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Category Archives: By Jill

Ira Glass, why do you hurt me so?! — By Jill

01 Feb

One of the magical and awesome things about living in New York is that you’re going to run across celebrities. And when you work in a restaurant of good reputation, there’s a decent chance you’re going to be waiting on them.  In my short year here I’ve run into or seen/served at the restaurant; Steve Martin, John Goodman, Bono, Scott Adsit, Anthony Michael Hall, Daniel Day-Lewis (three times, the last of which he was dining with Steven Spielberg,) Michael Emerson (Ben Linus from LOST and Person of Interest,) and Sharon Stone (not as high maintenance as you’d think.)

And the novelty was nice, but I honestly got sick of it pretty fast. Great, there’s a big shot who doesn’t want to be bothered in the first place, why should I piss myself with excitement? I don’t want to wait on them because of all the extra attention I’m going have to give to make sure everything’s perfect. And I can’t blow them off like I would another high maintenance customer. Actually the very idea of celebrity kinda pisses me off.  So when one of the other servers run up, squeeling with joy, exclaiming “OMG! so-and-so celebrity is on table 42! ” I just role my eyes and continue getting my drinks for the guests I do care about. It’s even worse when another guest recognizes the celebrity and then starts probing me with questions about them. “No, I don’t know what they’re eating.” “No, they don’t come in at a usual time on a usual day.” “For fuck’s sake, I don’t have time to take your picture and angle it so they’re in the back ground.”

So imagine my surprise when this man tapped me on the shoulder asking for the bathroom…

Now most of you probably won’t recognize a radio celebrity. Especially not a National Public Radio one.  But this is Ira Glass host of my favorite thing ever This American Life. At least I was pretty sure it was Ira Glass. I’m used to seeing pictures of him looking like this…

…clean shaven, scrawny, short Jewish man. The man who had tapped me on the shoulder was tall, at least like 6 feet, and he had a beard (like the top pic.) Also my associations with him aren’t visual, they’re from his distinguished voice. Oh and he’s one of my personal heroes. If you’re not familiar with This American Life. Scroll up and click on the link and start listening to it right now. There. I made another link so you don’t even have to scroll up. It’s a documentary style NPR show about very personal stories of Americans (and sometimes not Americans) and their lives. It  has stories of love, living during a recession, there was one about a teenager that hit accidentally a girl with his car (but she might have committed suicide) and all the guilt he has to carry with his life. The episode “The Giant Pool of Money” explains how the housing crisis happened but in a very accessible and entertaining way. And they did it in May of ’08. That’s MONTHS before the recession happened.  If you can’t stand radio, there’s a Showtime version of if they did 2 seasons of. The show has changed my life.  The point is I was pretty sure it was him, but not 100%. And while all this is hitting me and I’m still trying to figure out if it’s him or not, he’s waiting for me to tell him where the restroom is.

Finally I snap out of my trance and tell him to follow me (I never do that, I usually say, “It’s down the hall and to the right.”) I immediately run to my friend Alice who I got addicted to TAL, and I can barely speak. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Jill?” And I’m all like, “I think Ira Glass is here.” To which she shrugs and says, “Oh. Cool.” Blasphemy. I hope she moves away to Los Angeles.

I spent the next hour or so  periodically walking by the table intently listening to his voice trying to make 90% surety, 100%. TAL is Chicago public radio. Why would he be in New York? On vacation? But last weeks episode was new. And so is this week’s. Maybe TAL is done from New York after all.  I begged the server to let me clear his table when they were done.  Finally when the check was down. The credit card would tell all. When Tony snatchs up the check, I was right behind him. And there it was in embossed silver. IRA GLASS.

Now restaurant policy is that you never approach celebrities in any personal capacity. I feel it appropriate. But to just go up to the guy and say. “Sir, you do amazing work and it has changed my life. Thank you and don’t stop.” What would be the harm in that? But at the same time, he’s with his kids and his wife, and he’s probably pretty busy. He doesn’t need some nutty girl badgering him. Fuck it. I decide this is probably the only time I will ever see him. He’s not just some celebrity…he’s created something that touches me on a personal level and he does it every week.

