3 Things You Learn When You First Become a Cocktail Waitress

My bar frolicking during Hurricane Sandy led me to taking a second job as a cocktail waitress. The bar I spent my time out during the storm had an opening and I gladly accepted. In a city like NYC, you can never have too much money, too many friends or too many connections. Since I was lacking all of these things, I was anxious to get started. As much as I loved starting my NYC bar working escapades, I had no idea what I was in for taking on another job. Here are the three most important things I learned in my first few months working as a cocktail waitress:

1. Your diet suffers. Regardless of what kind of diet you are or are not on – your diet suffers. When working two jobs, it’s impossible to find time to sit down and have a healthy meal every day of the week. I cannot tell you how many times I had a bag of twizzlers and a 16 oz. Red Bull between jobs and called it dinner. Lucky for me, with the amount of running around I did at the bar with a tray in my hand, I was able to work off the calories in a slice of $1 pizza from next door in one shift.

2. You will meet a MILLION people. You will meet people from all over the world doing amazing and not so amazing things. I have made some friends just from waiting on them in the bar. If you need to make friends or make connections working at a bar is the way to do it.

2. You will drink A LOT more.  For example, this is how my Fridays would go:

“Oh man work week is done, it’s 5 o’clock, I gotta get home and have a glass of pinot before heading to the bar for my shift.”

“Pinot – you are so good to me. I need another glass while I do my hair.”

“Crap, gotta chug my 3^rd glass of pinot to get to the bar on time for my shift.”

At work

“Cute men in suits out for happy hour? Sure I’ll do a celebration shot with you!”

“Whoa there’s a lesbian birthday party tonight? I’ll make bank for sure!”

“BIRTHDAY PARTY – of course I will do a shot you fabulous ladies and amazingly dressed gay men.”

“Another birthday shot – You only turn 27 once, legooooo!”

From Bartender: “Nicole, you want me to make you a drink – anything you want!? Or how about a shot? Jameo good? Ok here ya go!”

Once off work

 “Let’s do shots guys! Picklebacks all around!”

“Can I get a double vodka soda with lemon…hold the soda.”

“Omg it’s light outside – 6 AM – where’s the after party??”

After Party

“Beer pong challenge! Ok, ok let’s do waitresses vs. bartenders! It will be soooo fun! Bring it bitches!”

"Oh are us waitresses being too sexy and distracting you male bartenders?! Now, watch us dance to Beyonce!!

“It's 9 AM, did I just fall asleep on the toilet? Ok just one more drink and I gotta get outta here.”

“I need a cab, I need a cab, I need a cab.”

At home

“Ok so its 10:30 AM and I start my next bar shift in how many hours?….is my alarm set?…. wait, what day is it?”

Now, there are a million other little bar tidbits I will share, but looking back on my experience these are the first things I learned and experienced. Just wait - working for a small bar in NYC is like a damn reality show: juicy, "real" and full of drama.

Hurricane Sandy

Just under 2 months at the new job, NYC gets hit with a massive storm – Hurricane Sandy. As devastating as this storm was to many parts of the northeast, I was luckily unharmed. The storm provided me with some free vacation time from work and I used it to my advantage.  The city shut down for days and parts of Manhattan didn’t have power for a week or longer. Of course, I barely paid attention to the weather forecast over the weekend and woke up on the Sunday before the storm hit to panicked phone calls from both of my parents and my aunt. I was running out of time to get out of the city and take cover because so many train and bus lines had stopped running or were about to cut service. I figured I better not try to brave this storm alone (my roommate was staying with her boyfriend) so my friend from home, Erica, so graciously invited me over to eat junk food, drink wine and watch bad TV until she loses power from 70 mph winds.  After I made my way over to her place, we checked the news every few hours.  By doing so, we had learned that many parts of lower Manhattan were flooded, without power and the Jersey Shore was no more (SUCH a disappointment…ha).  After about 24 hours of this routine, we had severe cabin.  We had hit our limit on eating bodega food and Netflix serious so we had to find something a bit more exciting to occupy our time. 

