Waitersfriend

Okay, so I became a waiter.  It wasn’t exactly a desired career while I was attending one of the top private schools in Adelaide - at least not desired by the folks.  No, I am pretty sure there was an unspoken law that required me to at least get into uni and get a degree - and my life career path would evolve from there.  Everything would be simple, I would have a steady job with a ‘wonderful’ piece of paper in my back pocket proclaiming my brilliance and I would never have to worry about anything again!

Now to an extent the above theory is true, because God knows it hasn’t been an easy path in life after I dropped out of uni.  However, getting that degree is not the be all and end all of life.  There are other options (which I had to find quickly) and I’m sure there are many other people out there who have found themselves in the position I was in. 

So, with the big question reverberating around my big, empty, ‘no degree’ head I decided Hotel Management sounded like a lovely career - sitting behind a desk, doing a little paper work, dealing with the odd hooker who may have found a rich client within the confines of my palatial surroundings - oh what a lovely career - oh how young and naive I was to think that by doing a course in ‘Hotel Management’ I would come out the other end a hotel manager.  So I enrolled in the Regency Hotel School in Adelaide.  Just to get into this TAFE course I had to get through an interview with a Food and Beverage manager from the Novotel in the city and a representative of the Regency Hotel School.  But, I bluffed my way through, and impressed the F & B Manager enough with my eagerness to warrant the transfer of his business card into my sweaty hand, “Call me and we will set up an interview,” he said.  Well well well!  I was on my way - I envisaged a personal assistant role or some kind of junior position that would launch me into the stratosphere of the hotel world.  So with my reputation preceding me, I set up the interview.  I suited up.  I strolled in.  I shook the mans hand.  I sat down.  I listened.  I heard the words ‘kitchen hand’.  I developed a tic.  I started on Friday. 

And so it began…