The plan. Wait for him to get up from the table, as he exits say “Have a good day.” He will look up and say “Thank you.” As he smiles and waves, I’ll say “Excuse me, Mr. Glass…” and the rest will follow. Short, sweet, done.

But then Alice flags me down. She’s got this 7 top that ordered a bunch of cocktails (at lunch there’s no bartender, so we have to make them ourselves) and they are demanding to order food despite the fact that she’s making the drinks they just ordered. “But Alice…Ira!” Then I shut up and go to the table. I look over my shoulder. Ira’s still sitting. I’ve got time. The 7 top starts asking me all these stupid questions. “What type of rice is in the risotto?” “Where’s the salmon from?” “Can I substitute the spinach for a side of pasta?” “What’s your favorite thing on the menu?” Ira’s getting up.  Fuck. I start bullshitting the table. Making up answers left and right. Finally they actually start ordering. I get it and Ira’s behind me on his iPhone.

I spin around and blurt out a “Have a nice day.”

He doesn’t even look up from his iPhone.

My heart is beating like crazy.

I take a few steps parallel to him and try again. ” I hope you enjoyed everything…”

Nothing. My hero walks out the door.

I go over to Alice. “Here’s the order. Position 3 has a gluten allergy.”

 
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Posted by on February 1, 2012 in By Jill, Restaurants, Reviews, entertainment, etc...

 

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A different head space. — By Jill

21 Jan

Occasionally in my world, everything slows down and I reach a clear head space.  I don’t say fuck. I don’t exclaim. And I don’t get angry. Yesterday was one of those times.

I pulled the earphone out from my iPod then from my ears. That way I wouldn’t have to lift up the cover to turn it off. Then I looked around the Dean & Deluca. I looked at all the people who were sitting alone like me and I wondered what they had become. Reflecting what I had become and what I would become.
A stead stream of New Yorkers flowed past window into the 42nd street Metro stop and Port Authority Bus Terminal. What did this lonliness mean? What was its opposite that I desperately prayed for? Was it a beautiful man to wrap his arms around me in bed, holding me there tightly, almost inescapably so?  Would this opposite be a job where people would have to search me out specifically for something very important and rare that only I could do? Perhaps a service that people would pay mountains of money for and my Blackberry would beep incessantly about. Is this escape from solitude an intimate forum where I can finally bare my burdens and secrets and not be a monster? Where I would find others with similar secrets were people I could respect and admire?  I don’t know. I really don’t and I don’t know how to solve these aching pains of loneliness.

And so when you can’t solve a problem you have to learn to deal with it. The head phones that I had pulled out of my ears may have suggested an answer. Shalom Auslander has been performing a story on The Moth podcast. It was a touching story about visiting the remnants of a concentration camp and also about a grandmother going through Alzheimer’s. And his conclusion was that laughter shall set you free.

He gives this excellent denouement about how laughter, dark laughter in particular is a victory. That Hitler probably never wanted anyone laughing as they walk through his death camps (as the author found himself doing) and that Alzheimer’s, if it were a person or a thing, probably wouldnt want anyone laughing at it. And so this maxim resonated with me for a few moments and seemed like this behavior may just be the answer.

Now I am old enough to know that epiphanic solutions to life long problems disappear almost as quickly as they are gifted. In my teenage and college years I desperately subscribed to solutions such as meditation,  The Secret (yea I was one of those) and “don’t think too much.” In college, I seemed to have a life altering epiphanies every other week. So despite this new “laughter” solution feeling incredibly germane, I knew it would likely evaporate. But at least right now, in my head space, I can reflect on all the changes in the last year year of my life and I can look at my current situation (far less comfortable to where I was a year ago) and I can grin. (Not laugh, not yet.)

—Jill
The moth cast. It’s the second one down. Shalom Auslander.
 