While finishing up our third bag of potato chips and last six pack of beer, Erica received a text from a friend who was bartending at a spot in Manhattan that had lost electricity, but was otherwise unscathed.  He was bartending by candle light and insisted we come down. When we walked outside, Erica’s neighborhood in Midtown didn’t show any signs of being hit by a storm and looked completely normal. All of the stores and restaurants appeared to be conducting business as usual.  We easily found a cab and ventured downtown. Now, anyone who has ever rode in a cab in NYC (or possibly anywhere) knows that the ride can range from feeling comfortable to jerky to damn scary to praising Allah that you will survive the ride.  My ride that evening made me want to plead with any religious deity that would listen me because as soon as we left the part of Manhattan that had electricity, everything went black.  Cabs were flying down the streets with no traffic lights to obey, coming and going as they please through the darkness.  Seeing one of the brightest cities in the world go completely black brought on the most bizarre, post-apocalyptic like feelings I have ever had. It only got worse when we got out of the cab to walk down the street and try to determine which bar was the correct one to enter.  After making it to the bar and settling down from my wild ride, I knew we made the right choice. There were a few locals inside, everyone was super chill and the bartender Erica knew, Jason, was someone who went to our high school. I never thought a town of 300 people could produce 3 awesome New Yorkers. Jason introduced me to my first pickle back shot, if you haven’t tried it, you must. It is a shot of whisky followed by a shot of pickle juice to be used as a chaser. They are delicious, but keep track of how many you take – they can be deadly if not monitored closely.  Erica and I spent the next 3 nights in the candle-lit bar hanging out with the owner, a few employees and the bar regulars playing games and doing shots. Who knew you could have so much fun without electricity.  Lesson learned.

The Job Hunt

I started my job with the Labor Board in May and by the end of June, I knew I needed out.  The longest I could stay in this job, since it was a co-op, was mid November. I figured if I started job hunting in July, I could hopefully have something together before then. Since I had fallen in love with the city, I wasn't about to move home if I could avoid it.

The first job I got a call for was for a HR Coordinator for a popular magazine.  During the phone interview with the magazine's recruiter, the evil, most hated question was brought up: what is your current salary? I hate this question because since I am in HR, I know why it's asked. Companies want to know how cheap they can aquire you. It's pretty pathetic, but in this economy, if you need a job, what's a girl gonna do? I explained my current salary to the recruiter and she responds, "Oh well this job is only paying a max of $30,000 a year. Would that work for you?"  Needless to say, since I lived in New York and was supporting myself with no mommy or daddy help, that conversation ended right there.

Next, I had lined up a phone interview with a fashion retailer for an HR Coordinator role. I was beyond excited because what girl doesn't love fashion? After the standard interview questions, the dreaded salary question was brought up. I explained what my salary was and what I was looking for.  The recruiter then said, "This job starts at $12.00.  This is a job for someone to get their foot in the door with the company and work their way up. How does that sound?" I wanted to tell him that it sounded like a fucking bad joke, but I held my tongue. I told him that was less than half of my current hourly rate so that wouldn't be an option for me. He responds by saying, "The rate you are looking for would be what our HR Managers rate would be and we currently do not have any openings for that role.  Are you still interested in the Coordinator role?" Wow, was all I could think. I thanked him for his time and told him no way Jose.

After weeks of more unsuccessful internet applications, I received a phone call from a Pittsburgh based company about a HR Specialist role.  They saw my resume and saw that I was from the Pittsburgh area and wanted to invite me for an interview. Perfect - for once being from the land of nowhere paid off. On the day of my interview, I knew that I had made an excellent impression. If there is one thing I know how to do, it's how to rock an in person interview. It's my thing. In a few days, I received a job offer. After a day or two thinking over the offer, I gladly accepted. I knew that this job could secure me some more time in my new city and advance me in my career - what could be better than that?

Sex Clubs Do Exist

I am not sure if anyone has really read Candace Bushnell’s well known book "Sex and the City" or if people skipped the book and went right to the show – which of course is a personal favorite of mine, cliché yes, but so what?  In an early part of the book, the main character enters a sex club with one of her guy friends to see what it’s all about. I read this book years ago when living in the big apple was just a day dream and since I was a small town girl, I assumed this sex club portion was complete bullshit. And as usual, I assumed wrong.

One Saturday, I was in the kitchen attempting to cook something, when my roommate comes my way and asks, "So what are you going to do tonight?" Since I had no life or plans (knowing no one was getting a little old) I responded by telling her probably staying in. I then asked, "What are you doing tonight?" Now usually when someone asks that question, in my mind common responses are the following:

1. Heading to dinner with some friends

2. Date night with my boyfriend

3. It’s my friend’s birthday so we are going boozing

4. Going to guzzle down two bottles of wine and Netflix it up

My roommate, however, had much more unique Saturday night plans. She starts to answer my question with "Well, I am not sure if I should tell you because I haven’t known you very long." I think to myself ok cool, no problemo, so I told her, "Oh no worries, you don’t need to tell me." However, she continued on. "I am going to this club with my boyfriend and it’s kind of an exclusive thing." I should have just said that’s cool, but curiosity got the best of me, so I continued on, "Where’s the club", I asked, "what kind of club is it?"

