You see, the month I turned 14 and 9 months, the legal age to work, my mom presented me with a work permit and the order, "Get to work." So I applied at the Hollywood Market right next to my street, and became the cutest grocery bagger that place had seen in years. I rocked my long sleeved denim shirt and khakis, complete with name tag, and spent the next year collecting bi-weekly, luxurious, $150 paychecks by gathering carts in the parking lot rain or shine and bagging people's meats separately from thier shampoo. The pervy eyes of my manager only started to really get on my nerves during my last weeks at the joint, and to this day I prefer packing my own groceries so I can tell the cashier that "this was my first job" like they give a shit.
I moved on to the glamorous position of "barista" when I worked at a coffee shop in the mall, staring down a line that went out the door and around the corner for 8 hours every shift. It was here that I first discovered the endless joy of coming into work hungover, and that people DO NOT fuck around when it comes to their coffee.
Then there was It's the Ritz. The cool boutique where you could listen to whatever music you wanted, wear what you felt like, gossip with your friends, and tell people that thier ass looks SO amazing in those $200 jeans that they really should invest in two pairs.
After college, I began working at Pronto, a flamingly gay establishment, known for it's terrible service and bomb ass Reubens, where I would spend the next four years laughing hysterically and crying freely. Waiting tables was never something I thought I would be decent at doing. I was too scared of carrying a tray, of fucking up orders, of having to wait on people that I knew......and I did all of these things...... I also nearly perfected my craft. Sometimes I wouldn't even count my money at the end of a shift. I knew whatever I walked with was not
enough to compensate for the stupid assholes I had to deal with, the retarded cooks that forgot to make my shit, and the bright purple polo shirt I was expected to wear with pride. But, alas, many jokes, many friends, and many double shifts later, I have fond memories of that place. Plus, it was attached to a bar, where the after work drinks would fill the void in your heart that was left behind from those people who paid their tab in quarters.......
I look back on those jobs and smile, I look forward with wonder, and I look to the present with gratitude..........
