A bad time, this, the week before Christmas, to be looking for work. The standard hours, 2-4, the slow hours, all the restaurants are full. I don't remember this - not recently, the city died a couple of years ago, and we had no rush at Xmas whatsoever. But it didn't die, not completely, just the big Oil Money, and life in the city picked up in a hundred other locations. New restaurants, every one, I've never set foot in most of them, good to see they're busy; a few, you know your resume is heading into the dustbin, I should have edited, aimed for bartender, there's a clear trend to the young and pretty servers, hide the ugly men behind the bar. I'd be fine with it, but a few of them, knock-kneed and unsure, well, they clearly don't know what they're doing, and appearances aside I've always been a fan of competence. Walking, walking, past the bombed out husks of Chianti's, Fiore's on 17th, Morgans, overdue, every restaurant has their day and these had theirs, on 8th Avenue the shell and signage of Divino's, I never worked there but the pretension - even on the application, was transparent, a short essay on your favorite 3 cheeses, the wines you'd pair them with, what your favorite black and white French film was, a bit much, and dropping off resumes, again and again, in unlikely doorways to women 30 years my junior who check it as if to make sure I have some qualifications, experience, how flattering...
I go out now armed with 20 resumes, I used to hate this, would apply for a job and get it, hated turning down job offers because I'd over-applied, but that hasn't happened in a long time. As you get older and older it becomes more and more like looking for gold, the industry prefers the young and beautiful, not the old and decrepit, and, wandering into one restaurant on 17th that seems to have weathered the storms I get it, an old clown in a white shirt and black vest, bald head, literally a clown, the saddest waiter the world has ever seen, and man oh man do I understand...