I ended up heading across town for my therapy appointment with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Anticipation because I will be glad to have someone to talk with and it is long overdue that I get to work on some of my "issues". Dread because I hate meeting new people. I constantly worry about what I'm saying, how they might react to what I'm about to say, what they actually meant by the things they said. I frequently have several conversations going besides the one I'm actually having.
As it turns out, I found my therapist to be a little odd. And that's a good thing. I like odd. Odd makes me more comfortable. And by odd I mean kind of nerdy. With a whiff of freaky. Like I wouldn't find it the least bit unexpected to discover him some night at a bondage club, tied up with jump ropes and having his completely hairless body flogged and pinched with clothespins. Which is cool. So I was remarkably comfortable pretty quickly. As it turns out, my insurance covers 24 weeks of sessions, so we can look forward to over half a year of ME talking about ME which, as a gay man is pretty much MY favorite subject.
As the weekend unfolded I got a series of phone calls adding days to my work schedule, and while the first two were profitable from an hourly wage standpoint, last nights shift was a holiday party for a financial firm, and they were appropriately generous with their tipping. I made some much needed extra cash, and I have another two days of work ahead of me. I should get a paycheck next Friday that will cover the cost of Riley's kennel stay while I am away for Christmas. There's another looming worry solved. I also had two job interviews on Thursday, and while nothing has come of either of them right away, they were encouraging in that both of the managers I spoke to were suitably enthusiastic about my qualifications.
And well they should be. With the exception of some experience with cost analysis and P&L projections, which I have never done but I have no doubt I could, there's really nothing I haven't done at one time or another when it comes to running a restaurant and nightclub. Scheduling, inventory, payroll, cash management, ordering, event management, interviews, human resources, press releases, menu creation, bar management, POS (point of sale) maintenance. The list goes on and on. In other words, the first person who is smart enough to snap me up and put me back to work full time will be one lucky fucker. I have another interview this afternoon before going in to work, and while I don't necessarily think it is the right job for me, you never know. I am also kind of surprised that I'm getting such a big response all of the sudden from sending out resumes. My phone hasn't rung for a couple of months now and suddenly I'm getting quite a few calls. Maybe the economy is improving after all.
Yesterday I reported to the Health Academy at the NYC Dept. of Health. After reflexively getting in to the line for syphilis testing, I quickly righted myself and lined up for what I actually was there for. I have spent the last couple of weeks taking a Food Protection Course. Yesterday I took the live test, which I passed with a respectable 84%, and I am now a Certified Food Protection supervisor. Not too exciting I will grant you, but a Certified Supervisor is supposed to be on the premises of any restaurant or bar serving food, whenever the business is open. Usually this would be the chef, as well as at least one sous chef, and more than likely the receiving supervisor. But many businesses in NYC also insist that at least the general manager and assistants are certified as well. This lessens the chances that a Health Inspector would show up and find no one on the premises with a certification. It's a Health Department violation and the fine can be hundreds of dollars. Many restaurant owners will ask you if you have your certification during the interview process, and a few of the on-line ads won't even see you unless you are certified. It's a leg up, and quite frankly, at my advanced age anything that helps me get even one leg over my head is a blessing.
I also took some steps to alleviate my financial crisis, and while it was akin to re-arranging the deck chairs on the Titanic, I did manage to shore up the operation at least until the new year. Which means Christmas will come to Whoville after all, and I can take things down from Defcon 2: Panic to Defcon 3: Mild Anxiety.