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Posted by on January 21, 2012 in By Jill

 

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Restaurant Etiquette — By Jill

03 Jan

If you’ve never worked as a server, there’s probably a good chance you might be doing things that piss the wait staff off. His is a general list of faux pas;

I”ll get the big one out of they way. We’re hoping for 20% and that includes alcohol. Why wouldn’t it? I got you the bottle, the glasses, kept your glasses full while you drank it. 15% is still acceptable but unless I fucked up on your table, c’mon don’t be stingy. What you may not realize is that I actually have to tip out the support staff from my tips. That means the bussers, runners, bartenders, coffee person, host, and wine sommelier are getting a chunk of my tips. One place I worked based that number on my sales. So if your check was 100 bucks, regardless of what you tipped me 5-7 bucks was getting tipped out. So $20 yea! $10, crap, I’m only walking with 3-5 bucks. Don’t give me the “verbal tip” by telling me I was the best server you’ve ever had then leaving me 12% and don’t tell me I was so good I deserve a raise, that’s what the tips for. Also, tell the manager, not me. I know I’m good. The managers don’t always. You might get me in a better section tomorrow night or out of the dog house if one of the managers don’t like me.  Generally, tips don’t get to me. I usually get good tips and if I do get a shitty tip, it balances with really good one. So let’s move on to…

“One Timing.” One timing is the process of sending me to get your table something on multiple trips almost immediately. Remember I have 3-6 other tables I’m waiting on. I have a laundry list of things I need to get done with dozens of obstacles in the way. Multi-tasking and consolidating my steps is essential to my success. So when I bring you your refill of diet coke, then you ask me for some more dressing, I go and get it. Then your friend decided she wants extra dressing too, I go and get it. Now your boy friend wants a cup of ice to put in his Cab (I don’t know why, but someone did ask me for that this week,) you’ve just sent me one 4 trips when I could have done it in one, and now I am behind with all my tables. Oh and adding when you get a chance! doesn’t help. It doesn’t let me know “you’re on my side and that you understand.” If I got you the extra parmesan “when I had the chance” your salad would be done, you’d have finished that 1/2 portion of chicken you’re sharing with your girlfriend, and you’d be drinking your skim milk cappuccino. And for fuck’s sake don’t ask me to take your picture! It’s one thing if you see me calmly walking around or chatting with my other servers. No problem. But if you see me clearing tables or with a tray full of drinks or perhaps you notice that all the tables around you are getting sat with customers at the exact same moment, this is not the time for you to ask me to drop everything and shove a digital camera in my face. Then don’t give me 2 or 3 other fucking cameras. We live in the digital age. Email it while I get that cappuccino “when I have the chance.” Lastly, don’t tell me “it’s the button on the right.” I know how to work a fucking camera.

Cash and split the rest on the cards. You got the bill, you give me some cash and two credit cards. You want me to keep the cash and put the remaining amount on the cards. This in and of itself isn’t a problem. Here’s what is: $200 check. You’ve given me $100 bucks cash and two credit cards. I give you back to credit cards with $50 bucks on each one. You then leave $10  for each card. You and your buddies just left me a 10 percent tip. No customer ever seems to get this concept. Just because you left me cash for half the bill doesn’t make the tip go away. Or rather, I guess it does.  The only thing you could do to piss me off more is take both copies of the receipt. When you do that we get nothing. And in the case of the restaurant where we tip out based on sales, I just lost money taking your table. Thanks!

Here’s the next one. It’s 11:55 pm. You’re hungry and for some damn reason you don’t go to a bar that’s open till 4 am. No, let’s go to this restaurant that is almost completely empty and closes in 5 minutes! Now because of your hungry drunk ass; a server (or all closing servers,) 2-3 bussers, at least one cook, a bartender, a dessert guy, and a manager wait for you to get your appetizer, entree, dessert, coffee while you admire how beautiful a night it is!

