Honestly, this town kind of sucks.
As you all know, I recently was hired at a law firm to work as a receptionist/file clerk. I am finishing out my two weeks at the restaurant I was working at as a hostess/reservationist. These are the entry-level jobs that are available for models who dropped out of high school and have no real skills i.e. ME.
Luckily, if you have somewhat good looks, it’s easy to get these jobs without having experience. Now I’m not just talking about myself. I’m talking about women using sexuality as a way to get things. The restaurant that I worked at was very high-end and bustling with filthy rich, older men. Just by batting my eyelashes and giggling at their corny jokes, I made $600-800 in tips during season. That’s a lot of tips for someone who just walks people to tables.
I truly love the place, so I wanted to finish out two extra weeks. My manager has always been very lenient with me and let me do whatever I wanted. Also, the two weeks thing is just a professional courtesy and a way to not burn bridges. Last night, I was working and saw the regular crowd come by. I was greeted with the typical snootiness but I don’t know, maybe it was because I was tired from working from 8:30-5 then 6-11 but I got really annoyed.
How do I begin to describe Palm Beach?
Think Beverly Hills divided by 10. It’s an island filled with some of the richest of the rich and everyone knows each other. The snowbirds leave their Manhattan penthouses and stay in their beach-side mansions to escape the cold. I feel like the term “wasp” was coined here because Palm Beach embodies all things “waspy”. It’s pretty traditional and closed-minded. If you aren’t born into money, you may as well be an ant on the sidewalk.
Let me get something straight: I am not a rich girl. I wasn’t born into a trust fund or anything like that. My family could be referred to as “upper middle class”. We got about 85% of what we asked for without having to really work for it, which was nice. My mom was raised the same way so she didn’t think anything was wrong with it. I never had to work for anything until I started modeling. The idea of having to pay rent at 15 was bewildering to me. I thought I was at least 6 years away from that. I did make quite a pretty penny so it balanced out.
Anyways, back to Palm Beach. I have lived all over Palm Beach County including Palm Beach Gardens, West Palm Beach, Lake Clark Shores, and Palm Beach. I have been hanging out on Palm Beach since I was 14-15 ish. I knew about the hoity-toityness but until I worked as a hostess on the island, I got a second and much more harsh wind of it.
Like I was saying, I was working last night and the usual crowd came in. “The Usual Crowd” consists of people who went to school with me, their partying parents, people who are about 10 years older than me and think they own Palm Beach, and the out-of-towners. I’ve been partying with these people forever. They’re the types that you’ll see around town and exchange air-kisses with and ask mundane questions about their boring lives. When I came home from California, everyone wanted to know what I was up to. I was “novelty”.
My sister got me a job as a hostess where she cocktailed. I figured it would give me something to do and I would make OK money. Everyone was shocked to see me holding menus behind the stand. Everyone kept asking if I was still modeling and why I was working at a restaurant. I had told them I retired from the game and got a normal job. They looked at me like I was telling them something beyond crazy.
It became very apparent that when I was at work, I was “staff” to them. The women who had ran up to give me hugs at Cucina’s were no longer initiating the cheek kiss. The girls who I would chat with over cigarettes at Buccan began to just give me a limp wave. The men who had repeatedly flirted with me were now only acknowledging me when they needed to know when their reservation was ready.
It hit me harder than usual when a woman came in last night, who has asked me to work for her several times, and strode right past me as we locked eyes.
Apparently, I am less than for being a lowly hostess.
I’m anti-bullsh*t so I do not go along with their games. When I see these people out and about on the town, I treat them the way they treat me. I stand up to these people and let them know that it’s not okay to act this way to me. An example of this was when I was at Nick and Johnnies one night with my sister and Palm Beacher came up to me to gush over my YSL clutch.
“Wow! You look amazing! How are you? I haven’t seen you in forever.”
I swirled my straw around in my Moscow Mule.
“Really? I saw you the other night.”
She blinked, her smile slowly fading, “Where at?”
I named the establishment that I work at.
“Ohhh, that’s crazy! I didn’t see you.”
I exhaled, “Yes. You did, actually. You walked right past me and pardoned yourself while passing me.”
My sister dragged me away from what was about to be a confrontation.
Caitlin is really good with these people because she knows the game and is much more tolerant than I am. I think this behavior is disgusting. Caitlin has tried to tell me to be nicer and I refuse. I’m not fake. I attribute my “no nonsense” attitude with living in New York. Simply, I don’t belong in Palm Beach.
Listen, I’m not saying ALL of Palm Beach is catty but definitely 75% is. I’m upfront about everything and I’m not ashamed. My apartment is on Palm Beach but as I have previously said before, it’s a tiiiiiiiiiiny studio that’s extremely cheap. I picked it because of the price and it’s proximity to the beach. I make 3x my rent in a month and I put the other money towards savings and buying myself pretty bags and shoes. My apartment is a straight-up oxymoron. It’s a bed with scarce furniture and designer bags and shoeboxes strewn about.
I’m happy with my entry-level job, Prada bags, and small apartment. Am I happy that I don’t have a trust fund? Obviously not. What I am ecstatic over is paying for things out of a paycheck that I worked hard for. I look at my pair of Gianvito Rossi’s and smile, knowing that I saved up and got them. I worked for those damn shoes.
Okay, my lunch break is over. This is not the last of this article!
One more thing: I’m dedicating my weekend to fixing up the blog! I know it’s in a confusing state right now but it’ll be better, just hang in there! Thank you for reading :)))))