Our Ruts Change Our Bad Attitudes
During the aforementioned job-hunt of horror, our one-income lifestyle was not cutting it, and my refusal to put my babies in daycare led me with two very dire money-making options. Since prostitution clearly violated my spiritual standards the only thing left was night waitressing at an uppity grille/wine bar, resurrecting skills I hadn’t used since my TGI Friday days in college. God used this frightful season to refine me of all pride, as I assumed my college degree and willingness to lower myself to blue collar status would lead to a quick embrace by the serving community I now called home. However after incriminating myself by admitting I had no clue about the origin of Malbec, and I indeed use a ‘bunny ears’ wine opener at home, l was quickly labeled an uncultured savage with no passion for the industry.
I was ostracized and sometimes openly mocked by the entire childless, twenty-something staff, which only worsened after asking the chef what kind of cheese was used to make the burrata cheese sashimi (Burrata is a cheese…who knew). Now I enjoy my vino as much as the next sister, but these people talked about dark tannins like they’ve discovered life on Mars. You know we’ll flush this out in six hours, right? Even worse was witnessing the continual disappointment conveyed by my guests, hoping for the service of a stellar wine connoisseur, not a mommy gripping Bordeaux between her legs…”just…one…more second guys, tough cork!!” It was six months of this kind of torture before God rescued me with another job, but when I came out was more humble, meek and grateful for office life than ever imaginable. You want the report by tomorrow? My friggin’ pleasure.