These are stories of a dream.

Perspective is not the most accessible possession for a rich person to come by if they have spent their entire life having an abundance of money. Possibly, because perspective is acquired and not purchased. It is conquered when you put your status, and often your pride, on hold to see how it feels to be a person who you typically would not acknowledge. It is hard. My jobs, the means to pay the rent, give me more perspective than I would wish for. For extra cash, I am a hostess at a new restaurant in Union Square, one of those tragically trendy places. A good rule of thumb is to never work at a place where you can’t figure out how to work the sink. The sink represents the danger of your surroundings and the pretentious people’s adamant attempt to be superior. Another attribute of an ostentatious place is the lighting. If there is a light from above that contours a perfect circle on the floor, run away! My job description at a restaurant with a confusing sink, techno music, couches, and non-convection light fixtures entails smiling when guests enter and leave. Most of the time, I smile so that my bitchy managers would witness my attempt, because the guests leave under the radar. Usually, the fat rich man lets the beauty project of a woman lead as he places his hand on the small of her back as if to protect her harm; harm in this case is having to be nice. The woman struts out and never even
bothers to flash us with a wave that would radiate the entire building with its unleashed “bling.” Other job duties include escorting such couples from the bar to their table. I carry the lady’s drink on a lonely silver tray and balance the menus under the same arm. Not one woman has declined my offer to carry her drink or made the effortless attempt to thank me while making eye contact.