Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
“Not in that, you’re not,” she tells me, and I glance down at what I’m wearing.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? These leggings are Lululemon, and this sweater is North Face. Do you have any idea how expensive these were?” I prompt, and she lifts a brow.
“Sis, that would be all well and good if you were going to apply at like… a gym or something—”
I gasp, interrupting her. “Add that to the list! Why didn’t I think of that?”
“And what exactly would you do at a gym, pray tell?”
“Umm… I could totally do the laundry of all the towels the members use. I’m sure that’s a full-time job in itself. Or I could work in the childcare area.” I shrug. “Plus, then I might be able to keep my gym membership as a perk.”
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask if they’re hiring, but don’t get your hopes up. I didn’t see any classifieds for your gym or any others. Now, go change. Casual but nice,” she orders, and I groan as I stand then head to my room.
When I come back out a few minutes later, Mia gives me an approving smile. “Much better.” I glance down at my black skinny jeans and smooth my floral short-sleeved top. I swapped out my tennis shoes for black pointed-toe flats and switched out my loud Vera Bradley printed crossbody bag the girls picked out for me for Christmas, sticking all my necessary crap into the solid black little leather handbag I’ve had for ages but never use.
“Let’s do this,” I reply, nervous energy filling my veins, making me jittery and anxious to hurry up and go.
She sends the spreadsheet from her laptop to her phone, and she grabs the folder on the coffee table that’s holding the resumes she made me print earlier, even though they were embarrassingly short. We did read this great article though about including homemaker and motherhood skills as experience, and it made me feel really good about myself when I listed out all of my talents and abilities I’ve gained as a stay-at-home mom.
Our first stop is the car dealership. It turns out they already filled the receptionist position, but they were still looking for a salesperson. They had some interviews lined up, but they told me they’d keep my resume and would contact me if they didn’t hire anyone from the first bunch.
The next two stops were for server positions at nationwide restaurants. I knew as soon as I walked into both that they weren’t for me. The hostess and everyone I saw carrying trays looked to be no older than twenty-two. I’ve never felt so old in my life.
Finally, we make it to the family-owned restaurant, the last stop on our list because it’s closest to my house. The outside isn’t loud and fancy, but there’s a homey feel to it, a simple sign on the front in bold font that reads Winston’s Bar and Grille.
“I’ve always wanted to eat here but could never convince Mike to give it a try. Apparently it wasn’t posh enough. But the reviews are great, and I heard their food is excellent,” I tell Mia. “The ad didn’t say the name of the restaurant, so I didn’t realize it was Winston’s that posted it.”
I’m suddenly excited to get inside. Something about this place speaks to me, and I hope my intuition isn’t just setting me up to be let down. I grab my purse, and Mia hands me the folder, and I open my door.
“Good luck!” she calls as I close her inside, and I wave at her through the windshield as I hurry inside. There are only three other cars in the parking lot besides mine, but I assume it’s because I’m at that weird time between lunch and dinner. I have forty-five minutes before the girls get home from school, and I might just splurge and get some food here to bring home and reheat for dinner.
Take that, Mike, I think, realizing I finally get to do things I want to do without having to hear his shit.
The bell over the door jingles as I step inside, and I take a look around. The perimeter is lined in giant family-sized booths made of dark wood with deep-blue cushions. The center of the space is full of different sized tables, from ones that fit four all the way to a really long one that looks like it could fit a whole company if it needed to. At the very back is the bar, and there’s a door to the left of it that swings open as a woman steps through it holding a tray, so I guess that’s where the kitchen is.
“Sit where you want, darlin’. I’ll be right with ya,” she calls to me, and I make my way to the bar instead of interrupting her. When she’s finished serving her customers, she walks up to me with a menu and hands it to me. “Will it be just you, hon?”