For those NOT privy to the updates of my professional freeloading profile on LinkedIn OR the brief Newsfeed item declaring my employment change on Facebook, I began a new drifting, non-career job about two months ago. And being that everyone wants to hire someone with experience, it is yet another dining and drinking establishment, this time featuring Prohibition-era beverages, reminiscent of a time when citizens broke the law in support of alcoholics, and carb-heavy, stroke-inducing comfort food. Delicious.
But while I am in favour of fried anything and beverages including at least two kinds of hard alcohol, this job is not without its stresses. The place is small, the building is old and, when the owner gets bored he makes decisions, most of which tend to affect somebody’s job performance. Not to mention that the Accounts Payable department, a 26-year-old with Quickbooks and an office chair, has a hard time writing cheques that equal more than pieces of paper. At least twice, I have been paid in cash after making two to three trips to the bank, where a heavyset, badly-suited woman tells me that she cannot cash my cheque and NO, she can not tell me why, because that’s privileged information. I usually guess out loud that it’s insufficient funds and, judging by the look of irritation on her face, I know that I’m right. After this happens, I return to the office and inform Accounts Payable, who cannot write me a real cheque but can ask me to dinner after informing another employee that he prefers to date 18-year-olds, that the bank has refused to pay me.
To which he replies: “Oh, yeah. I know.” When can I really cash my cheque? “Tomorrow.” I have resorted to spending in imaginary dollars. And possibly purchasing the Fisher Price plastic fruit of my youth and living on pretend groceries to save money.
Bank of America balance: $ Enough to pay rent
Imaginary Bank balance: $ Eleventy-thousand dollars (plus interest)
Credit Score: Negative zero
Other riveting tales from Flapper Land include petty fights over where to put the alcohol, how much cash to put in the cash register, where to store jugs of water, and how many lanterns we should put in the pee-scented alley out back to add to our “ambience.” In my opinion: in my belly, as much as we have, in the fridge, and zero. Also, as a note, these alley lanterns have kerosene in them to contribute to that old-timey feel, but they are often left in boxes on their side, where all the kerosene leaks out and the boxes are doused in flammable liquids. If you ever go out to eat here, DO. NOT. LIGHT. UP. For days. Maybe weeks. You WILL catch fire.
But perhaps the greatest dilemma of recent weeks has been the legendary Menu-gate of 2010, an ongoing battle about whose responsibility it is to print real menus for a restaurant that’s already open (up until now, we’ve been using laminated pieces of paper and killing thousands of trees in cover stock to print our ever-changing drink lists). The end result of said dilemma is that I am now responsible for printing our menus, contacting a printing company to whom we owe a large sum of money (Accounts Payable only writes cheques if you ask him to), and orchestrating the entire process exactly to Mr. Owner’s liking. Mr. Owner, by the way, communicates only through telepathy. And I suck at telepathy. Menus are still unaccounted for. Menu-gate continues.
In the meantime, I try to stay positive. However, I will admit the obstacles before me make this optimism challenging. On the upside, everyone who comes into the bar loves it, from the food to the drinks and beyond. It’s amazing, they say. What a great place. So much history. But the thing is, this is 2010. And while we are celebrating a bygone era, the fact of the matter is that it’s bygone. This is not the Roaring Twenties; this is after the Roaring Twenties. And you know what happened after Prohibition? Everyone got really poor and started eating DUST. Thanks to Mr. Owner and Accounts Payable, that’s exactly the situation I’m in. None of us are living in the glory days anymore; when you get down to it, this is nothing more than the aftermath.
(Don’t worry; I love dust.)
FUN FACT: According to the Internet, I get more website traffic when I put pictures of famous people on this blog. Surprisingly enough, the biggest numbers seem to be coming from John Glenn and Rick James. Thanks, guys.
LADY GAGA MICHAEL JACKSON OPRAH TIGER WOODS
New Year’s Resolution #10: Try to live in the present and not several decades before.
Is it me or does that Justin boy look like a young lesbian Ellen? I think you should do a side by side to compare, it will really get people to visit your blog.
I’ve just Googled this…I think he has a more boyish face (because, you know, he’s a boy), but there is definitely a resemblance. I think it’s the hair.