Two women sat in my section last night for 5 hours. They were my first table and my last one. Here’s something to be aware of, by sitting at a table for a prolonged period of time, you’re stopping me from getting another table. So if you order another drink or two, that’s nice, but in your place, I could get a 4 top that is ordering appetizers and entrees and possibly a bottle of wine. For the most part I don’t really care that much. For some servers, money is their primary goal. Sell you the most expensive items, get you out, get the next table. For me, I genuinely do care about your experience. I want you to leave happy. So if you’re sitting there talking to your buddy, I can focus on my other tables and give them that experience.

However, I want to get the fuck out of there. Servers don’t have a time we get off. Based on how busy the restaurant is, a manager will look around the restaurant and decide if they need all the servers currently staffed. Once they feel business has died down, they will “make cuts.” Certain servers will be told they are “cut,” meaning that any new tables sat in their section will go to other servers and they just need to wait till their current customers have paid out. Let me say that again, I stay until you have paid your check. So if you find yourself in a restaurant, it’s pretty late, and you maybe notice that your server is not talking to any surrounding tables and every 10 minutes or so is asking if you need anything (or perhaps glaring at your from down the hall) there’s a good chance you are keeping them from going home. You don’t need to leave, you can keep chatting away with your friend, just ask for the check, pay, and sign the damn thing.  Those two ladies I mentioned earlier, they sat with their check for 30+ minutes. When I came to take the payment, their reply was “hahaha, we haven’t even looked at it.” They came in, ordered their drinks at 6:05 pm, I gave them their check at 10:47 pm. Even after I ran the card they took 10 minutes to sign.  I finished my paper work, changed and they were still sitting there as I left. Oh and for 5 hours + at my table they only left me 15%.

—Doesn’t believe how oblivious some people are.

 
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Posted by on January 3, 2012 in By Jill, Restaurants

 

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But you move on. –by Mack Jack and Jill

21 Dec

Jack’s not doing so well.  He met this girl a few weeks ago. She was pretty hot actually. Some French girl. I was pretty surprised. Happy for the guy. But I knew it wasn’t going to work. 

 So this bitch used Jack to get back at her ex-boyfriend. 

Jill really didn’t like her.

It’s so nice to have someone to cuddle with while you watch Spirited Away. I was practically cradling her.

She was like 19. Why do older guys always go for infants?

I told Jack to keep a distance.  Have fun with her. Stay in charge.  But you can’t tell a thirsty guy to stop at a shot of water. 

I couldn’t believe she came so far to see me the first time we met up. She trained through half of Manhattan in rush hour to get coffee with me for like 15 minutes.

She just wanted a place to sleep outside of her dorm where she could smoke.  

He waited for those text messages like they were orgasms. 

She couldn’t for the life of her tell the difference between your and you’re. And God did she used “lol” so much.

I mean I get the need to have a little fun. But I think Jack falls into things. 

 Jack’s always going to take it to heart. Everything’s gonna be personal to him. He just can’t take it for what their worth. 

I knew exactly what Christmas gift to get her.

I’m always watching out for that turning point.

There’s that moment when you know you’re just wasting your time. 

When you can tell they aren’t attracted to you anymore…the text messages stop coming so fast…they’re not so excited when you plan to meet up. When you know you’re no longer the priority…

That’s when I end it. It’s better to be the dumper then the dumpie. It’s all a game. If you’re not having fun, stop playing. 

I had this friend from Paris. She said there isn’t even a word for dating in French.   

It felt so good to make her laugh. She used to be so pissed when she came to see me. The train was late, her phone wasn’t working, her ex said something mean to her. But in ten minutes I had her smiling.

It’s not real. There’s no substance there. 

That’s the beauty of these little short romances. You can be whoever and you can make your partner feel as good as they need. They’re like little escapes from reality.  

She was a brat. She threw tantrums. And the way he’d sit outside with her every time she smoked. It was like he was her puppy dog. 

She visited him when he was sick. It was too sweet of her. That’s when I knew Jack wasn’t keeping her at a distance. 

She would scratch my shoulder. With her nails. Lightly. It tickled. And I like the way she smelled. I did laundry yesterday. When I got to the shirt she slept in, I considered not washing it. I smelled it again. I think the laundromat is the one place you can smell clothes and not look like a weirdo.

