Nine months later, after living at home with my mom and commuting on the LIRR each day to stand at a hostess desk and bring patrons to their tables, running into old high school classmates who were working in finance or PR and eating my pride when they detailed (and usually lied about) their “amazing” jobs, I was offered a cocktail waitressing shift at my restaurant. Sure, it was on the worst night of the week. Sure, I had never made a drink before. But it would potentially be an extra $200 to $400 increase a week. I jumped at it. And the extra money I was making did in fact make dealing with the high school classmate I served (who worked for Barclays Capital), who made rude comments about how I “seemed to being doing great in life”, worth it. Even if I went and cried in our private party room after and questioned how I had ended up clearing the plates of people I went to high school with.