Job

So I recently got fed up with being a mooch, and decided to rejoin the ranks of those who actually contribute to society. That's right, my extended stint as a trophy wife is now over. I am employed again.

Well, sort of.

The whole work thing here is tricky. There really aren't a lot of jobs out there at the moment. I've applied to a few office jobs, and never heard back (companies are receiving hundreds of applicants for each position). Even cafe jobs are difficult to come by. In fact, a couple of weeks ago when I handed out my resume to every cafe in the area, I was met with a lot of laughs (interpretation: Sweetie, you're one of hundreds who comes in here every day asking if we're hiring), a few sympathetic looks (interpretation: Aww, the poor American/Canadian--we never can tell who's who--will probably starve on the streets, but that's just her luck for traveling around the world with the global economy in the state it's in [insert Australian equivalent to "bless her heart"]), and a number of rude grunts (interpretation: I'm not even going to justify your request with a glance in your direction. Get out of here before you disrupt my Aussie coolness).

Luckily, one cafe was different. Pizza Piazza deemed my triple major from Vanderbilt University, four years of office experience, and extensive hospitality work worthy of a trial run. I went in for a "test shift" on Wednesday, and then I worked Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights as well. Considering I saw my name on the schedule for a few nights next week, I guess that means I got the job!

Already I'm learning that waiting tables here is pretty different from in the US. First of all, servers don't work off tips (but when minimum wage is $15/hr, and most servers get paid more than that, who needs them?). And because we're not working for tips, we also don't "own" our own tables, so everyone helps everyone else. This is great, but also challenging when you have three people going up to one table to ask if they would like to order dessert.

The language barrier has also been slightly more of an issue than I would have expected. Even though we all speak English, half the time I can't understand what the customers are ordering. So after serving a few too many Coronas that should have been Peronis, and pizzas that should have been pesto, I have taken to asking people to point at what they want on the menu.

Another interesting difference is that "entree" here actually means "appetizer." You can see how this might be confusing.

Customer: Could I have the chicken wings as an entree?
Me: Of course! I'll just bring them out with the rest of your food.
Customer: [long pause] Hmm... actually, I think I would prefer them as an entree.
Me: Oh, that won't be a problem. The kitchen will know that you'll want it to come out with everything else.
Customer: Is there anyone here who speaks English?

But of course, every restaurant is essentially the same. There are always surly managers, angry that they've given up every Friday and Saturday night for the rest of their lives by choosing to go into this industry, ready to yell at you as soon as you've (inevitably) done something wrong. Or the disgruntled customer who has been waiting too long for his food, and then when it finally comes out forgot to order it with bolognese sauce instead of al funghi. Or a fellow server who loves to teach you how to do things the "right" way, and of course the "right" way many times goes against what the manager tells you, so you're left to choose who to believe, and will (inevitably) be yelled at by one of them. At least I can take comfort in these little familiarities.

Despite the slight feeling of regression that I am experiencing (lots of flashbacks to college days), it's nice to have a job again. And now that I'm working in a restaurant, I can really and truly call myself a writer.