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:: Saturday, July 25, 2009 ::

:: Disappointment ::
An afternoon playing my guitar or reading a good book is more fulfilling than most dates I've been on. Any women with substance in Miami? - Recent Twitter Update.

I've been flirting with a hostess that works at a restaurant nearby. I ask her to join me at a nearby bar after work one evening, and she eagerly agrees.

Cool, right? (If you think this has a happy ending, you don't know my life.)

We meet outside the bar and she greets me with a big smile and a kiss. "I hope you don't mind, some of the my friends are here." No worries. I've seen a few of her friends and many of them are, umm, hot. Except the first one she introduces me to is a bald guy wearing a ridiculous belt buckle the size of my head. As we shake hands, any concerns about him being competition is allayed by his flacid, almost delicate handshake. I'm thinking he's gay. Or so I thought. This guy has a thing for her but she's apparently undecided.

We have drinks, we dance (or at least, she danced and I tried to play along). "What's with you and that guy?"

"Oh, he's just a guy I work with."

I have misgivings about the night at this point. "So why is he staring at me like I fucked his wife?"

"Honestly, we're just friends but he gets like that." Wait, this has happened before?

I'm not looking for anything serious. I don't care if she's dating someone else. But don't let him tag along when we're going out, or did you skip that part in dating etiquette class?

"Really? I thought he's gay." She laughs. "You have a firmer handshake than this guy." "He's very Metro, but not gay." (Not that there's anything wrong with that.)

Whatever. "Next time, it's just the two of us." If there is a next time. "I promise."

We dance. We have fun. My plan was to go to a beer and wine lounge afterwards but I learn that Belt Buckle was allowed to tag along was because he knew the doorman at some hip new club on Collins. I thought I had to compete with guys who own Ferraris, live in hi-rise condos, or talk with a foreign accent. Apparently, that category now includes dudes who know bouncers.

She goes to the bathroom so I walk back to the bar to order a drink. I try to be the better man and get to know this guy but it's a pointless gesture as all he does is talk about himself and what a great chef he is (despite the fact that his main duty is the fry station.) I excuse myself go talk to her other friends, one of whom has such spectacular cleavage that I strain my neck trying to maintain eye contact. The Hostess (I'm thinking I need to date women in another line of work) returns and puts her arms around my waist, but I question if there's any sincerity to her gesture. "Can you come with us?"

"I had other plans." I tell her. My reply is accompanied by a dispassionate look. She looks back with a pouty, puppy-dog look and coos, "but I really want you to come."

Yeah, I caved.

We walk out and she tells the Belt Buckle that I'll be accompanying them. He sneers at me yet again and says that they'll never let me in because of my shoes. At this point, I decide I'm going home and let them fight it out. However, I can't just leave without giving this guy some shit.

"Why don't you use your culinary prowess and help me get in?"

"My what?"

"I thought you knew the guy at the door. Or are you just full of shit?"

"He won't like your shoes."

This was bullshit. I know this club and I had friends that got in wearing T-shirts and Vans. I had no intention of going but I wasn't about to let this guy off easy. I take a few steps towards him. "Why don't you just say that you don't want me to come?" The Hostess, fortunately, intercedes and also asks him to talk the doorman into letting us all through.

He weakly repeated," they won't like his shoes." I stare at him impassively but he's looking at the ground. I turn to her and ask "you really want to go with this guy?"

She pouts again. "I just want to go to this club."

"Have fun." I turn and walk away. "Can I call you when I leave?" "Night."

I head over to The Abby since I knew a friend from work would be there. I sit down next to him and order a stout. "How'd your date go?"

"Well, I'm here talking to you." He didn't press for details. I get home feeling a little too sober. As I'm pouring some bourbon, I get a text.

"Im goin home. Can i c u again latr?"

I don't feel like dealing with her. Besides, I have Woodford Reserve in front of me now.

"Ill think about it."

A moment later my phone rings. It's her. She wants talk. Women always want to talk. She tells me the club turned out to be a dud. I can't help but chuckle silently. She wants to hang again and asks for another chance. You had your chance I almost say, but instead, "whatever is going on between you two, you need to get that worked out."

"There's nothing going on, I just work with him."

Aww, hell. Given my dry spell, one more chance probably won't kill me. We meet for lunch a few days later. She redeems herself somewhat over sandwiches. She is animated and fun. Unlike many women, she asks me questions. Conversation is easy but I feel like something is missing.

Yeah, she's cute, intelligent, and has a nice ass but... I couldn't let go of the fact that she invited another guy to our date. Intentions don't matter, you don't do that. Our interaction over lunch lacked our usual playful flirting. Maybe she's nervous? I certain had my guard up. She did apologize and now we're enjoying lunch together. Maybe the onus is on me to let it go. Perhaps I should just enjoy the moment.

I can't. I have standards but at the same time I don't ask for much. I'm tired of disappointment.

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:: Miscellaneous Ramblings by Dan-E at 12:35 AM [+] :: | 0 comments
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:: Sunday, August 10, 2008 ::
:: Job Hunting. Again. ::
Didn't it just feel like I was out looking for a job and trying to get acclimated to working at a new restaurant?

