Working in the service industry in NYC opens up a world of possibilities! My last article about this industry wasn't all that peppy, but this one sings a different tune. I have been working in the hospitality industry for over a decade. Now, I know I don't look that old, but it's been a good while! My first job serving greasy, delicious french fries was at Nathan's Famous Hotdogs in Coney Island, Brooklyn. I actually shooed Gary Sinise away from my line as I shouted to the customers to make their way to the line opening up outside. It wasn't until I locked eyes with him that I realized that I had chased away Lieutenant Dan — he was next in my line. I was so mad at myself that day. However, I have long since made up for it with the number of celebrities I have crossed paths with in my life as a result of working in the service industry. I've "hobnobbed" with Bill Murray, as we were serenaded by a co-worker of mine, I've given Justin Timberlake the eye for acting all incognito at the grand opening of Darryl Strawberry's sports bar in Douglaston, Queens. I served hors d'oeuvres to Salt N' Peppa and gave a free tequila shot to Craig Robinson at a tequila bar in Brooklyn. I've made a pass at Cuba Gooding Jr, and Micheal Cera has served me some tea as we talked about life over records at his apartment in Carrol Gardens. The list really does go on! I'm not gonna even get into the fact that I almost hit Martin Scorsese with my bike as I walked through his set, looking to introduce myself to him. All of those memories had a direct connection to the fact that the service industry has been my way of life, however no encounter beats the time I served Beyonce´and Jay-Z a huge plate of pepperoni!

So clearly, I've worked at lot of places. It doesn't look too good but I really don't care — since the next bar I work at will be my own. In NYC, there are a countless number of service job opportunities that are not that easy to obtain, ironically. Competition for a bar job in the city is as steep as a sperm cell's race to the victory egg, especially now that Brooklyn has become so gentrified. For years, I have been in the rat race of looking high and low for a job, pounding the pavement, attending waste-of-time cattle calls and wasting whole days of unpaid training, only to still end up on the unemployment line. It's clearly not for the lack of experience or people skills — duh! Not even for the lack technical skills – I'm a mixologist for christ's sake. I just happen to have a problem with low vibrational, power-tripped, over-eager, misogynistic, racist, cheapskates and sexually harassing creeper bosses or management. I've got mental novels written about those guys but that's another story with a darker tone. I ended up working at Lucali's in Brooklyn after a long day of Jesus-esque walking across the borough looking for a job. The owner and chef, Mark was a nice guy. I still have his number in my phone! He had great energy, a warm spirit, and the Italian charm of one of the Soprano's. After a long day of desperate job searching, I felt like I finally had one in the bag. And I did! I began the next week after a few days of training.

Lucali's is a 26 seat beautiful, rustic, classic brick-oven pizza spot with a charm that rings Old Italy meets old Brooklyn. The low light sets the mood as real candles melt into marble countertops. Frank Sinatra's timeless voice flows through the speakers and people stuff their faces with some of the best pizza around – without the pretentious life force of snobby new age bourgeoisie, and "wanna be" new age bourgeoisie Brooklyn proletariats. Now that's a rarity in gentrified Brooklyn, I'll tell ya that much!

I loved it! It was easy — no POS handwritten receipt type place. Nothing super duper fancy. A simple menu with a totally relaxed atmosphere. I was lucky to get in because the turnover of those girls was non-existent. You either had to move out the country, be 10 minutes away from labor, or break both of your legs and lose an eye in order for you to even consider leaving this job! They made bank! I, of course, was the only black girl, but somehow I didn't feel out of place around a bunch of Italians – they love me! Anyway, I believe it was only the second or third day of me actually working there that I got to be six inches away from being within minutes of seeing Beyonce's face for the first time in person.

There was some kind of prep — i'm sure the Carter's just don't walk into a place unannounced. They called in hours ahead and the whole staff knew that we'd be getting a visit from the queen herself! Please excuse my rhetoric, I'm obviously a big fan! Mark had to almost prepare me like we were running some kind of award show. I was told that I would not be serving her but I was informed where she and Jay would be sitting and the standard protocol. I was commissioned the task of going to the store to get the ginger ale that Beyoncé drinks — to which I gingerly made sure I grabbed the right one. That alone made my day! I was so excited! I couldn't think about anything else. I was just a couple hours away from being in arms reach of someone whom I grew up watching like Micheal Jackson. Now had it been MJ, I would've been in the ER.

