Friday the 13th, a supposed unlucky day, although I’m not sure for whom. Although there are many reasons that one could be afraid of Fridays or the number 13 or Friday the 13ths, I think I will have to agree that this superstition is a purely modern invention (1900s) and has no root as other superstitions do to the days of yore.
I told myself this morning that today was my lucky day. I’ve been telling myself all week that I believe in miracles. Driving down the road, “I believe in miracles.” Staring at the computer screen, “I believe in miracles.”
I surely do need one.
The shop has been extremely slow for the past few weeks and I believe I have worked maybe 15 hours in two weeks, or three, if that. Were it not for my writing job, child support, and dipping into my insurance fund, we’d be eating pinto beans and cornbread every night. Oh, wait, we are.
I applied for a job at a local arts and crafts center. One would think I would be more than qualified. Obviously not, as I did speak to the manager who said he would contact me but never did. I spotted an ad for a local bistro who are hiring wait staff. This is a smaller, local, up-scale eatery with an expensive menu and wine list. I was immediately all over that.
I, being among the insane of the world, have always wanted to be a waitress. Stop throwing shit at your computer screen! However, I didn’t want to work at one of the big chains where it’s loud and they drop food on the floor and serve it anyway. So, this paralegal/screen printer/writer decided she would apply for a position at an upscale eatery with NO ACTUAL WAITRESSING EXPERIENCE!
Hey, I got a 2nd interview. I met the chef today who is a younger man with a vision. I like his vision and he said that he thought I would fit in with his vision. However, I still haven’t heard from the actual manager that I interviewed with on Wednesday. I also pointed out to him that two things on the menu are spelled incorrectly. Sad day when Nanner, who speaks French exceptionally poor, says, “Yo, you spelled beurre wrong.” And for you non French speaking peeps it is pronounced “bur” as in “burr, it’s cold out here,” and it means BUTTER. I love butter.
I told Chef that, “I LOVE FOOD!” And I do. Have ya’ll seen me eat? And I love good food that I can’t afford, even that there es-car-got. (Pronounced phonetically as it is spelled – you’re in WV now.) We discussed that mignonette is not just a French sauce but also a fragrant herb. I asked if he would like to include some German dishes on his menu and I asked if he had ever cooked with morels or, as commonly known in WV, molly moojers. He told me dried black truffles are $90 a pound, his wife is from the same city in Louisiana that my cousin Kama lives, and we both have sons.
However, I have not heard anything yet. And its been 10 hours.
But, today is my lucky day and I believe in miracles.