These days, I am hostess at a hip restaurant on the Bowery. Everyday, when I peer into my closet before work, and try to piece together an outfit, I get stomach pains. I am not cool enough to work at this restaurant. This is a restaurant where everyone has really good hair and expensive pants. They do not have frizzy fly-aways or cow licks or limp bangs. Nor do they have dorky pants they bought for a soulless office job last summer.
Ohhhh, but friends, I do. I DO. AND I WORE THEM TO WORK. And my HAIR: A story best told in this brief anecdote:
On my third day at work, my manager came up to me, waved his hands at my face, as though he was performing some kind of magic trick and said –
“This… has got to change.”
By “this”, I was unsure whether he meant my face, my sad half-smile or my entire being, but I took the critique with a wide-eyed grin. Then he said –
“Hold on, I’ll get you a hair thing.”
What a relief! I did not need to get a new life. Just a new hairdo. I guess air drying your hair, sleeping on it in a weird position and then leaving it down is not the way things roll on the Bowery.
Despite my hideous pants and lackluster hairdos, I’ve got a touch with customers, most of which I chalk up to my “great smile.”
My “great smile” is comprised of two generous cheeks, and two large dimples. Some customers may find my cheeks overwhelming, but there are definitely some men who LOVE dimples – and they are usually men with dimples themselves. I can’t TELL you the number of times I gotten men with dimples making really hilarious jokes about how, if we had a kid, their whole face would be one giant dimple. (gross.)
There is a redemptive message though contained in these off-color pick-up lines: grooming isn’t everything. My hair may look like a dishtowel, and my pants may look like a melted kitchen mit, but gosh darn-it, it’s the smile that counts.
Proof that obsessive grooming is over-rated.
Rosie (the Disheveled) Cat