Jobs. Or lack thereof. That's my biggest source of contention right now . . . oh, and what not having a job means: broke bank account. Everyone in my life knows how troubled I am these days due to my jobless state. And I mean everyone (seriously. I think even the FB friend who befriended me solely because we might have played kickball in elementary school knows how desperate I am for a J-O-B.)
So one would think when a job offer comes my way, I would snatch it up like the last pair of Manolos at a Sample Sale, right? Wrong. Before you scream, "WHAT?! YOU IDIOT!" at the top of your lungs, here's what happened. (It does involve a little backstory, so hold your horses.)
Bradford plays for a men's league soccer team sponsored by the Madra Rua Pub out of North Charleston. So that means after most games, the guys will go up to the pub for a pint to show support and say, Thanks a bunch for shelling out hundreds to let us play. One of the pub owners also plays on the team and has been trying to help me find a job (it's ALL ABOUT CONNECTIONS HERE.) He asked me a few months ago if I'd be willing to wait tables. I basically said, "That would be my last resort." Now hold up. Let me interject that I don't think I'm too good to be a server. In fact, I've got some waitressing hours under my belt. BUT.
What it boils down to is that I've been in journalism/public relations for nearly a decade . . . which means I started my "career" right out of college (and I mean like a month after I graduated.) So I feel like if I'm going to work in F&B, I want it to be my very, very, very last resort. Make sense?
So on Sunday, Bradford came home from the pub and said that Jason, the owner two paragraphs above, asked him if I would want to wait tables at Madra Rua. I'm not sure what Bradford told him because when he was telling me this, all I could think was, OH! JOB OP!, and then I immediately followed up that thought with, WAIT. JASON WANTS ME TO WORK THERE? I mean, the pub is nice, don't get me wrong. But it's a pub, so it's dark with about 478 TVs blaring college football games nonstop . . . which would be perfect for a twenty-something guy whose girlfriend won't let him watch sports at home. And did I mention it was dark?!
Bradford and I didn't talk anymore about it. It was sort of swept under the rug, and I felt like we had an agreement that maybe Madra wasn't the place for me to work. So last night after their game, I went to the pub with the guys. While we were drinking our pints, Jason said, "Hey, if anyone knows anybody who wants to wait tables here, let me know." And then, all you could hear were crickets as everyone fell silent because, let's face it. Errr'body knew that was an indirectly direct job offer for moi.
I should've jumped off my stool and shouted, "I DO! ME! ME! ME!" right? But what did I do? I took a sip of my Sweetwater IPA and stared intently at whatever soccer game highlights were on the tube. All I could think about was, How much is minimum wage these days? I wonder how much in tips the servers get. How many nights will I miss dinner with Bradford and Thomas? And, OMG! It's so dark in here!
I'm torn guys. Completely. When is it time to throw in the towel, swallow my pride and realize that Paul Nunez in HR at the SC Aquarium is not going to call me back about the public relations manager position?
What do y'all think?