But you just gotta dust yourself off. Get back out there. This wasn’t some long term relationship. Turn around time should be an hour and a half. Tops.

Jack’ll wallow. He’ll blame everything on himself. “What did I do wrong?” “Why wasn’t I good enough?” He’s sensitive. He’s not built for flings. You can tell that after five minutes of talking to the guy. I mean he still does the chivalry stuff. 

You never know how to look at yourself. You wonder about your accomplishments. Did you win them because you are bad ass or because no one else showed up? Maybe the judge was pissed at the other guy for some stupid reason. Are our miracle successes indicative of our progress or mere blips of chance?

It’s not about them. It’s about you. It’s your ride. If they wanna come along, great. If not, fuck’em. Then kick them to the curb. 

“You can’t hurry love. No you just have to wait. “

I’m just so tired of starting over.

–Happy Winter Solstice. 

-Big Mack Attack

-Jack Out

 
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Posted by on December 21, 2011 in By Jack, By Jill, By Mack, Dating

 

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My new home. –By Jill

03 Dec

 

First off, let’s set the mood.

‘K. Now that that’s done. I found my new home and it’s on the upper west side of Manhattan!  Mack, that creepy guy from work (who’s actually pretty cool) needed a new roommate.  The other roommate, Jack is kinda a shut in.  He does a lot of writing and smells kinda funny. I was a little nervous about living with two guys but I had to get out of the Aunt and Uncle’s. So if I end up a bloody corpse, at least know I wasn’t bored.

The rents not bad. It’s on the 5th floor and my room basically has space for my bed…that’s it. But the living room is spacious and the kitchen has everything you need…and more. Like little friends who come out when it is dark and hide under magazines. It’s my first place in New York. I’ll get the luxury palace eventually.

I was on call last night at the restaurant, which means I have to wait around till 6:15 pm, then call to find out if they need me or not. Kinda ruins your night.  But I was excited to finally have a night to explore the city and not have to catch a Metro North to New Rochelle. The Christmas season in the city has seriously kicked into overdrive. I was going to go Rockefeller Center to see the tree but it was packed. Beyond busy, with people around Radio City Music Hall (seeing the Rocketts?) There were gates to stop pedestrians from walking into the street which condensed everyone into a massive seas of bodies on the sidewalk.  So instead you get this picture.

Other than a stalled train and a burrito, I went home pretty early. But I did find this awesome video.

-That’s it for me.   😛

 
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Posted by on December 3, 2011 in By Jill

 

Why you gotta hate? – by Jill & Mack

20 Nov

The restaurant was frickin’ pretty crazy last night (as is the case on Saturdays.) I got a nine top and as I approached the table two more tables got sat. So starting out I was already in the weeds. I start taking drink orders. One women asks me a million wine questions. She wants a Barolo but doesn’t want to pay 100 bucks for one. Well that’s how much they cost! Meanwhile this dude from across the table starts gesturing me emphatically about something. He tells me he has “spliffs” waiting for the table. What the fuck is a spliff? Were they smoking? Anyway, I go back to the bar the apparently the guy ordered 6 half bottles of fucking Champagne. Really? He couldn’t have ordered 2 conventional bottles or even a magnum? I gotta open  6 little bottles at the table?

I get that underway while and take the order of another table at the same time.  I return to the 9 top and return to the woman who needs a Wine for Dummies to decide what she wants. Finally, I get her to make her choice (the cheap Barolo.) I go back to the bar, and one of the bussers comes up to me saying that table wants to order. “No shit they wanna order.” I get back with the bottles of wine in my hand and one of the women says, “We want to order, we’ve asked for you 3 times.”

“You see those six bottles of Champagne and these two bottles of wine. I had to get those. I had to back and forth to the front of the restaurant to get those. Plus your friend over there needed a Kettle One and soda right away. Now, I would be more than happy to put these down and take your order.” I’m not sure she knew how to react. The night was pretty much like that. Everyone had a birthday party, and everyone needed their check split multiple ways. That nine top split it seven ways to be exact.

