"You do realize that you put the entire restaurant in jeopardy, you jeopardized Mario's job, as well as your own"
Plaintiff: I really am just stupid sometimes (and yes I am aware if sometimes is often, sometimes becomes - "you are just stupid") And if its any consolation, I didn't even drink the wine.
Defendant: Right now I wouldn't mind watching you, Erika, drown in wine, or any liquid substance suitable for drowning and as such may just fire you.
Verdict: There is no wine in the world worth being told your a fuck up by an over bearing gay man who has mastered Jewish guilt by telling you how your sip of wine has burnt the place down with everyone inside of it turning to ash. However, if I am getting the boot out - can I have that full glass to go?
4 comments:
umm im pretty sure this whole situation could have been avoided if you had just immediately told your boss:
"excuse me, do you EVEN KNOW WHO I AM?!?! I am a DEBUTANTE FOR CHRISTS SAKE. A FUCKING DEBUTANTE!!"
that ALWAYS works for getting out of a tight spot.
next time you're working, have a waitress bring him a glass of wine and tell him that it's from the hostess
Haha you would get fired over a glass of wine.
Erika, erika, erika... Job well done! Any resturant that isn't already serving there underage staff alcohol isn't with it. Complete over reaction on part of the manager. I always thought the perk of working at bars was that you got to drink on the side underage. Oh well c'est la vie.
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