Well the rumors about Swanky Trendy Restaurant closing proved to be true, only it happened much later than any of us expected. We all knew it was coming. The owners are planning on putting all their resources into opening a new high-end steakhouse just across the street and they didn't want to the competition. When I first heard the rumor, it was early May, then late May, then it became late June. Some of the staff found other jobs, few of the guys stayed. Jed stuck around since his employment is guaranteed at this new place and he'll be grandfathered in as the head waiter.

Otherwise, the few of us left kept working as if nothing happened. There was a lot of talk about when we'll close and whether or not we wanted to help open the new place. A few wanted in. I was split, though leaning towards "nah" mostly because the GM is a colossal douchbag and I can't stand the idiot. What most of us were worried about was the amount of time between the old place closing and the new place opening. Ideally there wouldn't be more than two weeks so we wouldn't be strapped for cash but construction in Miami is perpetually delayed. I finally heard that there would be a three-week gap, which anyone who's familiar with the area would know that translates to four weeks to three months.

Management tried to keep this under wraps but this was the worst kept secret in a long history of worst kept secrets. The thinking was just in case the staff might be tempted to snatch a bottle of wine or something, which was utter bullshit (I prefer Scotch). I had a feeling that night was close to being our last since we were 86 half the wine list, Bacardi, several high-end vodkas and we were down to four bottles of sparkling water. The timing was a little odd since we had over 300 covers the night before, and we were consistently busy. That Sunday, I sold over $2000 without breaking a sweat and walked home with almost half my rent.

The asshole GM, who knew we were closing, went so far as to print out fake schedules for the following week. I couldn't help but laugh at this but I'm just happy not to be working for that pile of human garbage any more so I wasn't too broken up when I got the call from him the next day that Swank was "officially closed for business." He said he'd call me and let me know when the new place is ready but in the meantime I have a "three week vacation." Great, I thought. He's gonna call me in September. I had about three months worth of savings so I wasn't too worried.

Right after he called I went on Craigslist and started looking. I found a few postings for good places, one of those being a well-established steakhouse. They were holding interviews the next day at 2pm. I updated my resume and printed some out that night. I looked up steakhouse's website and did a little research about the history, menu, wine list, etc.

I get dressed and show up at 2:00 exactly. There's already about eight people ahead of me and I wonder if I should have arrived sooner. I start filling out my application, which didn't include a food and wine quiz (which I hoped for since I now know wine regions in France and Italy... thanks again Joo). The GM starts the interviews about 5 minutes later and the first few applicants are in and out in less than three minutes each. I was a little worried at first since I'm not sure if I'll be able to sell myself in such short a time. I find out later that the first few were fresh off the boat girls who were either under-qualified or tried to get hired by showing a lot of cleavage.

It's finally my turn. I'm nervous. I introduce myself, and he looks over my resume. You worked at [Swank]? That's a good place, why are leaving?” Because they closed. "Really?!"

We talk a little about my experience there, and I give him the highlights. He scans further down and sees I have bar experience which is good because he expects me to pick up a bar shifts, which would be really cool. We discuss my wine knowledge, which is decent. I know my Californians, some Australian, New Zealand and a little French, but they have an extensive Italian selection. No problem, I could learn.

He asks if I could come back later in the day to talk to the floor manager so he could get an impression of me which I'm fine with, since any sort of second interview is a good step (though I've been asked back before and that didn't work out so I wasn't overly enthralled). Just then the floor manager walks in. The GM asks me to hang out for a little bit to see if we can just do it now. Of course. (What else was I gonna say?)

After a few minutes, the FM introduces himself and we talk. He goes a little more in-depth with the food - I passed the impromptu steak quiz - and wine but he's also responsible for the bar so he ask me questions about liquor and mixed drinks. I know how to make all the popular drinks (cosmos, mjoitos, manhattans, etc.) but he seemed impressed with my knowledge of whiskies. "I'm glad you mentioned this because I've worked with some people who were waiters for over five years and they couldn't name me one Single-malt Scotch."

The interview ends and we all shake hands and they tell me that I'll hear from them by Friday. Great, I think. Solid interview, but I've heard that before. I'm only one of the first few applicants. They're doing interviews until four and then they'll do it all again Thursday so with all the available help out there, they might find someone more qualified. Still, I'm cautiously optimistic and I feel pretty good the rest of the day. I spend the rest of the week looking mostly online since this time of year it's hard to find work because it's slow everywhere. I interview at a sports bar and I send out my resume to several places but most of them don't seem promising.

I get a call Friday and it's the GM of the steakhouse. I'm in. I start my training on Monday at 4pm sharp. When I hang up, I clap my hands and do a couple of fist pumps. AWESOME. I don't have to look for a job any more and I missed only one week of work (well, two if you count training).

I enjoy the rest of the weekend and look forward to my new job. That's in the next post.

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:: Miscellaneous Ramblings by Dan-E at 9:20 PM [+] :: | 0 comments
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