Oh no, not another part-time job? Oh, yes, really! Part-time job, full-time job: I got 'em all!
The new PT job is at a trendy Brooklyn restaurant. I'll reveal no more: the restaurant folks might know how to use the internets. For now, I waitress & hostess, and request daily to be trained to bartend. Mostly, I hostess.
Before I ever hosted, I assumed that the main requirement was to look busty. So I showed up to work in a lowcut top the first day. This was not such a success, mostly because lowcut tops are only interesting if you have boobs. (See: failed attempt at boobal growth spurt.)
Really being a hostess involves three things:
1. Being fake. Fake Madeleine is delighted to see you. This is the first time she's heard that joke! You're so clever, and really, Fakeleine will seat you before all those other folks.
2. Climbing up stairs in front of people. Do you think I can't tell when you're staring at my ass? Oh, I can tell. I've changed tactics, and now I wear tight skirts, instead of lowcut tops. The kitchen staff likes it, and I've been getting free shots from the bartenders.
3. Trying to convince people to sit inside, when clearly the best seats are outside. This involves lying about the respective wait times and performing a hard sell on the greatness of air conditioning.
And that's all really. Here's the best part: the other night I worked, and so much standing was involved that I could feel my feet swelling, and varicose veins a'forming. All was redeemed when at the end of the night, the boss Vito said, "You did good" and slipped me an extra twenty bucks. Not being a hooker, I've never before been slipped an extra twenty for doing well, and I've got to report: it's pretty nice.