1
Eden
"Everyone, please raise your glass as we toast Eden on her new journey as she navigates the exciting corporate world of advertising." A few congratulatory whistles sound throughout the bar as Elle, my best friend, begins her toast. She's standing on the top of the bar with a cold beer in one hand and a Kamikaze shot in the other. She slowly pumps and lowers her hands, mimicking a quiet down motion, to continue her toast.
"Although we will all miss you here at Libra's, we wish you nothing but the best and may you kick ass at your new job as an advertising associate." She adds as she begins to sway a little, undoubtedly from the effects from the small amount of alcohol she's consumed but manages to regain her equilibrium to finish her toast.
For as long as I could remember, Elle had always been a light weight. During our early college days, on nights where we would celebrate the ending of a grueling test or semester, she'd pass out just after one glass of wine. When we took our drinking to the local bars and nightclubs, she'd slur her words or get lost in the crowd just after one shot. I only ever managed to get down two drinks before I found myself helping her out of the middle of a crowd before she did something she'd regret in the morning like, flashing some of the local college boys that went to Brooklyn college with us, or the rich corporate douchebags that found their way to one of the popular bars here in Brooklyn, looking for their nights fuck. After a while Elle and I decided to stay in, whether it was at her apartment or mines where it was much safer than cruising bars and night clubs.
Elle's boyfriend David stands near the bar, never letting her out of his sight. He's aware that his girlfriend isn't a pro drinker and has always been close by whenever Elle thought she could consume more than she could handle.
"Don't forget us little people as you climb your way to the top." She adds, just before letting off a loud wolf like howl. Everyone, including myself, scream and cheer as we all toss back the Kamikaze shot. It's more vodka than it is lemon juice and I know that's on purpose, courtesy of B.J., my former co-worker and tonight's bartender.
Before Elle could fall face forward off the bar, David scoops her up and carries her over towards the nearest barstool. He unscrews the lid off a water bottle and hands it to her. I turn, spotting my parents at one of the booths near the back of the intimate dive bar and begin to head towards them. Since they'd moved to Rochester shortly after I'd graduated from high school, I rarely got to see them except for holidays and the occasional one-week summer visit. I begin to stride towards them as a few of the patrons stop to congratulate me personally.
Leaving Libra's, my home for the past six years, had been harder than I thought it would be. If it weren't for this place, I wouldn't be the college graduate that I am today. Long days and nights pulling double shifts and working away my weekends was the only reason why I was able to pay for textbooks, my rent and part of my tuition.
***
After graduating high school, the small amount of money that my parents were able to put aside for my tuition was only enough for me to attend a two-year school. Which wasn't the worse thing in the world, accept I hadn't applied to any two-year schools and the deadline for applications for the current fall semester had passed. I'd gotten into every school I applied too, a few being Columbia University, Brooklyn College and Syracuse University, but I needed to put college on pause for the moment, in order to save up enough money to pay for tuition, books, transportation, expenses and my new apartment in Brooklyn. My parents hated my idea of taking a gap year but understood and supported my decision.
After coming across a: NOW HIRING sign sitting in the window of Libra's, a small dive bar that was only fifteen minutes away from my new apartment, I decided to take a leap of faith and went inside to apply for the open position. I had no experience waiting tables or even pouring drinks, but I figured that maybe a position as a hostess or even a dishwasher was better than no job at all. As I sat across the table from the owner, Oz, short for Oliver Ziegler, I could feel my hands begin to sweat as he gazed over my pathetic ass excuse for an application, wondering if he was judging me for even wasting his damn time.
"You have no experience in waiting tables, taking orders or bartending?" He questions, his loud boisterous voice fills his small office and I take a moment to swallow the lump in my throat before answering.
"No, sir. I'm afraid I don't." I admit, my voice cracking in the process.
"Do you have any experience in clerical work?" He asks me. He places my application down on his desk, before raising his eyes to look up at me. I mull over his question in my head, thinking about the real reason why I was here. I needed this job, whatever it may be. I had absolutely no experience outside of cheer captain at my former high school and a camp counselor every summer for the past four years, but I knew that none of that was going to impress this man enough to land me a job in his establishment. So, I did what any respectable, inexperienced high school graduate would do.
Lie.
"Yes sir, I've worked for an accountant every summer for the past four years and learned bookkeeping as well." I say, almost immediately hating myself. I ball my hands into fists, digging the tips of my fingernails into the palms of my hands, as I inwardly roll my eyes at my answer. Why the hell did I have to say bookkeeping or accountant? I wasn't good with numbers, never have been and yet I lied to this business owner through my desperation.
