Wait, What's the Catch?
Well, now that I've sufficiently lost touch with everyone I guess it's time to blog.
This being the crucial time before my thesis show, I'm sticking around here for the summer. Did it my first year, might as well do it for my last, right? I've been fretting about 1) finding a place to live in this area (rural-ass lake town) which is dirt cheap and temporary (not many three-month leases out there), and 2) finding a job which will keep my pockets nicely lined without cutting too much into my rock 'n' roll lifestyle. In the past week both have seemingly fallen into my lap. We'll start with the job.
I haven't flexed my table-waiting skills since early 2002, but it's amazing how much of that shit one retains in muscle memory alone. The gig goes something like this:
- Restaurant floats in marina along with large, expensive boats which, on weekends, fill with people who can afford large, expensive boats.
- Atmosphere is casual, food is upscale. Best key lime pie in the world. The whole world. Tonight I was forced to eat a filet mignon covered in bleu cheese, last night it was crab cakes and pecan encrusted chicken. Just when I was about to fit into a size 8.
- Somehow in a dry county, in a state park no less, they are able to serve beer. I'm guessing it has something to do with the magical effect of being a restaurant that floats on water. This also somehow fails to require an alcohol service permit from the waitstaff, and seemingly transcends the traditional on-premise/off-premise consumption paradigm. Also, the owners like to drink it, and don't like to be alone in that endeavor. The employees are more than happy to accomodate them at all times throughout the shift. Hooray Beer.
- Rumors abound the owners also like to have everyone over to their fabulously appointed lakehouse to rage into the night.
- Whereas most restaurants refer to the area in back as the "back dock" this place has back docks. Right outside the kitchen door. Cigarette/joint breaks are frequently taken with feet dangling in water. I'm willing to bet that on a hot summer night, after a few on-the-clock beers it's tempting to disrobe and jump right in. I'll keep you posted.
- Entire staff (save for co-owners, and a few exceptions) comprised of my school mates, with the majority originating from my 20-person department. Abundant carpool/creative session opportunities.
- Open Thursday-Sunday.
I didn't even interview, the words put in for me apparently sufficed.
With the job situation seeminly under control (I have several, the above is merely the highlight) I was still all set to freak out about housing. Then, today a two-bedroom place right off the square in town appeared, only available for the summer and owned by a fellow (older) student. Then five people dropped out of the sky to share it. Three of them (including myself) will be working at the restaurant. Several of them will only be there for portions of the summer. We've all been living in student housing, so none of us has any furniture. It's going to be one big sleepover. There's a very real chance I'm too old for this, but fuck it.
So, without much effort on my part, it looks like I'm set up for an incredible summer. It's a confusing feeling, standing on the verge of the best days of your life, knowing it will all be over as soon as it begins, fully aware it's all downhill after that. If it's possible to feel nostalgia for things that haven't happened yet, I think that's what I've got.
I can't help but get uneasy when things go this well. Watch this space for homicidal rants about the joys of working for alcoholics and living in chaos when it's hot as fuck outside.
posted by glasshole at 11:14 PM
