Don’t Quit Your Job Job
It’s Happy Hour at my work right now, which means we’re either completely dead, or slammed by oyster fanatical, cheap idiots who tip like they were raised in a damn barn (see: Europe). Today has been on the slow side, and I intermittently rang up some friends and my mom between confirmation calls to talk about hoodrat stuff. Around 4:30 a guy came in asking for the manager, dressed in pleated khakis with an overly gel-infused hairdo and clutching a manila envelope with a familiar glimmer of hope in his bespectacled blue eyes. An obvious portrait of a job-hunter. I told him the manager wasn’t available (they weren’t, as we don’t have one) and he asked if he could leave his resume with me even though I informed him we were not currently hiring. I said of course and took his resume, filing it away with the brunch menus. A few minutes after he left, I decided to check it out before it made it’s way into the recycling bin, by my hand or the “manager’s”.
The objective section wasn’t much to write home about, but I when I moved on to employments, he listed himself as having worked at Johnny Rocket’s in Irvine, CA from Winter 2005 to Spring of 2006 as a “Server/Singer/Dancer/Ketchup Smiley Face Maker Extraordinaire”. His next employment was for another season in 2006 at the Five and Diner in Pheonix, AZ as a “Serving Buddy Holly Impersonator”. I momentarily wished him back so I could ask if it was anywhere near as cool as it looked in Pulp Fiction.