My roommate and her boyfriend were going to a sex club that night. She nonchalantly explained all the details. I was intrigued and I couldn’t stop asking questions. I think if someone was watching our conversation from the outside, they would have grabbed me, looked me in the eyes and said "Dorothy, you’re not in Kansas anymore." Because I will tell you one thing, western PA doesn’t have sex clubs. We have strip clubs where women show off their c-section scars.

My roommate had been to the sex club once before and her boyfriend was way into it. They thought it was a fun way to spice things up. To gain access to the club, you have pre-apply and send photos of yourself and a little write-up. Then if the club deems you worthy, you are allowed to go. There is also a cost associated with it and from what I remember, it wasn’t cheap. That Saturday night, the club was doing a beach theme and my roommate was struggling because she didn’t have a slutty, sexy dress to wear. Well, since I knew that was right up my alley, I asked, "So do you want to borrow one of my dresses?"

That night, my roommate strutted her stuff in my dress at the sex club while I spent the night on the phone with friends giggling and googling sex clubs.

Can I Have the Rest?

No female wants a boss that creeps them the hell out. Every woman everywhere can agree on this topic. This is especially true if the boss is a male. This is even more true if the female is in her early twenties, starting a new job and just moved to a new city where she doesn’t know anyone. That’s right… this girl is me and I have never been more weirded out by another individual in my entire life than I was by my boss at the Labor Board.

During my first few weeks of employment, people kept saying to me, "Wow New York has to be quite the change from Indiana!" I would laugh and agree completely. I kept saying to myself how nice it was that people actually knew that my hometown was near Indiana, PA. Yes that's right, a town by the name of Indiana in the state of Pennsylvania. One day, I was speaking with one of the attorneys that was helping me with my first case and he says, "So how does a girl from Pennsylvania end up in Indiana?" I was super confused and responded, "I am not sure what you mean. I don't even think I've ever been to Indiana." He laughs and says, "Oh very funny!" He then mocks me by saying, "I've never been to Indiana, but I go to Indiana University for grad school." He continues to laugh. I really had no idea what to do at this point. Somehow these people in this office thought I went to Indiana University, like some high roller, when I really went to Indiana University of Pennsylvania, a small state school in the middle of nowhere, google that too. Fuck. I asked him who told him that and he says, "Oh [insert creepy boss name here] told everyone before you arrived that you went to Indiana University." This is the first instance that I realized that my boss, Creepy Boss Man, was an idiot.

Creepy Boss Man did me a marvelous favor by assigning me a "mentor" for my time at the Labor Board. Since I never knew when he was in the office until he popped his elf like body onto my desk (Literally, he did sit there. He would let one leg hang down over the desk and prop the other one on his thigh. SO. DAMN. GROSS.) he found it beneficial to have someone else assist me in case he wasn't around. He told me how great she was and how much we had in common. He said we would be a perfect match in his eyes and we would learn so much from each other. I cannot tell you how much this scared me. A lot. After we were introduced to one another, I wanted to ask Creepy Boss Man this: What on earth made you think that I would have a lot in common with an older, black woman born and raised in Queens. Her attitude was worse than mine, and if I ever wanted to feel like a total fucking idiot, I knew coming to Queens was the solution. Queens was much more comparable to the bad bosses that I mentioned above. After working with her a few times, I decided she wasn't worth my time and became a hermit in my office doing my own work and asking for help from no one. Thanks Creepy Boss Man for your wonderful assistance.

One day, Creepy Boss Man swings in my office and asks if I can go to lunch with him. I really wanted to ask if I even had a choice in the matter, but instead I smiled and agreed to go. He takes me to some small, intimate place in Tribeca. It was dimly lit and had candles on the table even though it was 1:00 PM on a weekday. This is the last place any female would want to go with her much older male boss for lunch. Of course Creepy Boss Man orders a cocktail and insists I do the same. I kindly refused maybe 10 times before he let it go. The lunch chat was about Creepy Boss Man's daughter and his days as a boy scout. He told me that he thought I would be interested in his boy scout days and camping trips because that is what people do in Indiana. I bet it is, I thought. I ordered a chicken sandwich and I ate probably 3/4 of the sandwich. After Creepy Boss Man had a few more cocktails, I noticed him eyeing up my sandwich. A few minutes later, his hand reaches across the table, grasps what is left of my sandwich and says, "Can I have the rest?"