And as the new girl I had to close which takes FOREVER. We got out around 1:30 am and one of our bartenders was having a birthday part next door.  I walk in and instantly some douche bags at the table behind me yells, “Hey bitch, we’re trying to watch the game. MOVE.”

What a fuckin’ night?

-Jillbot

————————————————————————————————————————-

I get cut from work. I’m so glad I don’t have to close on Saturdays. I go  across to Woody’s  for Javier’s birthday drinks. Man, everybody’s there. That guy knows how to party. As I’m about to sit down, the chick from the table across from us says, “Hey, want a tequila shot?” What a way to start the night, right? Then she starts playing with my necklace. But she’s got a wedding ring, so I go chat with the rest of my group.

An hour or so later, the closers finally make it out of the restaurant. The new girl Jill, starts bitching about something. And I’m all like ,”Why you gotta hate?”
“Because that table is full of a bunch of dickwads!”
“That table over there?”
“Yea!”
“Na, they’re cool, gave me a shot when I walked in.”
“Well then why don’t you go sit with them?”

I get the details about them being assholes and I figure it’s just misunderstanding. I figure, I’ll go over to the table, chat with them, make a joke or two, tell them she was offended and then they’ll apologize.

I go over.
“Hey guys, thanks for that shot earlier–”
One guy: “Yea why don’t you buy us shots?”
I realize this wasn’t such a good idea. I make a few jokes that don’t go over too well. At that point, I probably should have just left.
“Look, my friend took offense and that wasn’t cool.”
One of the guys gets out of his chair and squares up to me.
“Yea well she needed to fuckin’ move.”
I don’t back down. His friends get out of their chairs. At this point I don’t realize how over my head I’m getting.

But what I also didn’t realize was that Javier and ALL his friends were squaring up behind me. And we probably outnumbered them 3 to 1. The owner comes over and breaks it up before it gets too hot.  I sit back down but I can feel the eyes of all those guys glaring into my back. But Javier and all his crew congratulate me for sticking up for the new girl.

Meanwhile Jill is hella embarrassed.  At first she’s mad at me for making a scene. Guess she doesn’t like attention. But we end up talking over a couple of drinks. Apparently she almost never drinks.  Been doing something called Moderation Management. Also she’s looking for an apartment. I think I just figured out our roommate situation.

-Big Mack Attack

 
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Posted by on November 20, 2011 in By Jill, By Mack, Restaurants

 

Shut the fuck up already! –by Jill

17 Nov

So I went on a date yesterday.  Cute guy.  And that part’s actually kinda significant because I don’t usually go on dates with cute guys. My rule is if you have courage to ask me out I’m probably going to say yes. I’m so glad I don’t have to go up and ask guys out.  Don’t get me wrong, if I’m at a bar guys’ll buy me drinks.  But dating is a different animal.  The guys who usually ask me out are guy on the subway (creepy) and when ever I walk into a comic book shop.

I meet  this guy at a coffee shop for our date. He shows up like 20 minutes late, but at least he texted me while I was waiting. It’s New York, trains suck. No big whoop. But when he sits down there’s this instant attraction.  It’s a combination of his looks and body language and something else. Perhaps it was the small table that made out knees bump together almost ever five minutes.  I’m thinking  jack pot.

But then the date gets going. We talk about television. That’s pretty much it. He’s a fan of comedies because when he watches TV he dosen’t like to think. (minus points) He’s an actor. But he only wants to do commercials (more minus points.) No Tom Stoppard plays? No Eugene O’Neill? When I mentioned my love of A Long Days Journey into Night…

 

…he responded, “Oh wait that’s the name of the theatre Book of Mormon is  playing at.” I think that was when I realized the date was going sour.

Now, I’ve never won any awards for brevity. Someone once even gave me the nick name “talky.” But this guy would not shut up. And his “words per minute” probably was on par with the Micro Machines guy. (Funny parody)  And he insisted on telling me about TV shows I had never seen like he was going to convince me to run out on the date and watch them.  Every time I tried to turn the conversation to something more substantive he veered it right back to television.

