Looking for a job in LA is a joke. Well, it's a joke if you happen to be 5 feet tall, weigh more than is socially acceptable, and have no sense of style. I have now applied at over 30 places. I have sat through open interviews, walked up and down streets filling out applications, and trolled craigslist for hours. My mother has now redone my resume 3 times, and she has made me two different versions: one administrative and one customer service. I have gotten precisly 3 phone calls so far. Two were for kiosks at Santa Monica College, which I though was too far away at the time, but now am regretting not pursuing. The other was for P.F. Chang's in Burbank - but sadly, that was when I was in Buffalo a few weeks ago, and they never called me back about rescheduling.
Last week, BRO and his friend let me tag along to an open interview at a restaurant outside of Universal Studios. The Saddle Ranch Chop House boasts 3 bars, a huge indoor/oudoor dining area, and not 1, but 2 bulls for guests to get thrown from while inebriated. I liked it immediately. The interview was crowded, but I was somewhat confident. I'm outgoing, friendly, and have loads of customer service experience. I even had an Oprah approved resume. (That's where my mother got the layout for my new and improved resume from.) We waited for over an hour before BRO and his friend were called. The manager interviewed them for 5 minutes, then moved on to the next group. I almost felt bad, because BRO only has about a year and a half of restaurant experience, and his friend had never had a job before. After another hour, my group was finally called. We were interviewed by the general manager, who was quite intimidating. However, I was confident in my answers to her questions. I thought I was charming and open, and my resume spoke for itself.
Cut to the next day: BRO and his friend got callbacks. I wasn't upset at first, but as the days went on and my phone mocked me silently, I began to wonder what I could have done wrong. Had I been too nervous and fidgety? Had one of my previous employers given me a bad reference? I couldn't put my finger on it. Then, it hit me. BRO had been dressed really trendy, with boots and a vest and other things that people find trendy that I have no idea about. His friend had worn a denim jumpsuit with sky high gladiator heels, her long flowing blonde hair curled just so. Me? I had on a summer dress from Forever 21 and flip flops, my hair styled into a flat, dried out look. I had the bare minimum of makeup on. That was my problem. That was what had gone wrong: I didn't have the right look. I wasn't pretty enough, trendy enough, thin enough, glamorous enough.
That was tough to swallow. I may suck at a lot of things, but waitressing isn't one of them. I'm damn good at it, and I defy anyone to prove otherwise. But I will admit that I don't try very hard in the clothes/look department. What made me think it was ok to wear flip flops to a job interview? How could I not have curled my hair? Why didn't I wear black, the color of trendiness? Lord knows I have enough of it in my closet. But while I was busy cutting myself down, I began to get angry. Why the hell didn't they give me a chance? I have the experience, I made the manager laugh a few times during the interview, I had all the answers to her questions...so they're not going to call me because I'm not tan enough? Bullshit.
But these are the things I have to deal with out here. That's why the deli down the street wants a headshot with your application. That's why the doctor's office across town won't respond to your email regarding a receptionist position unless you've included a photo. I suppose I was in denial when I first got out here. "Oh, once people meet me, they'll give me a chance. I'm charming! Funny! I have experience! Who cares that I have dark brown roots? Who cares than I'm 25 pounds overweight? They'll love me for ME." So naive, wasn't it?
So that's where it stands now. I've been powering through craigslist once again today, responding to any ad that looks remotely promising. I'm planning on a City Walk blitz at some point, and this time, I will wear heels and curl my hair and wear my best black outfit. But I'm telling you, if I don't have even a hint of a job before October 1st, I'm going to be in trouble. As I sit here, I have $11 in my bank account. I love LA, but this is getting ridiculous. It's so different from Buffalo.
Buffalo is the dorky, band geek friend who's always there for you, but who you know you can't go to the cool parties with. LA is the bitchy girl who empties your pockets of lunch money, hope, and determination every day - but you still want to sit with her at lunch. It's a vicious cycle.
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