Personal Yummy #82
Deciding to try one more time, I somehow drag myself onto a bus. About twenty minutes later, I wind up at Gullifty’s restaurant on Murray Avenue in Squirrel Hill.
“I wish I could help you,” the nice-looking elderly hostess with the smart glasses tells me, “but we already have a waiting list for this summer of about forty.”
I just look at her blankly.
******
Much to my surprise, I’ve been having a terrible time finding a waitressing job. I think the problem is that I waited too long to start looking, not that I haven’t been giving it my best effort.
In fact, I’ve already been to an extensive, prying, and uncomfortable interview at The Balcony, a rather exclusive second-floor restaurant that overlooks Walnut Street in Shadyside, and which doubles as a jazz club in the after-dinner hours, but I haven’t heard back from them. Eat’n Park on Murray Avenue offered me a position, but I’d have to work the graveyard shift, at least for the first few months.
I considered it—but just for a moment.
And earlier today I made the mistake of inquiring about a job at Cappy’s, a tiny bar-and-grill also on Walnut Street, during the lunch rush.
“Let me give you a bit of advice, honey,” the manager told me as she rang up one bill after another. “You keep showing up at this time of day looking for a job and you’re not going to get too damn far…”
Realizing that nothing will completely comfort me but a nice, strong pot of Earl Grey, I decide to head to The Coffee Tree Roasters on Forbes. On most other occasions I would have gone to the 61C on Murray, but I need serenity right now, not a lot of stimulation.
Walking past the various shops and establishments, including a couple of bookstores, a drugstore, a Chinese restaurant, a wine and spirits shop, a hair salon, and the Squirrel Hill Post Office, I try to enjoy the nice weather and to think positively, telling myself for what seems like the hundredth time that if I just keep at it, something fortuitous will come to me.
I walk a bit farther, having just glanced across the street at the Manor Theatre to check out what movies are playing, when to my left, a place I’ve never noticed before catches my attention.
It is just a diminutive red-brick building, closed in on one side by a Hallmark shop and on the other by a tiny Russian restaurant, and so easy to pass right by without a second thought. But on its front window, which is very large in comparison to the overall size of the façade, “The Grill on Murray Avenue” presents itself in bold, proud, fancy letters, a deep shade of alluring red.
“Oh yeah,” I mumble, pausing for a moment. “I remember someone in one of my classes mentioning that a new bar-and-grill was opening up around here. This must be it.”
Curious, I walk up to the window, surround my face with my hands to block out the sun, and peer inside. I really can’t see all that much, except for the outline of a bar and a bunch of dimmed overhead lights, but out of nowhere a very warm sensation washes over me…
Should I try this place too?
I decide against it.
I just don’t think I can tolerate another rejection today, and besides, it is getting late and my pot of tea is waiting for me.
I keep walking.
Just as I get to the corner of Murray and Forbes, though, the light turns red, so I wait, using the time to observe all of the passersby, as I’m inclined to do. I can’t, however, keep myself from glancing back at the new bar-and-grill.
Should I?
Should I?
I can’t resist.
My feet take me back to the little brick place I’d had no intention of giving a chance.
******
The above excerpt is from the first chapter of my coming-of-age novel—The Grill on Murray Avenue: A Story of Innocence—about the inhabitants of an unassuming bar-and-grill in Squirrel Hill, a vibrant neighborhood in the east end of Pittsburgh. The story is told by Jenna, a young waitress who dreams of becoming a professional dancer.
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