If you don't know me, here's what you need to know:
A sheaf of papers says I'm a professional tuba player and writer.
A decade and a half of employment history says I'm a waiter.
Since graduating in May of 2009, I've not played my tuba or typed a story or essay, but I have been rejected from every job from pro tuba, college prof, junior college prof, asst prof, janitor, full-time server, part-time server, cook, driver, menial laborer, and laundry attendant.
Presently, I spend five nights and six days in a restaurant too fancy for its surroundings; who, in a college town, would be interested in chevre-spinach salad in warm hazelnut dressing, polenta with vegan ratatouille, hand-carved beef tenderloin, or a traditional humba?
Exactly: professors. And what has happened to professors in large public universities in the past years? Hint: no matter how much they'd like to, they can't leave much in the way of a tip.
So here I am: nine years of college, an undergraduate, graduate and terminal degree, and I'm working two restaurants for 3.50+tips and a bookstore for a blessed minimum wage.
