January 25, 2011 § Leave a comment
Sometimes, when you walk into a restaurant looking for a job you know that they just won’t hire you based on your age, sex, or appearance and it has nothing to do with your personality or experience.
This bar advertised walk-in interviews and bring-your-résumé type deal. I came. I saw. It was dirty.
The bartenders were also dirty, dirty jerks. Nah, but the place needed a good remodeling. Not that I care about working in a dive bar, my favorite bars are dive bars.
There was a line. I was fourth in line. I was happy to see that I had not overdressed again: black slacks, my cowboy boots, and a blazer with a hoodie underneath. This was day 2 of interviews.
Oddly enough, I recognized a dude sitting at the bar. I had met him my first week in Portland when I had stopped in for a cold one at the only college bar on campus. He was annoying, I remember that. He also drank vodka tonics and had a broken cellphone.
I attempted to use him to point out to the manager what an excellent memory I had and how that would make me a good bartender.
Me: “For example, that guy sitting over at the bar in the red shirt…”
Manager: “Yeah, Rob. He’s a pain in the ass.”
Me: “I met him around three weeks ago and he drinks vodka tonics and has cell phone that won’t text properly.”
Manager: “What? Is he texting you now?”
Me: “Huh? No, I don’t know him…”
I knew I wasn’t going to get the job because the manager clearly did not think I was old enough or hot enough to “handle” whatever dirty crowd raped the place every weekend. “We’re right across the street from a music venue and sometimes we get a lot of rock stars and drag queens in here.”
Dude, Portland is like a juice pitcher of freaks, Madison is the concentrate, i.e I can handle whatever you throw at me.
He also took my picture with an iPhone and thought I was friends with his biggest pain in the ass customer.
I showered, that’s where I went wrong.