The things we do, part 1
When I was in high school and college all I ever wanted to do was move to New York City. I was in love with it. The enormity, the possibilities, the rhythyms, the energy... all of those things were intoxicating and drawing me towards the Big Apple.
I started waiting tables in college, knowing that I would need experience doing that to get a job there. I hid behind the guise of a theatre major, saying that I wanted to be an actress or singer, but really that was an excuse I gave myself and others. The truth was that I just wanted to be there, and hadn't given much thought to what would happen after I had accomplished that goal.
So I did it. Packed my bags. Moved to New York without knowing a soul and hit the streets running looking for a job. Blue Fin was everything I could have imagined. Impressively decorated, just like I had always pictured a hip New York restaurant to be. They played cool music and had a huge wine list. The food was expensive and they had just opened to huge hype. Famous people came in regularly and there was always the nerve racking possibility that Bill Grimes, the Times food critic, might pop in that night to either make or break us. I was in heaven.
The rest of the staff was young, hot, and hip. One review said that we all looked like the cast of a WB show. I was excited to be included in that group, and even more excited to have an instant bevy of friends. We all spent time together, going out late after we got off, sharing cabs back to our downtown or bourough haunts, meeting for lunch before our shifts - it was great. I was meeting people just like me from all over the country, people who wanted the taste of something exciting, who were on the cusps of their lives, even if they weren't sure what they wanted those lives to be. We commisurated the agony of pulling doubles, gave each other advice on what to wear on your headshot shoot, studied about wine, and got to know the rest of the relatively small New York restaurant community. We made a TON of money, I started picking up various nuances of city living, like wearing expensive jeans and knowing when it was ok to yell at a cab driver.
Yep, that first year was everything I ever dreamed it would be - pretty damn exciting.
I started waiting tables in college, knowing that I would need experience doing that to get a job there. I hid behind the guise of a theatre major, saying that I wanted to be an actress or singer, but really that was an excuse I gave myself and others. The truth was that I just wanted to be there, and hadn't given much thought to what would happen after I had accomplished that goal.
So I did it. Packed my bags. Moved to New York without knowing a soul and hit the streets running looking for a job. Blue Fin was everything I could have imagined. Impressively decorated, just like I had always pictured a hip New York restaurant to be. They played cool music and had a huge wine list. The food was expensive and they had just opened to huge hype. Famous people came in regularly and there was always the nerve racking possibility that Bill Grimes, the Times food critic, might pop in that night to either make or break us. I was in heaven.
The rest of the staff was young, hot, and hip. One review said that we all looked like the cast of a WB show. I was excited to be included in that group, and even more excited to have an instant bevy of friends. We all spent time together, going out late after we got off, sharing cabs back to our downtown or bourough haunts, meeting for lunch before our shifts - it was great. I was meeting people just like me from all over the country, people who wanted the taste of something exciting, who were on the cusps of their lives, even if they weren't sure what they wanted those lives to be. We commisurated the agony of pulling doubles, gave each other advice on what to wear on your headshot shoot, studied about wine, and got to know the rest of the relatively small New York restaurant community. We made a TON of money, I started picking up various nuances of city living, like wearing expensive jeans and knowing when it was ok to yell at a cab driver.
Yep, that first year was everything I ever dreamed it would be - pretty damn exciting.
posted by Erin at
1:19 PM
2 Comments:
So, is a pair of expensive jeans really worth it New York Girl? I hear it is, let me know...
Yes it is, if you can afford them - which I no longer can.
Keep in mind that this is only Part 1 of this series. This one may sound upbeat, but the next few will be much more bismal.
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