Part of me wants to give him another shot just because he was pretty damn hot. Maybe he was nervous? Maybe I think too much? Maybe he has a cavern of depth under this kiddy pool TV layer. It’s not like I have an army of men banging down my door for date.  And the dinner’ll be free.

 
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Posted by on November 17, 2011 in By Jill, Dating

 

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Snow in your face, money in your pocket, a place to call home. And monsters! — By Jill

03 Nov

It’s been a while. Sorry for the hold up. But lots has happened.

1) I got a job. It’s this little Italian place around the Meat Packing district. Seems pretty chill. The staff is a different cut than my old Seattle Starbucks family. Katie, Sasinya, and Tall Tony, no one will ever replace you!  Getting out of there kinda sucks though.  We all have to leave together after all the customers leave. So I can be there pretty late. There’s this one guy who’s kinda sleazy. While he was training me he kept hitting on me the whole time. I’m not too worried, I’ve dealt with worse.  But whenever he wants me to move he tries to “guide” me with his hand rather than just asking me to move.

2) It snowed. In OCTOBER!!! And not just a few flakes. There were mounds of snow on the sidewalks, slush in the streets, and white blanketed cars. It was cool because it was the first weekend I had where I wasn’t looking for a job and could actually enjoy the city. I bought a jacket on sale to bundle up. 🙂

3) HALLOWEEN. Unfortunately, I couldn’t go out and have Halloween fun. I had to train at the restaurant. But on the way home I got a good taste of the craziness. New York doesn’t take this holiday lightly. No matter that it was still 30 degrees, girls were waiting in line outside clubs wearing almost nothing, kids were trick-or-treating well passed midnight, and the subway…oh the subway. Never have I felt such a sense of community on a mass transit system before. One Thriller inspired Michael Jackson did a dance up and down the rail car. A little girl was scared of a man in a giant red mouse head and the two 20 something girls stopped at nothing with the mom until the girl was smiling again. I really wish I had gotten a costume.

  

   

4) Finally, I can start looking for an apartment and get out of New Rochelle. It sucks when you meet the tenants and they ask what you do. There was one place where we clicked so well but the minute I told them I was unemployed they said “Thank you, but you’re not what we’re looking for.” So frustrating.

Kick ass Pandora station.
Give it a  listen.

–PEACE

 
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Posted by on November 3, 2011 in By Jill

 

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I have a death stare — by Jill

20 Oct

I go to pick up Batman: Arkham City yesterday at Best Buy which I had reserved because at Best Buy and only Best Buy you get the Robin challenge maps. Basically it just a character skin. But it’s ROBIN!!! I’ve always had a thing for Robin. Except Chris O’Donnell. He was BULLSHIT! I must have been the only girl in high school who wrote ” I ♥ Tim Drake” on her text book covers.

Anyway I go down stairs to the 2nd floor and there is a massive line at customer service. I just know that’s the line to get the game if you reserved it. I go down to the 3rd floor (or 2nd floor down from the first floor, you know what I’m saying) where the video games are and I ask where I go to pick up my copy. Sure as shitballs, it was that bitch ass line up stairs. I go up and I wait. I note the time cause I’m going to bitch about this to someone and I want to know exactly how long I’m going to be in this stupid line.

They have one guy at the customer service desk processing umpteen people.  And it’s not like they didn’t know this was going to happen. This is the line for people who TOLD YOU they were coming to pick the game TODAY. I mean WTF!
Somehow a manager came over and I basically told him all that and then some. To which he replies with a half -hearted apology and some line of bull shit. But then finishes with “And I don’t appreciate your sarcasm, ma”am.” At that point, I declared I’d never reserve a game from Best Buy and I pierced him with my eyes.

Sidenote——–>

When I deal with people that I’m trying to get something from, I try to approach them from their mindset. Argue from their point of view, if that makes any sense.  I’m the one that usually caves.  But I did something different this day. 

