Trying to find a job in this economy is easy; trying to find a GOOD job is a task on the same level as a Labor of Hercules.
As a manager at a 24 hour restaurant (which shall remain unnamed), I get to see both sides of the struggle. And let me tell you, it’s exactly that: a struggle. I’ve seen desperate people interviewing for jobs that they were wholly over qualified for, homeless walking in off the streets who could cook better than a gourmet chef, and teenagers trying to help their struggling families by diving headfirst into a job they weren’t prepared for. All that is to say that I’ve had a variety of interesting characters walk into my office for an interview.
The Host position, you would think, is one of the simplest ways to get your foot in the door at a new gig; not around here, though. The Host drives all of the day to day operations, so if the Host isn’t right…everything crumbles like a castle of sand trying to stand against the force of the entire ocean. It sounds simple to stand around all day, seating patrons, handling out menus, and ordering drinks, but let me assure you that the position is high stress, meager thanks, and figuratively soul-sucking.
My restaurant has had a rather difficult time finding a Host that lasts longer than a week, perhaps a month, at best. My District Manager suggested keeping up a permanent job listing on Craigslist, and that has kept a steady stream of hopeful applicants flowing. The problem: no matter how many interviews I’ve done over the past month (since our previous Host walked out on New Year’s Eve), none of the applicants seemed quite right. From the doctor whose practice shuttered during the pandemic, to the 16 year old field hockey player with a limp…I’ve seen it all, and was disappointed in every single case.
The doctor ditched in the middle of a dinner rush after 4 days of employment, and the athlete…well, let’s just say she cried all over the menus after an hour and wasn’t seen again after her first shift as a Host.
I was packing up my papers, ready to leave for the day, when a tiny knock at the office door pulled me from my thoughts. I had conducted 4 interviews already today, and, to be honest, didn’t think that any of the new people would be worth hiring at all. The Vietnam vet with the missing arm had potential and a surprisingly cheery attitude, sure; the job would probably just chew him up and spit him back out worse than the government sending him to a jungle to fight a pointless war, however. Harsh, I know. But the truth is ugly.
“Yes?” I asked, a touch of annoyance in my voice. I dropped today’s applications into the ever growing pile of rejects.
“Mr. (redacted)? I’m here for my interview.”
The soft female voice coming through the door sounded…oddly familiar, somehow. I looked down at the ‘IN’ box on my desk and sighed. It was empty. I made a mental note to have a talk with my Assistant Manager tomorrow. “Come in,” I said, fingers tapping impatiently on my desk.
I was immediately surprised to connect that soft voice with the mid-twenties gothic woman who walked through the door. Her hair was a cliché black, tied back into some sort of elaborate bun; her skin was porcelain, and her eyes were a fiery blue. Though she was obviously dressed up for the interview I knew nothing about, I could tell by her mix of intricate jewelry and the hints of tattoos peeking out from her polo shirt that she almost certainly preferred black dresses in her off time.
She held out her hand, nails sharp and painted a deep crimson. “I’m December.” She smiled, showing strikingly white teeth behind her red lips. “Last name (redacted). Lovely to meet you.”
I stood, taking her hand in mine. We shook, and I motioned toward the chair on the opposite side of the desk. “Nice to meet you. Have a seat, December.” I chose to ignore the humor in her all-too-accurate name. Hell, even her hand was as icy as those eyes. “I didn’t have you on my schedule, but I’ve got a few minutes to talk before my shift ends. I’m at a bit of a disadvantage, so please tell me about yourself.”
She pulled a sheet of paper from the folder she was holding so swiftly it was like a magician performing a trick. “My application,” she said, passing it across the desk. “I didn’t have an appointment, but the waitress sent me back to you. She said you were pretty desperate for a new Host.”
I glanced down at her resume, finding she ticked off all the necessary boxes in the experience department: customer service, food prep, even a management job at a tattoo parlor. The irony never ends. “Well, that’s alright then. Looks like you’ve had some experience in the field. But I’ve had 4 other interviews today, so tell me what makes you right for the job.”
She paused, tilted her head slightly. Her eyes felt like they were drilling holes through my head. “My mother was a Host here years ago. She spoke highly of the job, and remembered it fondly.”
I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. “That…is interesting. How long ago was this?”
December smiled again. “How long have you worked here, Mr. (redacted)?”
I tapped my fingers on my desk again, concerned by this sudden turn of events. “I started working at The (redacted) House when I was 16. So, over twenty years. Why?”
The smile never left her lips, but it seemed to me as if the blue of her eyes darkened a few shades. “She would have started around the same time as you did, in that case.”
Silence fell softly in the room, like a surprise snowfall. It seemed to stretch and spin out for minutes, though I’m sure it was merely seconds.
After what seemed like a slow, cold eternity, I cleared my throat and said, “You’re hired.”
December nodded.
“When can you start?” I adjusted the collar of my shirt, somehow sweaty and sticking to my neck.
She gestured lightly with both hands, red nails flashing in the glow of the overhead lights. “How about now? I’m free most evenings.”
It was my turn to nod. “Great. Let me show you to the locker room. It’s small but clean. I think we have a few spare uniforms in there, too.”
Her blue eyes seemed to almost glow. I felt sweaty and displaced, as if the dynamic of this interview had been completely flipped on its head. “Perfect.”
December followed me down the short hallway silently, oddly close on my heels. I fumbled with my large keyring at the steel door at the end of the hall. “You’ll have to turn on the light with the pull chain in the middle of the room,” I said, the words coming out automatically.
I didn’t like her being so close.
At last I found the right key. Sliding it into the lock, I was fully aware of how close she was to me. I could smell a delicate perfume mixed with something else…something darker, more visceral. I shook my head and clear it. “Here we are.”
I opened the door and stepped back quickly, allowing her room to pass. “Thank you,” she said, the words seemingly whispered directly into my ear from those red lips.
I shuddered. December walked into the dark room. It took her only a few moments to find the chain for the light.
As she pulled it, I turned away, not wanting to see the horrific thing dwelling in the room. I slammed the door shut and locked it.
December’s screams lasted longer than I expected.
I checked my watch. Twenty minutes had passed, and the room was quiet. Finally.
Hand shaking, I unlocked the door and pushed it open. December stepped out, head bowed.
“Are…Are you ready?” I stammered.
Her head snapped up, her blue eyes now a glowing, angry violet. “I am. The (redacted) House has found its new Host.”