　

I wish I could tell you what happened when I turned in my two week notice to Creepy Boss Man. I have no recollection of this at all. According to Wikipedia, clearly an excellent source (lol), my behavior is technically referred to as Motivated Forgetting. That's right people, motivated forgetting. It is a psychological defense mechanism in which people may forget unwanted memories, either consciously or unconsciously. After all of the awkward office chats with Creepy Boss Man, his weird eating habits (I avoided sitting anywhere near him at any work events where food was served), and his "quirky" (quirky was the nicest word I could think of using here) habits, I repressed my final days at the Labor Board because they were clearly too awkwardly painful for me.

Keys to the Loo

When people ask me how my experience was at the National Labor Relations Board. , the word I use is confusing.  From before I started, with the paperwork, to the day I left, I was more confused than a 12 year old girl going through puberty. I usually regard myself as a somewhat intelligent adult and there was not a single day that did not go by that I wasn’t confused.  With most issues, my confusion went to frustration and then my frustration went to anger. Let me provide you with an example numero uno.  The first day I was introduced to no one and I was shown where nothing was except for a windowless hole in a wall room with a desk that was older than my grandfather that they called my office and then I was left alone. Luckily, I had my usual morning coffee and I slurped it down while waiting for the office administrator to take me to training. Next thing I know, I have to piss like a race horse. I get up and start wandering the halls in search of the bathroom.  Finally, I found the woman and her dress and grabbed the door handle to push open the door. It was locked. Lovely, so now I had to go locate the bathroom key keeper. I find the receptionist and she kindly lets me use her key.  I asked about future bathroom use and she told me that “Marvin” (I don’t remember the man’s name, but he was at least 90 years old, spoke slow, moved slow and was always in the hospital) would have to get me a copy of the key. I made a mental note and headed to the bathroom.

Weeks later, I still had not received my bathroom key.  I confronted Marvin and he said he would have one the next day. Amazingly, when I arrived at work the following day, there was a key waiting for me. I almost skipped to the bathroom with my new key because I was finally able to not have to alert the receptionist every time I had to pee or God forbid throw up from being hung over.  Of course, I come to find that the key doesn’t work in the door - excellent job Marvin.  I find him later and tell him my key doesn’t work.  He takes a look and says, “Oh this is the key for the men’s bathroom. You need the women’s key right?” I thought this question was rhetorical, but he stood there waiting for an answer from me. Hooray, I officially look like a man, thanks Marvin. I did eventually get my bathroom key, but halfway through the summer, the key suddenly stopped working; surprise!

Here I Am! But Who Cares?

After I decided on my new Brooklyn pad, I frantically packed up all of my things and was set on a road trip with my mother and grandfather to get all of my precious items to their new home.  We spent the first weekend in May, moving in all of my stuff.  I then had to return to western PA to finish up all of my graduate school finals before I was in NYC permanently.  I returned to my new home a week or so later.  When I got off the plane at JFK, I wanted to yell “Here I am, NYC!”  I was in quite a good spot; I was about to start a new job with the feds, it was the start of summer and I was NYC’s newest resident. I could not wait to strut my stuff down the street knowing that this was my new home.

Although I was thrilled to a new NYC resident and my friends and family were thrilled for me, I soon found out that NYC didn’t care one bit that I had arrived. During my first week in the city, I was spending my time exploring and getting my new room together. I had a few days until I started my new job and I wasn’t wasting them! With that being said, I had no schedule and nowhere that I was trying to be in a hurry. I soon realized that I was the only one living that way. I was poked, pushed and prodded everywhere I went! People didn’t care if I was slowly walking to the subway platform while I was trying to figure out whether I needed to be going towards Pelham Bay Park or Brooklyn Bridge, they had somewhere to be and I was in their way. Same goes for the grocery store, parks, and crossing the street… if a New Yorker sees you, you are passing them or in their path, then you are in their way.

Being raised in a very strict family, I was literally spanked as a child if I didn't use my manners.  Thanks to my mother's discipline growing up, the most surprising and disturbing part of all this is the fact that no one ever said “Excuse me” when I was bumped or in most cases slammed into.  During my first few weeks, I cannot tell you how angry I got by the lack of courtesy. I remember telling my grandmother on the phone one evening, "Gaga, people keep running right into me and never say excuse me! I don't understand why they are so rude; were they raised by wolves?"  Two weeks later, in my mail I found a package from my grandmother. Inside contained a book titled "Were You Raised by Wolves?: Clues to the Mysteries of Adulthood" by Christine Mellor. I read the book soon after and had a few laughs. As my time goes on walking and subway riding throughout the city, the bumps and pushes bother me less and less, but sometimes I still think of the book and laugh to myself, wondering if I should carry the book around with me and ask the exceptionally rude if they would like to borrow it sometime.