It was my first college Summer I was staying in the area. Normally, I would have ventured the four hour drive home to my parents’ house and sweltered in heat, humidity, and gnats, but this year, I was staying put. Staying put also meant I needed to find a Summer job.
I walked into the student services center, and they laid out a dusty, three-ring binder, telling me to, “have at it.” After flipping through countless pages of “nanny” and “babysitter” wanted posts, I came across a plain 8-1/2″ x 11″ sheet of paper typed in Arial Black 24 point font that read…
My Ma always said that if there was any skill I should learn, it was how to be a waitress because if you could wait tables, you would never be without work. The delusions of high-paying tips also popped into my college brain, and so I set off to ring the number.
A woman with a not-from-the-area location answered the phone and began to ask simple questions, “had I waited tables,” “did I have experience,” and all of the other trademark things you’d ask someone. No experience. Didn’t wait tables. Yes, I was dependable and mature.
We solidified plans for a brief interview.
“Oh, and you know this is at the nudist resort, right?”