"Shake it up, shake it out"

I'm not one to read a whole lot into a situation. Life happens as it happens and I'm pretty happy to just go with the flow. I tend to think that the more time we spend analyzing any given moment is less time spent actually enjoying it.

But sometimes things happen so conveniently, so effortlessly that I can't ignore my seemingly coincidental good fortune. This past week has been one of those times.

It started Monday, when I called for my schedule at work. A coworker informed me I had been scheduled for two shifts. Two. They had brought in a new manager without so much as showing him where they keep everyone's availability sheets and put him in charge of the schedule, so I can't necessarily blame the error on him alone. I do blame other managers, however, for not recognizing that I have been there for a year and a half, working the exact same 25-30 hours since I started, and suddenly I'm hardly there anymore thanks to the new guy. This was compounded by the fact that I've just been generally unhappy there. A combination of factors - menu prices that don't mesh well with our average clientele and others' inconsistent standards of service - lead to me to the conclusion that it was finally time to get on the ball with my never-ending job hunt and get out of the restaurant I'm in.

On Monday, since I was already down a shift but up a babysitter, I started driving around to various restaurants and gyms. I set out Monday afternoon to fill out applications, try to shake some hands, and see if I couldn't come up with any other ideas for my immediate future. Nothing seemed to lead to anything, as I watched my applications get shoved underneath hostess stands and watched my Gmail inbox remain empty of any new messages in response to resumes (both for serving and personal training) I had sent out in the previous week. Almost frustrated to the point of giving up and driving home, I started heading back toward our house when I remembered a newer restaurant that opened in a hotel nearby. I figured, what the hell, and drove over.

Upon walking in, I was given the standard run-around.

"I can take you down to HR but they probably won't talk to walk-ins."

Go down to HR. They don't want to talk to my having-just-walked-in self.

"Well let's see if I can get you on this computer to do our application online."
Computers are offline.

"Well let me scribble a web address on a Post-it and tell you to do it at home."

Post-it gets crumbled in a fist behind my back as she turns away to lead me back up to the lobby.

As we walked across the lobby, a man in a suit is walking toward us headed in the opposite direction. "Oh, that's our GM, maybe you can talk to him," says not-so-helpful girl (can't say she didn't try, which I do appreciate). She catches his attention and tells him I'm interested in a position at the restaurant. "Great!" Says the fancy suited man in a fancy French accent. "A serving position just opened up."

With his business card in hand, he sent me home with instructions to apply online (good thing the crumbled post-it remained in my purse and hadn't yet made it to the trash) and then to immediately email him my resume.

Two days later was the interview. According to them and their executive chef, who opened a restaurant around the corner from where I worked in Greenville, I was hired so long as my background check came through clean and clear from HR. And I have to take a drug test. I think I'll be OK on that one.

Later that day, one of the managers at the current restaurant got fired. I don't know any circumstances surrounding his termination, but I'm taking it as a sign that I'm making the right move at the right time.

It took several months for me to arrive at the decision that it wasn't going to matter if my next job would be in an apron or professional fitness attire. I worried that once a server, always a server. This past week I realized I'm fine with doing either so long as the passion is there. Honestly, I figure you can't have a passion for fitness if you don't have a passion for food, as both are so closely entwined in the overall picture of health and wellness.

I mean, the new restaurant I'll be working for does an elevated version of southern friend chicken and boasts a respectful house-made charcuterie platter... but let's just let that one go for the moment.