holy crapper

After just two weeks of looking for NYC restaurant jobs, I was about ready to start banging my head against a wall. It seems that unless you've fucked the general manager or an important bartender, the best you can do is walk in, smile, hand your resume to the bitchy hostess and be told "we'll call you." Which of course is about as believable as when that phrase comes from a guy you've hooked up with. So today I went to two places (nice places, even) that had posted ads for waitstaff on good ol' Craigslist, and then I begrudgingly called my temp agency to see about some fun-filled office work for Monday. Lo and behold, I just got called back to both restaurants I went to today, within ten minutes of each other. Thank you, Ella Moss. I could very well still have to resort to temping, but this smidgen of progress, essentially a chance to speak with managers for more than 45 seconds, is tremendously encouraging. Since both interviews are tomorrow, I will be spending this evening studying wine varietals, cocktail ingredients, and various restaurant terminology for the inevitable quizzes. As if I couldn't just learn what "position numbers" are AFTER I got hired.