The New Store Opens, Time Travel is Discovered

I know, I know. It's been years since I, Kina, have blogged. This is due to two things: first was a fight over a blog, the details of which my lawyer has advised me not to discuss and the second is the fact that I make it through work consistently without complaints, without any interesting stories, or meeting any insane customers. But just like hellish middle school, known for breaking kids down my normally comfortable existence at work is speckled with uncomfortable, confidence blowing, self-doubting moments. I forgot what it meant to feel like a loser until about a week ago, when thanks to my job, I was reacquainted with the feelings I kept zipped up in my monogrammed hand-me-down backpack I thought I had left behind in seventh grade.

It was the week before our big opening. My bosses at the restaurant had toiled away for over a year trying to open our third location and it had finally happened. They had decided to open the following Tuesday with a private party for friends the Sunday before. Last Thursday, as I was leaving work, my boss came up to me and said, "Hey, I think we're having a party on Sunday for the opening. Its for friends and people who've helped to come look at the store and have some food. Tell your mom and everyone to come." and I was like, "Oh ya. I will. That sounds fun." I had been waiting for the opening of the restaurant for this very reason. A party. Or in this case, a fiesta. Then my boss added, "And I think we're going to have appetizers, so would you be interested in helping out with those? Passing them out to everyone?" I agreed, as I thought helping out for half an hour would be more than worth getting dolled up and buying a new outfit. All weekend I was excited and waiting for the opening.

We got home from visiting my sister in Newport, RI about half an hour before I was supposed to be at the new store to set up appetizers. I quickly got dressed in my super cute dress and cowboy boots. But just to make sure I wasn't overdoing the outfit, I text messaged my manager to ask her what she was wearing to the party. About a minute later I got a text back from her saying, "You should be wearing black on black." I was in shock. This couldn't be right. Black on black is what we had to wear to cater. I wasn't catering - I was invited. So I called my manager to explain to her that there must be a mix-up and she explained to me that I was, in fact, working at the party and that the other two girls I was working with were not wearing Juicy dresses like me, but their work shirts and black pants. I almost started crying. I was all dressed up thinking I was invited to a party, when really they just wanted me to work at the party. I could almost feel Dr. Braun using his pliers to put my braces back on and the freckles on my nose becoming more pronounced. The worst part of the conversation was my manager trying to back pedalled. "Well, just wear your dress. Its okay. Or maybe wear the black and bring your dress in the car." I wanted to tell her, "It's okay. I get it. I'm only hired help. The party is for friends."

So I spent the night in the back of the restaurant, with the new shiny appliances, arranging trays of flautas, empanadas, and mini quesadillas to serve to my family and other people who were cool enough to be "friends". I was on the B Team in sixth grade volleyball again (and the only reason I made B Team was because they can't cut you from a required gym class). But I sucked it up, refilled the chips and salsa for everyone, and when Maximo the cook told me in broken English that he wanted to dance with me, I simply showed him the only dance I knew with no required touching : the robot. - Kina