I'm applying for a job at the Ritz Carlton hotel in Half Moon Bay, a beautifully untouched beachy town about 20 minutes from my house here in Northern California.
It's beautiful--right on the beach, surrounded by a lush green golf course, fire pits outside every ground-floor room.
A cocktail server job in the lobby bar is what led me to the hotel. This is something I'm unequivocally qualified for; something I have plenty experience with; something I'm markedly good at.
Something I actually did five years ago.
I wouldn't say I'm the most overqualified waitress in the world, but I'm just sayin' that it could be tough to impress human resources with my skills in radio editing and nut graph construction.
Now it's a matter of selling myself on another Ritz job besides serving overpriced martinis and Kobe beef sliders to sunburned tourists.
Without sounding ungrateful for the opportunity to finally have an income, I'd like to convince them of my hospitality prowess--my ability to transcend the lobby bar with the things I've learned in the past five years.
I've thought a lot about my career path in recent days and weeks. I've learned to reject jobs that put me behind a computer for the majority of the day. I don't have confidence in a lot of my skills, but talking to people is one thing I can do.
I miss working in hospitality. Despite daily annoyances of high demand clientele and discomfort in what I affectionately called my "pilgrim uniform," some of my best memories and friends are from the Ritz lobby bar in Vail, Colorado.
And when it comes to serving cocktails, I'd choose the dignified setting of the Ritz over beer-soaked college night at the local Irish pub any day of the week.
PS. In case you've ever wondered, like me, about the world's largest meatball (crosses my mind at least bi-weekly), here it is. Thanks to the Ritz Carlton, Cancun for this particular display o' carnage.
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