I arrived a t the host stand just in time to witness my manager chewing out the other hostesses. A wonder ful first impression of a Saturday night shift. Apparently one of the girl's voices wasn't loud (or an noying) enough and the other girl lost a table of 9, meaning he was blaming her for the groups deci sion to not wait the 25 minutes it took to get a table. Despite that hick up I caught on fast. They think I'm a super genius because I can count and easily find the real table on the floor when looking at the sectioned map at the host stand. Besides having to get my lock cut off my locker in the breakroom and someone walking in on me in the bathroom, mid tampon insertion, the night turned out pretty well.
I hate to toot my own horn but uh... "toot toot." I kicked ass. I deserve it. I didn't double seat anyone, turned around that host stand enough to get the manager to come over and tell us how great we were doing, and even pretended to care what the lonely and perverted middle aged men were talking about. I carefully evaded the not so hidden cameras belonging to adolescent boys, made friends with the other girls and even g
ot my manager's approval. This is a big deal. No. Huge. Shy me; the girl who hid behind her hair in high school and could not for the life of me make direct eye contact with anyone larger than a fifth grader. My manager sat a smoothie down next to me and said as he turned and walked away, "I made this, now you can't say I've never done anything for you." I'm going to think of that smoothie as a sign of appreciation. A trophy kind of, for a night well done. Thank You :o)
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