Jobs: Part Two: Meetinghouse

So far in New York, the only reason people have paid me any attention at all is because I tell them that I used to work for Victory Brewing Company.

“What did you do there?” they will ask.

“What didn’t I do there?” I will ask.

So I was flipping through the Penny Saver when I first got here, looking for work. I almost became a mailman but I was pretty sure I’d end up like Henry Chinaski. Then I found an ad for a server in a town called Bedford, NY at a restaurant called
Meetinghouse.

As it turns out, Bedford, NY is one of the richest towns in the entire United States. When people say that Westchester County, NY is affluent, this is the town they are talking about. The town is tiny, like really really tiny. Not much of a down town at all. Downingtown, PA is ten times bigger. But outside the heart of Bedford are giant mansions that you can’t even see from the street because their front lawns are so big. Each house is surrounded by large beautiful stone walls and massive trees. The people paint, play music, and ride horses. They drink wine and talk about cars. Their vacation home’s guest houses are bigger than the house I was raised in.

The Meetinghouse hired me because I used to serve at Victory. They used to have Prima on draft, but once got a keg that didn’t taste right, so they stopped getting Prima. I told them that fall was coming and that they should get Moonglow. A half hour later, their sales rep came in with a list of beers that they should choose for fall. Of course, Moonglow was among them.

***

Meetinghouse is defined as “casual fine dining” where the rich and crazy rich can come in wearing whatever they want and over pay for great food and drinks. The staff were all super nice, the manager seemed like a nice guy, and the owner was a dick.

After working at Victory for as long as I had, I probably didn’t adjust to the Meetinghouse’s rules as quickly as I should have, but some of their rules were weird. (“You must only hold your tray like this, never like this.” As they would smile and laugh.) It was nice that they had Digital Dining, though, oh and if I wanted food after my shift, it was free, which was sweet.

I have had bosses in the past who liked to yell, and curse, and be mean dicks, but there was always a bit of a sense that they were doing it because they had to as a boss, not because they took pleasure in it, or wholeheartedly believed in what they were saying, or even cared as much as they were acting like they cared. These bosses weren’t always the most professional people I’ve ever met either, except when they spoke of the importance of professionalism. Then they would strap on their professionalism, and act like it, while reprimanding people about the importance of professionalism. This all makes sense to me, and I never minded it.

What didn’t make sense to me was the fact that the owner of the Meetinghouse liked to scream and yell about my inability to carry a spoon correctly on my second day to his manager while they sat at the bar, while I was in the dining area, while me and all the customers could hear him, while I tried my best to smile at customers. Smiling was very important at the Meetinghouse, the customers won’t come back if you don’t stop smiling at them.

Once, an elderly woman came in asking if the owner would like to have his restaurant in the phonebook. Before she could finish speaking, he said no and asked her to leave.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Please leave now, thank you,” he said as he guided her back to the door.

The next day, that old woman’s middle-aged daughter came in asking why he didn’t want his business in the phone book, and why he was so dismissive of her mother.

“I don’t feel like I should have to explain myself to you,” he said. And you know what, he was right, he really shouldn’t be force to explain himself, but he also shouldn’t be such a dick to people.

I worked at the Meetinghouse for less than two weeks. Three days a week, three hours a day, and made great money, fantastic money for very little work. I once received an American Express Black Card from a guy. It was incredible. The staff was very cool, and the manager tried his best, which wasn’t bad either.

In the office they has the very funny daily calendar “What Stuff White People Like.” When I saw it for the first time I smiled, because I have the same calendar, and then I laughed really hard at the thought of them buying that calendar, not for comedic, but instead educational value. They need to find out what all these rich white people like so they can better run a restaurant. I’m funny.

They called me one time and I said “oh I’m so glad you called, I was just going to call you.”

The manager said, “oh really? Why?”

“Oh no, go ahead, what’s up?” I said.

“No you go first,” he said, chuckling.

“I’m not coming back. I was offered another job,” I said.

“Ok well thank you, and good luck,” he said.

“Yeah, I just want to say thanks for giving me work these past couple weeks, the money really helped, it was nice being able to feed myself and stuff,” I said.

“Haha, yeah, haha,” he said.