Workin' Man

We recently in my AP Language class had to write a story about an unfamiliar place. This is the idea that I decided not to write about. I think it might turn out a little flat because I’m not putting it through the extensive revisions that I would a normal essay, so read at your own discression.

I recently got a job at a local restaurant. I love to go there and I get the same thing to eat every time I go there. It wasn’t my first choice in jobs; actually I should say it was almost dead last, right in front of garbage collector. But I had been having terrible luck finding anyone who would hire me so I decided to try it out.

The first thing I noticed after getting out of my car in the parking lot was the smell. If I could only describe the wonderful mixture of pleasant aromas as the chefs were preparing the supper menu. I was immensely reassured that this would not be such a bad place to work, a thought that was reassured more by the warm greeting I received from the hostess. “What can do for you today?” she asked with a smile on her face stretching ear to ear.

“Umm…,” I said tentatively, “I came to fill out an application.”

“Excellent,” she said, “we are looking for busers. Is that what you were thinking of doing?”

I responded that I didn’t really know what I wanted to do and her face softened. “Granite City is an excellent place to get your first job. I should know.

She handed me two packets and explained that one was a standard application, which I told her I had become quite familiar with in the last two weeks. She smiled and told me the second one was a personality test, and that I could take a seat at the bar or in a booth to fill it out.

I walked over and took a seat at the bar. The cute blonde bartender walked over and asked if I wanted a pop. I told her that I didn’t. “You sure?” she asked, “Employees get free pop.” This grabbed my attention and I looked up from what I was doing surprised. She gave me a smile and a wink, and told me that they had Pepsi products. Seeing how it was the summer I asked her if she had lemonade.

“We have regular and raspberry, but might I suggest the raspberry.”

I told her that that sounded great. She went off to get my lemonade, and I started to fill out the application. It was the standard application. It asked for name, address, social security number, and all the other usual information.

Right as I was starting to do the personality test, the bartender brought my lemonade. “Wow you’re going fast,” she said, “it took me an hour to finish both my application and personality test.”

I laughed and told her that I had become somewhat of a pro from constantly filling out applications. “Tuff luck huh?” she asked, “Well don’t worry, you seem like a nice kid and we’re really desperate for help these days.”

Reassured even more by her comment I went back to the application. The questions were really random and sometimes I wondered why I had to do it. One of the questions asked if I would ever bring a weapon to work to settle a score with a co-worker. I thought that it must be a joke, and I started laughing. “You must have gotten to the one about the weapon,” remarked the bartender with a chuckle of her own, “the test is meant to weed out any obvious psychos right off so the managers don’t have to meet them face to face and tell them they don’t fit the bill.”

A little concerned that I might meet one such psycho compelled me to finish the test quickly and turn it in. Not wanting to be rude I sat and finished my lemonade before I walked up to turn in the test.

When I handed the hostess the application I thought I was done, but she informed me that I needed to meet with a general manager to set up a primary interview. She got on the phone and in a couple of minutes a cheery lady walked up picked up my application and said, “You must be Robert. It’s very nice to meet you.” I responded in an appropriate way and we sat down to talk about the job.

She told me that Granite City was a very good place to work. That they treat their employees with due respect, and really made it seem like the noblest job in the world. Then she ran through the basic duties that one does as a buser. All the drudge work she described to me seem somewhat more appealing when she put it the way she did, all buttered up and glorious like there was no better job in the world. At the conclusion she handed me a card with her name on it and on the back was the date of my next interview. Before I turned to leave I saw her slip another business card into her pocket, this one with nothing on the back. I rejoiced in the fact that I had succeeded in getting another interview.

The next Tuesday I walked into the restaurant ready to get a job. I told the hostess (a different one) why I was there and she directed me to sit while I waited for the manager who would interview me.

The interview was over quickly. The manager asked me some questions told me what would be expected of me, and then offered me the job. I was so excited to finally have gotten a job that I almost ran a red light on my way home.

The next day that same manager called me and told me that I had to come to an orientation before I could do my first training shift. So the nest Thursday I went to the restaurant, filled out the paperwork, and was told that my first training shift would be on that Saturday.

I was a little hesitant to walk in the door my first day. It was Saturday and my dad had told me that it would probably be pretty busy. The hostess at the door was the same one that I had seen the first day. Her reassuring smile slowly eased away my apprehension. “Welcome back,” she said, “I knew would get the job, a manager is in the back, and she’ll clock you in.”

I felt weird in my crisp new uniform, and I felt like I shouldn’t be there. On my way back to the kitchen a waitress bumped into me. “Sorry,” I said, even though it had clearly been her fault. She grumbled something that I didn’t hear and continued walking. Not a good first encounter with the staff.

As I stepped into the kitchen it was like I had stepped into another world completely. People were yelling and hurrying around completely oblivious of me but seeming to be in perfect sync with one another. I found a manager giving a server quick instructions before sending her on her way. She looked at me, smiled and said, “Come with me.” She told me what my number would be to clock in and who would be training me that night. She did all of this while walking backwards and amazingly staying out of peoples way.

We located the buser that would be training me, and after quick introductions it was time to work. We walked around the restaurant, he told me the table numbers, and showed me all of the things that I was required to do. As I followed him around I noticed how fluidly he moved among the crowd, not once getting in the way of one guest while I bumped into several in my attempt to follow. I was as out of my element as I had ever been before and believe me the feeling wasn’t pleasant.

Every one was a part of a well oiled, perfectly synchronized machine, and I was a loose bolt that had fallen in and was causing havoc to the operation of the machine. The kitchen was the worst. Every time I went back there with a dirty dish, it seemed like there were thousands of people, and I was expected to stay out of there way and still do my job at the same time.

This continued for the next hour or so and I found more and more that I was becoming part of the machine. No longer was I a hindrance, I was a contributing part of the system. Just as I thought I was really getting the hang of it a manager came over and told me that it was time for me to leave. I clocked out and I was walking to my car ready to go to bed, and when I woke up I’d be back to do it all again.


Looking back after writing this I wish I would have spent more time focusing on the actual working part of the essay, because that what I wanted it to be about. But in the end it ended up just being about the process of getting a job.