At the beginning of summer I was faced with the dilemma every kid my age has… getting a job. There comes a point in every miserable teenager’s life when this tragedy strikes.

   The pressure from my parents to get a job was weighing on me. So that fateful day when I heard about an opening at a restaurant, I thought my prayers were answered. When I got the call, I was offered a job as a hostess and it was a moment of sheer happiness.

    In fact,  I was so proud and started referring to myself as the ‘modern day working woman’. I might have gone too far there, but needless to say I was ecstatic.

    I wasn’t expecting anything wonderful, it was a first job after all. I would have been insane to imagine the craziness I was walking into though. I get it, it’s a new business, there’s going to be issues here and there. I just wasn’t expecting it to have more issues than Vogue. During my time I was confronted with lack of menus, displeased customers, equally unhappy waitresses, hour wait times for food, and intoxicated people.

    People seem to have a hard time grasping the notion of ‘food- wait-times’. I would too if I was a hungry customer, but hey, I wouldn’t blame the hostess. Does it look like I have any control of the kitchen?

   Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be polite and courteous when there’s some old guy screaming that you’re a liar? You caught me, I’m lying that there’s an hour wait time on food. Good job, you’re still not getting a table! The most food I can offer you are the mints under the hostess stand.

    Probably the most uncomfortable night of my life occurred when I decided to quit. Things weren’t getting any better and I thought, by now at least, they’d have their stuff together. But alas, they did not. My final shift started just as horribly as the others, only this time I put in a particular dilemma. Over at the bar there was a group of 20-something- year- olds having what appeared to be an awesome time. When a certain member of the group started calling to me I couldn’t help but cry inside. Later that night, my mom arrived for ‘quitting- moral support’. The plan was (at the end of my shift) I would give one of the bosses my resignation letter and flee the scene with my mom, who was there if anything went wrong. I was getting ready to seat my mom when a guy who was at the bar earlier stumbled in again. He looked from my mom to me and back to my mom.

    “Are you her Mom?” He asked her. Was it that obvious, we looked alike? She told him she was, indeed my mother. To my horror he replied, “This is awkward, because I’m came back to ask your daughter for her phone number.” I literally attempted to hide behind the hostess stand as the conversation continued,

    “How old are you? You realize she’s underage.”

    “C’mon I’m a good guy. “

    “I’m sure you are, but she’s 17.”

    As they continued bickering I tried my best not to cry or die of embarrassment. He eventually left and I was left alone again with my appalled mother.

    At the end of my shift I tried to regain my confidence and turn in my letter. As I walked back to the kitchen I felt like the lion from The Wizard of Oz as he went to meet the Wizard. I saw the boss approaching and instead of facing him and channeling my inner Beyoncé I quickly threw the letter at a busboy saying, “Give this to the boss as soon as I leave!” and sprinted out the door.

    Dorothy’s red slippers couldn’t have moved as fast as I did.