Diaries Of A Clumsy Waitress

Chapter 1: The Unexpected Call

February 26, 2013
Dear Diary,
The alarm clock of my phone woke me up from my deep slumber. I wasn't sure if I have pressed the "snooze" button or the "dismiss" one but one thing I am sure is that the buzzing sound of the alarm has stopped. Relief. Time check: 11:15AM, hmm. Wait what? Damn! I hurried off the sofa, quickly folded the blanket and put away the pillows as I brushed my teeth, I was late for yet another job interview in a hotel called Jumeirah Creekside Hotel. It only took me ten minutes to have a quick shower, I glanced at the clock hanged neatly on the wall, I can still make it to the interview. Determined, I printed the map attached from the email I have received last night from the hotel HR department giving me directions on how to get there. So it's gonna be a hotel job, what could possibly fit my description when my field is in healthcare and my previous job was a Sales Consultant? I frowned, it doesn't matter, I need a job the soonest possible time otherwise I will be kicked out from the country once my visa expires and overstay here. I didn't get the luxury to choose what to wear. It's a hotel job so I needed to look presentable at least. Fifteen minutes later, I am outside the elevator door waiting for it to open. A couple, probably French stood by while we waited for the elevator to ding. I smiled at the couple and greeted them with the only French word I know. "Bonjour!" The couple smiled, they probably live next to my sisters' apartment as the guy's face looked so familiar to me. I might have bumped onto him a couple of times in the garbage room!
I leaned my head on the elevator's mirrored wall. I closed my eyes and tried to shake off the negative vibes that haunt me whenever I get a call for a job interview. This would be my sixth interview and so far, I never received a callback as the interviewer says "Please wait for the next interview. We will call you back for further instructions." I guess that is another soft way of saying "I'm sorry. You failed." That is probably because I have no previous work experience in Dubai and the cost of hiring me is gonna be a big burden to them. Well, at the second thought, maybe I wasn't good enough. I recalled what I have read about the hotel's profile from Google. I could feel the French couple staring at me while I mumble words with my eyes closed. Yes, I am praying. Excuse me for being religious.
After a couple of stops on the metro station, I took a cab to take me to Jumeirah Creekside Hotel as I couldn't understand the map I printed. I was never good in maps anyways. The driver stopped in the facades of a gloriously looking building with a bunch of people smiling back at me. Okay so this is it. I'm sorry I am not checking in! I came here for an interview! The lounge was as grand as the outsides of the building. So modern that it intimidated me not to mention the different people buzzling around in black and red suits. I cleared my throat and approached the front desk. "Good afternoon! Hi! I came here for a job interview with Mr. Malik." I let out a heavy breath as I said the words without a single pause. My hands were cold and sweaty as it left a print on the glass table of a gorgeous looking woman professionally dressed in red and black. She gave me a fake smile and dialed an extension number on the telephone, a couple of minutes later, a guy in the same red uniform accompanied me to the elevator and took me to a very wide room with a long table in the middle surrounded by swivel chairs. I thanked the guy and he left without saying a word. Thank you very much. The meeting room was as intimidating as the people around the hotel be it hotel staffs or guests. I always get this feeling of an outsider like I don't belong here every time I come to a place for the first time. Mr. Malik is at his early fifties but is surprisingly handsome and presentable. He offered me a drink to let the pressure cool down, I was shaking you can even tell it from my voice. "So, Miss Saint. How are you?" his voice was deep and casual. His smile was gone and he turned back to being serious and intimidating. "I am feeling good, Sir. Thank you for the refreshment!" I tried to sound alive and at ease.
After a couple of questions, he took me to the hotel kitchen down to a small room with three desktop computers with sheets of the hotel's food and drinks menu neatly posted around the small room. "This is my office,Miss Saint where I work most of my shift..." pointing at a table filled with piled papers and some other things. "...and these two tables are for you and Jenna, the other telephone operator. She is on break right now." We seated and he continued asking me questions about my previous job as a customer service representative in a call center. It turns out that the job he is offering is accepting calls from hotel guests who need help in ordering their food. Okay this is gonna be easy for me, I thought. When we went back to the meeting room, Mr. Malik shook my hand and said "Thank you Miss Saint for coming today for the interview." He was smiling. So? Was I hired or not? He didn't say a thing. Just the word thank you. So I hurried off the ground floor towards the main entrance of the hotel. I let out a heavy sigh when I reached the outside. Relief filled my chest like I haven't been breathing the second I set my feet on the hotel. That was intense! Finishing my cigarette, I came out with a result that I did not pass the interview. I just felt it. "What would you do if a hotel guest asks for chicken but we've ran out of it?" I remember Mr. Malik's ridiculous question. I answered "I would ask for an apology because it is currently unavailable but I would suggest and offer him whatever food we have that might catch his tastebuds. " I thought I have answered his question. He continued "...but what if he only wanted a chicken and he didn't like any of the recipes you suggested? What if he got mad and demanded to refund his money and threatens you he will leave the hotel if you can't give what he was asking?" I didn't answer immediately. I paused for a while and tried to calm myself, clear my mind and compose an answer that will satisfy him. These are the type of questions that entail another question harder than the previous one. Then follows yet another harder question until you don't have any other options to get away from it. It is like your answer doesn't matter if it is right or wrong.
I let out a sigh as I dropped the cigarette butt on the floor and crushed it with my newly polished black leather shoes imagining it was Mr. Malik I am stomping my foot on. Oh well, let's call it a day. But my subconscious is firing canonballs in the sky...