Christmas time was upon us, and with no car, the prospects me returning homing were looking rather bleak. I was sad, but hell-bent on making the most of the situation. I had learned over the course of a few weeks that I had really great people, already, in my new life that were willing to give me rides and make sure that I found my way. My New Orleans family was beginning to take root. Although I wasn’t going to be home for Christmas, or New Years, or anytime soon, (so I thought) I had to keep my head up. I moved to New Orleans to become an adult, dammit, and that is what I was going to do. I did have a little something to look forward to, though, the company Christmas party.
I had never attended one before, and I didn’t really know what to expect. As it turns out, the company Christmas party would become a tradition of bad decisions (on my part). That first party was interesting. The boss invited a TON of people that none of the servers really knew at the time. There were so many people there speaking Espanol, that all of us decided to just take the table outside. Over the course of the few months that I had worked there, I had tried a few things on the menu, but this really was the first time that I was able to chow down on the chef’s delicious food. I think that this was the night that I discovered that I really did like ceviche (raw fish in lime juice). I chatted it up with my fellow co-workers and met some of the night crew that I never worked with. Up to this point, I was the lunch girl, only allowed to work during the day until I could prove that I could keep up with the demand of the night. Oh, and then there was the alcohol, and plenty of it. Luckily, I contained myself for this first party, and was able to make it home unscathed. I did not know at this point, but things were about to change for me.
Napoleon was the first of many long-lived servers that went. Right around Christmas time, a few of my co-workers decided to leave permanently, and new night-crew positions were immediately open. That next work day after the party, my manager told me that I was going to start working some nights, and I was thrilled. There was literally a night and day difference between daytime and nighttime shifts. My earning potential had just exponentially grown in a matter of 24 hours. Finally, I was going to be able to start saving for that apartment. The manager told me that I was going to be faced with new obstacles, and I would have to really prove that I knew my stuff........challenge accepted.
There were two different menus for day and night at this restaurant, so I had a whole new menu to learn. That wasn’t the hard part, I still hadn’t gotten the hang of opening wine bottles. Turns out, the more you open, the more you learn. Thus began my wine-o phase, haha. EVERYONE, and I do mean everyone, in New Orleans drinks wine. Considering I hadn’t even drank alcohol for that long, I was still rather disgusted by the stuff. The only interaction I had with wine up to this point was seeing my grandmother carry around a glass at our family gatherings. Another challenge I had to face was reciting the nightly specials. Every night the chef would do some sort of special Tapa or Entree’ and it was the servers responsibility to communicate that to the customers. No biggie, except most of the time they contained ingredients that 1. I had not a clue what they were and 2. I couldn’t pronounce. That first week on the night shift was definitely a learning experience. However, I took the bull by the horns, committed to proving myself, and took off. Every night someone would bring a bottle of wine, mostly Yellow Tail Cabernet, and we would drink...and drink. I am telling you, the New Orleans lifestyle is not for the faint of heart, or the occasional drinker.
By the second week of night shifts, the Megan-drive had kicked in. I was selling specials like they were hot-cakes, and I was opening bottles of wine like they were nobody’s business. The chef took notice. The manager took notice. Things started to change. Slowly but surely, I began to feel more comfortable in this environment, and I didn’t feel like ownership hated me.
On Christmas Eve, I called my family and there were at the house making gumbo (our family tradition) and eating ‘horderves. I cried like a baby. I didn’t realize how difficult it would be to not be with my family. Christmas with Will’s family was good, just not the same. I made it through, and the following week somehow managed to be off on New Year’s Eve. I don’t really remember that night so who knows what happened lol. Will and I probably went and played pool.
Something significant happened in December, besides being promoted, my mom bought a Tahoe. This meant that there was now an extra car in the family’s possession, another CR-V. My parents offered to “lend” it to me, only problem was getting it to me. Thus began the conundrum.