So the time came. I had been mentally preparing to show no emotion. It was hard. Very, very, hard. I danced to this woman's songs in my underwear for years in front of the mirror in my bedroom with a comb microphone and had spent years perfecting my "Uh Oh" dance. This was big for me. The moment came, they arrived. They got out what looked like a big black Maybach, accompanied by a security/driver. They walked in guided by the host and time froze. Bey was wearing a plain white tee, tucked into a classic fit pair of semi-high waisted blue jeans, and some multi-colored floral pumps. Her hair was straight, sleek and center-parted, falling on either sides of her face. Jay was wearing what he always seems to wear: a black tee, a chain, and jeans with Timbs. Beyonce´was so beautiful. She wasn't as dolled up as you would expect her to be (she'd left Sasha Fierce on the stage). I actually don't think she had much foundation on. Her eyes weren't lined with any eyeliner — just what looked like mascara and a light lip gloss. She looked at me, and said: "Hello." I could have peed on myself. I was stuck, but you couldn't tell by looking at me. I was standing by the server station, just stuck. I was a happy version of one of those "Truth" commercials, melting into the floor beneath my feet like the candles on the marble countertops. Beyonce went directly to her seat with her back faced on the street side of the restaurant and Jay-Z came right into my server station, looked me dead in the eye, and sat their bottle of red wine on the counter before me, and then took his seat facing the street. One of the first things I could remember thinking was, "Nuh uh Jay, I am not even your server boo-boo. You tried it." I laugh at it now because he's Jay-Z. What do you expect? For him to take his wine to his table like a regular human being? I remember being so jealous of the girl who got to be the server. In my mind, I was like: "Why can't I be the server? I'm the black one!" As if I were entitled by my melanin to serve the Carter's. I was so nervous and nobody else in the spot seemed to care. The place was filled with a bunch of white folks. Nobody made a big deal. It was like Jay and B were just your everyday global superstar couple, having pizza a few feet away from you. So what? Now, had this been a place like, say, Soco in Clinton Hill? Forget it, those bad and bougie black elite would have went straight hood and pulled out the smart phone with the quickness.

Do you realize how hard it is to focus on your other customers when you're freely walking by about half a foot away from Beyoncé and Jay-Z every five minutes? Now, usually, I'm not this starstruck; like ever. But this took the cake! It soon came time to bring them out some food. They received the biggest plate of straight pepperoni's that I'd ever seen. I walked over to them trying hard not to accidentally trip over air. That was about the longest food run of my life! I brought them out some food as it came and managed to hold myself together. I wondered what they were talking about. I wondered what they were doing on their iPhones. I wondered how their red wine tasted and how it paired with the pizza. I thought: "Well, she obviously ain't pregnant." I fantasized about handing Jay-Z one of my brother's mixtapes. I admired Beyonce's natural beauty. It felt like a dream; then came the fruit salad. Lucali's don't even serve fruit salad! It just looked so good and so fresh! I was damn near salivating I was so hungry! I brought it over to the table and I spoke. I don't know why I said what I said, but I said: "Aw, man this fruit salad looks so good, I'm so jealous because I been here all day and I ain't get nothing!" Beyonce, seemingly confused about how to respond, softly chuckled. Jay-Z was not amused. He didn't so much as smirk. In that very moment, I had failed at life. I had one job. One job! I walked away with my head down in my mind. For the rest of their time there I put myself on punishment. I was so annoyed with myself. This isn't the first time I had said something stupid to a celebrity. Just ask Damon Wayans! (we won't even go into that).

Beyoncé got up to use the bathroom at one point and I regrouped. Mark kept whispering at me asking if I was alright, and I would quietly shake my head, yes. I remember zoning out — just coming into a full understanding of it all. I caught Beyoncé looking at me once from the side of my eye. It was very brief, but I dared not make eye contact after the fruit salad fail. I wondered if she could feel my nervous energy? I wondered if, during her silent moments, she was thinking about inspiration for a song. Though very slight, there is a kind of solidarity between any two black women when you're the only two in a small room – even if they're Beyonce´and I'm just a regular girl from Lafayette Gardens projects in Bedstuy who lucked up and got a waitress position at a restaurant that hadn't hired anyone new in years. I was lucky to share that moment. Time for me went still. The room felt a million times bigger in my head, but I was still so physically close to Beyonce´. Energetically, I can imagine, it was even more profound than seeing her perform from the front row of her tour. The way I see it, it was an exchange of energy.

Their time was drawing to a close. The bill was paid, the table was cleared. They got up to leave. She said goodbye to me and the staff as Jay-Z playfully placed two hands on her shoulders and shook them up and down. With a Kool-Aid smile she responded with: "Oh my gosh, you're so stupid!" as she sweetly pushed back at him as they exited the building. It was a rare, genuine moment of a loving couple who's relationship is so secret to the whole entire world – and I got to witness it first hand. They really left a beautiful energy in that place. After they left, I took a quick moment to walk about three-quarters of a block away to scream to the universe at the top of my lungs that I just met Beyoncé and Jay-Z. Then I went back inside and pretended that I didn't just scream in the streets like a crazy lady. I ended up not working there much longer because they had someone return and there wasn't much room on the schedule for me. I wasn't even salty about it though, things like that happen a gazillion times in the service industry. But I got to feel Beyonce's energy in person the one week that I was an employee there. That's divine intervention right there and I am grateful. I've always had this crazy feeling, that I would one day be meeting Beyonce´and Jay-Z again. But next time, I won't be the server. I will be the owner.

synchronicity

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