Ms. Beaver
When I was in my sophomore year of college, I decided I wanted to get a ‘normal (college kid) job’ to see what it was like and what my peers were going through. So I went to the mecca of where attractive young girls make dough by investing in ample amounts of mascara- Joey Restaurant in Bellevue. This location is known for the fleets of business executives that run in (thanks to the Hyatt next door) and want to drink away their sorrows of terrible meetings at Joey’s under large expense accounts.
In I walked, or rather, strutted, in my black high heels. Yes folks, this restaurant made girls weighing under 100 lbs wear heels above 2” as they carried huge buckets of ice to the bar, to preserve their ‘culture’. I got the job, changed into my black ‘uniform’ dress, which hugged me tighter than ‘that one aunt’ always does at family functions, and ran over to wait my first table.
The cumulative IQ of the folks working in the place, I assumed beforehand, must be lower than 100. I was surprised to find that many of the girls working there were actually quite thoughtful; some working to support themselves while going through grad school, and others just working nights for an extra few bucks for new shoes.
While I was surprised to learn that the IQ assumption was wrong, I was sorry to see that another I’d made was not- The place reeked of insecurity. I found this out fairly quickly; For some reason, my no-nonsense demeanor and inability to hide when I think someone is being an idiot tips people off when I think they’re full of shit. My superior, whom we’ll call Ms. Beaver, as her facial structure was not dissimilar to the animal in question, must have felt threatened for some reason by my inability to kiss her ass. So she nit-picked, trying to find any reason to move me down in table size. For the most part, my tables loved me. And no one grabbed my ass. (Because ass-grabbing, apparently, is quite common at Joey’s.) In fact, I got more job offers working at Joey than I ever have.
And so, as this dear insecure beaver berated me and found any reason to move me down in table size, I giggled inside, seeing my hypothesis about this ‘college job’ become validated.
I was fired within two months. That’s the only place I’ve ever been fired. That’s also the only ‘normal’ job I’ve ever had. What a riot it was, and a great social experiment.
Thankfully, my bosses and clients to date have all been incredible, aside from Ms. Beaver. They’ve taken me under their wing, barely winced when I screwed up, and allowed me to learn and explore, trusting me with large tasks. But anytime I need to contemplate how lucky I am, I think of Ms. Beaver. I believe she’s still working at Joey.
