Ghosted

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• July 7, 2024

The phenomenon of “ghosting” is symptom of dating apps, though I’m sure it happened before our lives became tech riddled, just not as often. I’ve been ghosted plenty times in the dating world. In some regard, that’s the normal way to blow someone off, is to just not respond. And even I think it’s somewhat acceptable if the relationship was just via a chat or you only met one time. But even I’ve been ghosted by lovers I was legit dating, the younger generation seems to be filled with these balless wonders who can’t face a girl and tell her it’s over to her face.

This happenstance, though, is not a dating one.

I’ve been a freelance writer my entire adult life. It has its rewards, but it also has its constant worry of work, and anxiety about the future. I love the freedom of it, but freedom has a price to pay. Technically, I was always freelance with the radio company I worked for that buckled, laid off 80% of the company, and is attempting to replace us with AI (I hear/tell it’s not going well). But since it was my main source of income, I went into a proper panic when it was gone.

Like any bohemian New Yorker, I have side hustles because New York is a grind. Naturally, my goal has always been to land a full time TV writing job and/or sell a screenplay, but I do have to come to terms with the fact that I chose a career with a 99% failure rate. Keep on keeping on, persistence is the game they say. So here we are.

But, alas, the cost of living is at an all time high and I’ve too many friends also in a sinking ship to  not believe that the end is neigh. So I set out to for some bar-tending jobs for the summer, which would be a lot of work but quick cash to save my broke ass, and then maybe I’ll flee again to Hawaii in the winter. My buddy who had gotten me a job at the Django jazz club some years ago got me a bartending interview for a pretty well known place on on the water on the Hudson. They have a large rooftop bar, where, in the summer, you’d be slinging Aperol spritz and tap wine. Speed bar-tending. And make a lot of seasonal money.

I figured that would be perfect. I could line my pockets while I look for writing work and make enough to not worry for the rest of the year and maybe even escape a New York winter. So, I’m hired and I’m training. I warn them I’ve been working remote for years as a writer, all by myself, and that my social skills may be a little rusty, but I’ll swing back in.

The other bartenders are very cool, but I find the establishment chaotic, as most restaurants/bars are. Often, I’m told contradicting orders, so it’s safe to say the place doesn’t really have it’s shit together. On my last day of training, they fired half the management, including my buddy who got me the job. It wasn’t a grand drama or anything. Mostly, from what I could tell, a discord on how to run things moving forward. These types of businesses often have a high turn over.

Anyway, I never got scheduled again after that day. I’ve written to them with no response. I still get their group emails. But essentially… I was ghosted from work. Look, all they had to say was some bullshit about being overstaffed or something and let me go. It’s a fucking bartending job. I’m pissed off because they cost me my unemployment I was getting because their management, apparently, is either completely disorganized or have petty high school like minds. Which is not really a place I’d like to work anyway.

I think it stings more to get ghosted from work than a lover, but perhaps I’m just saying that because I’m in it now. Shortly after this, another friend got me a bartending interview with the GM of his bar… and three days later that GM quit, so I didn’t get hired there (but I did get closure, so I respect that business still).

Perhaps I’m cursed. Perhaps this whole damn city is cursed. Hell, the country even. Oh the times, they are tough. And I’d just like to say… Rosé fucking sucks. If you’re “Rosé all day,” you’re basic as fuck. Drink something better, you happy on the outside, sad on the inside motherfucker. It’s a garbage drink high school drink. The type of drink someone would drink who would ghost a lover or employee.