Big City Dreams
Dear Janessa,
Sorry, things have been crazy. Between waitressing and singing and getting used to New York I haven’t had much time to write. That last letter was scribbled between shifts real fast (I wish I could tell you otherwise, but it is the truth). From here on out my letter writing skills will be top notch. Cross my heart and hope to die.
Where to start? Work is great. It is pretty much all I do. I waitress from about noon until seven or eight most nights. You know the drill. At nine each night I take the stage. That’s by far my favorite part of the night. There is no better feeling than standing on the stage with a band behind me belting out a tune while people dine. I know the people aren’t really there to hear me, but it’s nice to pretend they are. I never told you how I got this job did I? It was pretty much pure luck or an act of God. I’m starting to think this whole moving to New York thing was an act of God. Everything is just turning out perfectly.
After looking for a job for about a week I wondered into this restaurant. It had been a tough week so I decided to treat myself to a nice lunch. The place was crazy packed, but the food smelled delicious. When I finally got a table the waiter immediately apologized.
“We just had three waiters quit and are severely understaffed,” he explained.
“Well I have like seven years waitressing experience if you want to slip this to your boss,” I said handing him a resume from the pile I grew accustomed to carrying around with me everywhere.
“I will definitely do that,” he said smiling the biggest, whitest smile I’ve ever seen. He even had these cute little dimples on each side. He poured me a glass of water and took my order before walking away. Not even fifteen minutes later he came back with my sandwich and an older guy wearing a suit.
“How old are you?” they guy who I assumed to be the manager asked.
“Eighteen,” I answered carefully.
“How do you have seven years waitressing experiences?”
“My mom owns a diner. I’ve been helping her since I was eleven.”
He looked me up and down. “You have ten minutes to eat your sandwich then come back into the kitchen. Think of this as your interview.” And with that he left.
“You are my favorite person in the world right now,” I said to the waiter. He flashed another dimpled smile before walking away.
I scarfed down my sandwich and made my way back to the kitchen. The manager guy gave me an apron, a pad, and a pen. He ranted on about what I needed to do. The waiter from before gave me a thumbs up as I entered the dining area.
I nailed it.
I’ve been working here ever since. The manager heard me singing one night while I was closing up. He put me on the stage the next night.
As far as my sucky letter writing skills go. I think you need to tell me more about your life in Kentucky. You always talk about Owen, but what’s going on with you? How’s your relationship? How are classes at the U? Tell me everything!
Love you,
Addalyn
Where to start? Work is great. It is pretty much all I do. I waitress from about noon until seven or eight most nights. You know the drill. At nine each night I take the stage. That’s by far my favorite part of the night. There is no better feeling than standing on the stage with a band behind me belting out a tune while people dine. I know the people aren’t really there to hear me, but it’s nice to pretend they are. I never told you how I got this job did I? It was pretty much pure luck or an act of God. I’m starting to think this whole moving to New York thing was an act of God. Everything is just turning out perfectly.
After looking for a job for about a week I wondered into this restaurant. It had been a tough week so I decided to treat myself to a nice lunch. The place was crazy packed, but the food smelled delicious. When I finally got a table the waiter immediately apologized.
“We just had three waiters quit and are severely understaffed,” he explained.
“Well I have like seven years waitressing experience if you want to slip this to your boss,” I said handing him a resume from the pile I grew accustomed to carrying around with me everywhere.
“I will definitely do that,” he said smiling the biggest, whitest smile I’ve ever seen. He even had these cute little dimples on each side. He poured me a glass of water and took my order before walking away. Not even fifteen minutes later he came back with my sandwich and an older guy wearing a suit.
“How old are you?” they guy who I assumed to be the manager asked.
“Eighteen,” I answered carefully.
“How do you have seven years waitressing experiences?”
“My mom owns a diner. I’ve been helping her since I was eleven.”
He looked me up and down. “You have ten minutes to eat your sandwich then come back into the kitchen. Think of this as your interview.” And with that he left.
“You are my favorite person in the world right now,” I said to the waiter. He flashed another dimpled smile before walking away.
I scarfed down my sandwich and made my way back to the kitchen. The manager guy gave me an apron, a pad, and a pen. He ranted on about what I needed to do. The waiter from before gave me a thumbs up as I entered the dining area.
I nailed it.
I’ve been working here ever since. The manager heard me singing one night while I was closing up. He put me on the stage the next night.
As far as my sucky letter writing skills go. I think you need to tell me more about your life in Kentucky. You always talk about Owen, but what’s going on with you? How’s your relationship? How are classes at the U? Tell me everything!
Love you,
Addalyn