Shit!
Oz nodded his head and stood from his chair.
"Follow me will you." He suggests and I immediately jumped to my feet, excited that maybe this interview was going somewhere. Well, if he didn't ask me anything pertaining to numbers that is. We reach the front of the bar, which was filled with a few day stragglers and a few men and women in business suits who were obviously here on their lunch break. Oz walked behind the bar and produced a small, round, black tray. He takes four red plastic cups and fills each one halfway with water.
"I want you to try to carry this drink tray for me. Once you make it to that table closest to the front door" he points to one of the tables that is the furthest one from where I'm currently standing. "I want you to lower your tray and then place each glass on the table, without spilling the water inside." He instructs. I look over at the small square table that held four chairs once again.
Just balance a tray of drinks and deliver them without spilling. Ok this should be easy enough.
The gnawing feeling of never having balanced a tray of drinks before causes a nervous lump in my throat. I chew on my bottom lip, wishing I could just haul ass out the front door instead of completing the challenge he'd given me, but instead I nod my head in agreement anyway. I rub the sweat from my palms on the fronts of my blue ripped jeans and pull the tray towards me, balancing it out on my left palm. I use my right hand to hold onto the side of the tray for extra measure and walk towards the front of the bar, thankful that none of the patrons seem to be interested in my fake ass waitress audition. My jeweled sandals felt like cement blocks as I place one foot in front of the other. I stop in front of the table and take a deep breath, trying to not let my nerves get the best of me.
Just lower the tray and remove the cups without spilling, I repeat to myself.
I use my body to help balance out the tray, as I remove my right hand and slowly begin to remove each glass from the tray. My hands are shaking but I manage to get the last plastic cup on the table and turn to look at Oz. He nods his head in approval and I walk back towards him with the tray tucked under my arm. Thankful that I didn't drop the tray or spill any of the water filled cups on the table.
"Not bad, but let's see how you are with taking guests orders." Oz hands me a pen and a small flip pad. Without warning he begins to spit out an order.
"Cheeseburger, cooked medium, sub provolone cheese, no tomato, add extra sautéed onions on a lightly toasted wheat bun with a side salad, also without tomatoes with ranch dressing on the side. My hands glide quickly over the paper, as I write a mixture of abbreviated words and full ones. Once I'm done, or at least I think I'm done, I look up at Oz, for the next steps.
"Now, read it back to me." He orders and I do, verbatim. With another nod, Oz smiles and we head back into his office, where he offers me the job as a part-time waitress and the rest is history.
***
Instead of going to school that following spring, I took another year off to save more money, not wanting to be caught between a rock and a hard place. I hated that I was two years behind on my life's plan, and two years older than any of my other classmates and feeling out of place. But I reminded myself that my path couldn't be compared to others because my path was just that. Mines.
On my first day on campus at Brooklyn College, while standing in the long line at the bookstore as I held four thick textbooks, I begin to crunch the numbers of the costs in my head when a voice behind me caught my attention.
"Damn! It looks like you took the last Introduction to Sociology textbook." I turn to find a girl, about my age, carrying her own set of textbooks. There's a playful smirk on her face as she looks over the stack of textbooks I'm currently holding.
"Oh, did I?" I say, as my eyes fall to the thick sociology textbook cradled in my arms.
"Ah! Don't worry about it, I'll just have to get on the waiting list. I hear around campus that it's usually a popular course during the fall semester." She says with a wave of her arm. "Who's your professor anyway?" she adds.
I lift my hand that holds the paper of my classes and professors listed on it and scroll to the section where my sociology professor name was written.
"Dr. Ricard Mobley." I answer.
"No shit! I have Dr. Mobley." She says with wide eyes. Her eyes roam the rest of my textbooks, and we begin to compare some of our other classes. We learned that we also had English 1101 together.
"I'm Elle Sharp, by the way." She introduces, with her had outstretched towards me.
"Eden Rhodes" I reply as I shook her hand.
"What would you say to the idea of us sharing a textbook this semester?" Elle asks and I raise a brow at her suggestion.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, since we are both in the same English and Sociology class, how about you buy the textbook for one of the courses and I buy the other and we share the textbook? We'll have the same assignments anyway so we can also study together." Elle suggests but I don't answer her right away.
