News!

I should probably change the name of my blog to “Underemployed but not Unloved” because I have nailed down some tentative service and education industry employment!

One of the worst things about being unemployed was that my old mainstays (barista-ing and substitute teaching) did not seem to be panning out. DC requires you to obtain your own FBI clearance before you can become certified to substitute teach.  That takes two months.  Then the processing time for the city to certify subs is six weeks.  I dropped off my application (you have to do it in person) in December so I am still waiting for my certification.  After that I can apply to be put into the system. This is a far cry from suburban Connecticut where all I did was show up and submit to a 20-minute interview.  I think the certification and background checks are a good idea, I just wish they were not so tine consuming.

If you can tolerate children and sullen, incurious teenagers, subbing is a decent way to stave off abject (but not general) poverty.  Most of the time all you need is a bachelor’s degree and thick skin.  

So, I’m on my way!

On the service end of things, I’ve been working at a coffee shop/bakery/eatery in Arlington for a few weeks now as a cashier and gopher. I’d mention it by name but somehow feel like that might inhibit my ability to type smack.  Google revels all y’all.  Eventually, they’ll train me to barista.  I’ve done barista training twice now (Illy trained in London and Café D’Arte in Portland) and places have very different techniques when it comes to tamping etc.  Counter Culture, who are a big effing deal in the coffee world, will eventually conduct my training here.

The awesome thing about this job is that it forces me to focus on just a few tasks for long periods of time.  When I am in an office, I can procrastinate.  At a service job, its important for me to always “look” busy even if I am doing eff all…

I know for a fact that service jobs have prepared me for clients. Knowing when to hold ‘em, when to fold ‘em and when to walkaway are skills the service industry pounds into you one anal retentive, grabby, cokehead chef or manager at a time!

Now, to be fair, the chef at my current job is not grabby and is not a cokehead.  I’ve heard he can be nasty but so far he’s been fine with me. Of course, I am prepared for that to change. In fact, I’m bracing for it.

Thankfully, a few previous service jobs have given me a thicker hide than I thought possible.  We’re talking Alligator-thick skin my friends.  What made it this way?  I bring you:

                                                    Tales of Service Woes:

GAP:  I worked here my first year of college.  They would give me ridiculously early shifts, have me clean the bathroom and subjected me to “Rah rah GAP!” talk constantly.  I lasted about a month but I did get some super cute pants out of it.

Sally Beauty Supply:  I worked here the summer after my first year of college with several people that St. Louis natives would call “hoosiers.”  One of my co-workers, a purple haired Smith College attendee was the worst of the lot.  In addition to having sex in the back room with her underaged, high school drop out boyfriend, she called me during her lunch break at my first full day of work to say:

“Ohmigod we’re at McDonalds and my boyfriend overdosed on heroin! I am going to be late!!!”

The fuck??

My London job at a start up soul restaurant was a revolving door of cray-cray:

Manager 1: Dutch, beyond model thin, high strung, enjoyed insulting me and speaking to me as if I had a cognitive disability. Fired.

Manager 2: Nice young man of few words. Often high. Fired.

Manager 3: Smoking hot Aussie who made it clear I was being hired because of the way I looked and my convenient ethnicity/Nationality (Black American at a Soul Food restaurant?! Perfect). Crazy coke habit and therefore…. inconsistent.  Uncomfortably hot (thanks for the phrase Megs) for someone I had to be in close contact with on a regular basis. Fired.

Manager 4: Portly, grabby British guy who dropped C bombs (over Baghdadddddddd).

Manager 5: Super cute and chill young woman. Awesome.

Manager 6: Slightly uptight but had gone on a blind date with Orlando Bloom (he was watching his carbs at the time)

Chefs 1 & 2: brothers from Newcastle who would come and yell at the waiters in the middle of service. Fired.

Chef 3: Lecherous bald Polish chef who made me Eggs Benedict for my birthday. Fired.

Chef 4: Nice normal Irish lass.  Finally! (Of course, I left like 2 weeks after she was hired)

A Note on working in London:  Waitressing/serving/barista-ing in London at 21-22 years old were the perfect jobs at the perfect ages.  My friends were an international crew of ridiculously good looking and awesome people who also worked service jobs.  I rarely paid to enter a club.  I almost never paid for my own drinks or my own food (taking home the surplus and staff meals! Yessssss). I once saw Prince Harry at a Club (he said “pardon me” to me as he brushed past). I went to a private party with Busta Rhymes (hold on, I have to stop and pick up those names I dropped).  By the time I left I could drink seven martinis and manage a halfway decent British accent.  I earned enough money to travel and have even more adventures.  It. Was. Sweet.

So, yes, I am always thankful that a service job is a still a pleasant option, even if it is not a passion.