A few
weeks before I was hired at what I will now refer to as “that
unfortunate place,” I had gone to the restaurant where I used to
work to ask them if they needed help. It's not that I'm a masochist,
I just don't like change. After finally finding the new location
(it's down an unmarked alley with no sign until the city lets them
put one up after 19:00), I wandered in to find the old manager still
working there. He was excited to see me and promised he would try to
convince the owner to take me back.
“I
can't make any promises though. You know him, he's stubborn.”
Well
stubborn's the nice way of saying it. I would have said
something else. In any case, I heard back from him a few days later
that they already had enough people working there but he would try to
get me a job at one of the coffee houses in the center of town. I
thought about it for a few minutes and decided that the hours of a
coffee shop would be very difficult for someone who doesn't live in
the city. And whose brain doesn't start working until at least 9:00
and one cup of coffee. The idea of dragging myself out of bed to go
serve people coffee (people who aren't me) was even more horrible
than the memory of dragging myself out of bed for an 8:00 physics
class. At least I could sleep in physics class. Which I did.
I
thanked him for trying and figured I'd have to go out looking for
something new. Finding a waitressing job in Jerusalem isn't so
difficult if you have experience. Finding a waitressing job in a
restaurant with coworkers who aren't insane, super high strung,
shifty-eyed, sleazy, more neurotic than I am,
or crazy French people (normal French people are wonderful
people, don't get me wrong. It's the crazy ones that should never be
foisted upon the good people of society) is another story. I'm at a
point in my life where I've had enough nonsense, and I don't tolerate
being treated disrespectfully. Luckily I'm not hurting financially so
I don't have to work anywhere I don't want to work.
I saw
an online posting a few days later that the restaurant had put up for
waitstaff. I just rolled my eyes. Here you have someone who worked
for you for a year and was fairly competent, asking for her job back
and you would rather find someone new whom you'll have to train and
for all you know is a reject from the Israel Circus School or
secretly a robot? Really? I wasn't sure if I should be insulted or
very relieved.
After
the whole quitting “that unfortunate place” after 3 days thing, I
was semi-browsing the wanted ads just in case I happened to stumble
upon the perfect job. Maybe one for a jacuzzi tester in Tel Aviv
hotels or a chimpanzee babysitter. Obviously I was not too
optimistic, but I figured I'd at least look. No one ever died from
looking for a job. I don't think, anyway.
My
mother kept nagging me to go to the zoo and see if they have a job
available. I was somewhat reluctant because it would take forever for
me to get there by bus, and from what I've heard their budget is not
doing well. And as I told my mother, I was afraid that once I entered
the zoo, they wouldn't let me out again. Maybe an irrational fear,
but one that's my mother's fault since she used to call me “her
little monkey” when I was a kid.
About a
month after my little “visit” to the restaurant, I got a call
from the manager asking if I was still looking for a job. I informed
him that I had not yet found anything else so I'd be happy to come
back to work.
He was
like, “excellent, come in next week with a black shirt, a black
skirt, and a tie.”
“Wait,
what?”
“It's
ok, I have a tie you can wear if you don't have one.”
“A
tie?”
“Yes.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“What
is this, the Olive Garden? I don't even know how to tie a tie!”
“I'll
tie it for you.”
“Women
in ties look stupid.”
In the
end I agreed, because I'm an idiot. An idiot who doesn't mind
looking like an idiot too.
Then it
occurred to me that if I was going to wear a tie, I'd need a
button-down shirt with a collar. Which I don't happen to have,
because I am not a man who shops at L.L. Bean. Also, because button
down shirts with collars make me look like an NFL linebacker.
So this
is how I found myself back at my old job. In case anyone is
wondering, I finally found out that the reason the owner of the
restaurant didn't want to rehire me is because I don't smile enough.
I think from now on I'm going to have him make my checks out to Miss
Frowney McScowlson.