"I don't have much money, and if I can save a dollar or three hundred on a textbook, I'd like to take that chance." She adds and I quickly realize that both Elle and I were in the same boat.
"That actually sounds like a great idea."
"Good." She says as she reaches over her stack of textbooks and takes my English textbook from my arms and place it on a nearby cart. Four years later, Elle and I graduate from Brooklyn college having shared textbooks all four years, even getting David in on the idea. It was great and unforgettable, and now it was time to go off and develop new friendships and partnerships with my new co-workers.
***
Saying goodbye to all the weekly regulars who practically paid my way through college was harder than I thought it would be. I continue to make my way towards my parents just as Kim and her husband Lee, some of my favorite bar regulars who were both retired New York City Police officers, spun me towards them and enveloped me in a tight hug. I returned the hug, holding back tears that were starting to form in my eyes. Taking a trip back down memory lane to where it all began had begun to make me an emotional train wreck.
"I'm so very proud of you." Lee says with a soft pat on my back.
"Thanks, that means a lot." I answer him, now wiping away a stray tear that had fallen. Kim pulls out of the hug and hands me a pink envelope. I look down at the pastel pink paper and knew that inside held a goodbye card. I flip the envelope over in my hands as another happy tear slip from my eyes, staining the paper.
"Go on, open it." Kim gestures with a wide grin. I look up at them and nod my head. I hold my breath preparing for another round of tears that I was sure to come and lift the flap on the envelope, removing the pink and gold glitter card, with the words: CONGRATULATIONS sprawled out on front of it in gold glitter. I slowly open the card and begin to read the handwritten note inside.
To our favorite girl,
We have both watched you grow into a wonderful woman over the last six years, and we are both happy to see how far you've come. We cannot wait to see what else it is that you accomplish. Now, go out there and kick some ass! With love,
Lee & Kim
I lift the folded piece of paper from the card and gasp. I shoot my surprised gaze up at Lee and Kim and then back down at the paper.
"This is a check for a thousand dollars" I say shockingly. They both nod their heads excitedly.
"I can't accept this." I say and begin to hand the check back to them. Lee and Kim have done so much for me over the past six years, that it almost felt wrong to accept such a generous gift. They'd given me countless tips that were well over the standard twenty percent. Birthday gifts, Christmas gifts and did I mention, the great tips?
"Lee and I have put aside of fund for you since the first day we met you. Since we don't have any children of our own, we thought it would be a great idea to give you this as a graduation gift." Kim says as she closes my hand around the check. More tears spill from my eyes as Kim begins to cry herself.
"I don't know what to say." I respond as I wrap them in another tight hug.
"You don't have to say anything, just go out there and accomplish your goals, baby girl." Lee says and that's exactly what I planned to do.
After landing an entry level advertising associate position at the prestigious Wesley Connor Group, a New York City based advertising firm, a firm that I wanted to get into since my junior year of college was a dream come true. After submitting my pathetic resume three times, I finally received a phone call from the human resources department at The Wesley Connor Group for an interview and immediately jumped at the opportunity.
I went shopping the day before the interview, with my mother on a video chat as I raided the racks at Macy's, looking for the perfect suit for my interview. I didn't want to settle on the typical black or navy suit and white collared shirt, that was expected of me. I wanted something more. An ensemble that would set me apart from the rest of the candidates. Which is why I settled on a white pant suit, pairing it with a pastel pink collared shirt, and a pair of paisley printed pastel pink, navy and white high heeled shoes. The suit wasn't overly loud, yet fashionable enough to stand out from the rest of the crowd and with my confidence high, I walked into The Wesley Connor Group, determined to leave the building with an offer.
After four small meetings with partners including one interview with Mr. Wesley Connor himself, I was offered a six-month long paid internship with the company along with a hefty salary and health benefits. Once the six months were up, you were either offered to join the firm full-time or was let go to explore other opportunities.
I finally make my way towards my parents, who stand immediately to give me a bear-like hug. After a few more congratulations, I sit with my parents, digging my fork into a piece of Oreo cheesecake. I shove a forkful of the sweet goodness into my mouth and begin to look out into the crowd of people who were here to celebrate my success. Since the Wesley Connor Group will become my new home as of this upcoming Monday, I couldn't help but to feel a bit of sadness at the thought of leaving the only home I have known for the past six years. As I sit and ponder, I suddenly realize that my success at the firm would not only be for me, but it would also be for the people that stood before me, and I had no intentions on letting them down.