Scenes from and Italian Restaurant

What Billy Joel never told me about New York? That everybody lies on their resumes.

Well I’m sure that’s not completely true, but as I dedicated my life completely and utterly to getting a job from Sunday through Thursday that seemed to be the advice I was getting. In New York, you see, to get a job as a hostess (not waitress) you have to have at least “two years New York experience” to work at the most casual of Manhattan's restaurant. How does every applicant going out for the jobs here have such experience on their resume and hasn’t moved on to become a waitress, or move on to better restaurants or, you know, get a real job? Well according to at least 5 different sources “oh just lie about it.” It seems like every person I know here has a different story about either lying themselves to get a job or somebody they know lying; whether it’s the restaurant industry or retail, they’re doing some “resume padding.”

Though Iafter 40 job applications I was tempted, it is my great pleasure to tell you that I did not stoop so low. I officially landed a job at an Italian restaurant in Soho, and I didn’t lie in any way shape or form. How did I get it? Well, simply put, I’m attractive and English is my first language. I got the job by showing up for the interview, where my manager, told me they were (in heavy Italian accent) “to be honest looking for experience, but, eh, if you want to show up in an hour we’ll try you out. No guarantees, but maybe.” Needless to say, I canceled my dinner date with a friend and did show up in half an hour and started my training.

About the job: I’m working for a bunch of Italians who fit every Italian stereotype they can. They’re overly friendly-the owner/chef kissed me on both cheeks my second day of training. They love wine-said chef starts drinking near the end of his shift, while on the job, and they practically force a glass of wine in my hand at the end of my own shift (I’m not sure if they know that I’m underage, but even if they did, I’m not sure they’d care enough to remember). The manager, owner, and chef all obviously talked about me in Italian the first day and whether they wanted to keep me; the only reason I knew the answer was yes was because the next minute the manager was asking me if I wanted a glass of wine and telling me I had to show up at 8 the next day.

Everything in this city happens at the speed of light. I went to bed Wednesday night thinking that I could never get a job here, and I ended up going home at 11:30 Thursday night with the guarantee that if I didn’t mess up Friday I had the job. Tonight I am going to bed with a job, but with no acting prospects in sight, but who knows what tomorrow may bring.