We lock eyes in a tense stand off. Then he walked away and I continued to wait for copy of Batman. Then another employee announced , “All customer’s in line for reserves come with me.” And we were all swept off to a shorter line. VICTORY!!!

Then today, I came into the city to fill out applications. I forgot to print my resume but luckily I had my USB drive. I walk into some random print shop (i.e. not Staples/Kinkos) and I ask to print from the thumb drive. The guy points me to a computer and I print it out. 3 copies. 25¢ a page . 75¢ right?

I go to the register and the man (in broken English) says $1.75. I’m like WTF?

“$1.00 for computar.” To which I reply, “But there was no other way for me to print it out.”

“Sahr-ly, but oh-nar’s rules.”

Normally, I would accept that. He has to follow the rules. I mean, what can you do? But then I remember my epiphany from yesterday. Fuck his reality. I’m sticking to mine. “That’s bullshit. Any other place, I give you my drive and you print it. By going to that dinky computer I’m doing the work for you. Why should I pay you for that?”

To which he responds, “But computar use, $1. People check email. Use inter-net.”

“But, I didn’t. What else could I have done? Given you a CD? Sent it by mores code?”(he didn’t understand that one) Then there was the stare off.

“75¢. But de oh-nar will not be happy.”  I gave him my 3 quarters. “Fuck your oh-nar.” I didn’t actually say that last part.

 
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Posted by on October 20, 2011 in By Jill

 

The day of atonement by Jill

10 Oct

I just survived Yom Kippur, the Jewish  day of atonement.  I’ve never been religious but Aunt Rebecca and Uncle Aaron insisted on going. Well they didn’t insist so much as they guilted. It’s been great staying with them for no rent, but it makes it hard to say no to anything.  They seemed disappointed my mother for never made me go to temple and so Aunt Rebecca has taken it on as a personal duty to inspire me in the ways of “G-d.”

The overbearing Jewish guilt paired with the lack of alcohol hasn’t been a pleasant combination. With no friends to drive and no bars within walking distance of the New Rochelle residence, I’ve been sol. The beginning of any move is difficult. Being robbed of ones coping mechanism is damn near impossible. While I was in the city looking for a job, I’ve considered picking up a small bottle of Evan Williams. And even as cheap as it is, I’m in survival mode until I find a job.

Back to Yom Kippur. As we sat in the Synagogue 30 minutes early (to get good seats) the Rabbi, a thin neurotic woman (the female version of Woody Allen) asked us if we’d like to read or hold the Torah or whatever. Uncle Aaron volunteered me saying “it would be a good way for some of the Jewish boys to notice me.” Yes. Every Jewish boy is looking for a skinny, bored, and barely Jewish girl holding a Torah.

I was handed a slip of paper which told me when to present

myself. But it seemed like I would be spared as the Rabbi railroaded past my page number on by a few prayers. Just as I was sure of my salvation, the Rabbi stopped mid Kaddish to apologize for robbing me of my sacred right and invented another moment for me to hold the sacred scrolls.

Poised and on display, the Torah is much heavier than one would think. I was once told that they cost $10,000 as they are hand written. Bearing my cross (sorry for the metaphor) I considered the possibility that what I was holding was more than an overpriced relic. I pretended the scrolls were every bit as holy as an orthodox Hassidim might esteem them to be. I pondered what I was bearing in my arms, struggling to support, might be a direct telephone to “G-d.” At that moment my heart started to pound and I got very angry. If He or She or Whatever did exist, and was watching out for me, why had He/She/It been so silent? Why for all the times I did breakdown and pray was I ignored? Why do I have epilepsy?  Why am I so alone?  And at that moment I wanted to throw the Torah on the ground and storm out.

Then the Rabbi thanked me. I laid the Torah down as carefully as a mother would her ill infant and sat down. Uncle Aaron patted my thigh and said “Good job, kid.”

–(Insert clever signature here)
Jill

P.S. Check out good ol’ Cyanide and Happiness. Makes me smile.

 
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Posted by on October 10, 2011 in By Jill

 

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