With over 500 groups, and 226 fan pages dedicated to bartending on Facebook, Phoebe was no stranger to the art of mixology. There wasn’t much nervousness to be found in the young woman as she approached La Dolce Vita. If there was some drink recipe or crazy flair trick she didn’t already know, she only had to scour the vast resource of her network for it. Granted, knowing how to do something didn’t always equal being any good at it, but she’d been bartending as her general occupation since she gained sentience. Ok, so maybe that was only a few years ago, but being a god had its benefits.
She pushed open the door, dressed like she was caught somewhere between a suicide girl and the 1980s version of Madonna, then dipped in a vat of pink and sparkly. The pink lacey dress was hand shredded and re-sewn to accommodate Phoebe’s very varied tastes. A pile of wildly differing necklaces was settled around her throat from chokers to lengthy strings dangling to her waist. Even her hair couldn’t seem to decide if it was dark brown or fuchsia. She wasn’t boring to look at, that was for sure.
She stepped up to the first visible employee to announce herself. “Phoebe Zuckerberg, here for my interview,” she quipped cheerfully.