“First Job Atrocities” By Melanie Maheu.
My first job was my dream job. Sincerely. I worked in a book store coffee shop, and up until that point, it was the only thing I really wanted to do. I remember going to grab triple-venti-five-pump-no-whip caramel macchiatos with my high school buddies, and as I watched the baristas pass the cups and dump the shots, I thought, “That’s it! That’s what I want to do!” The kids behind the counter were always so swank and sassy. They usually had a piercing or ten and tattoos on their arms that said, “I’m young and trendy and I don’t need your 9 to 5” (I mean, the tats didn’t literally say that, but you get it). Well, I knew I was destined for swankiness and sassiness too. At one point, I thought seriously about dropping out of college, because I felt so formidable behind that counter. Until my roommates started showing up at night to shout at me as I mopped the floors. I remember an elderly man approaching me as I scrubbed up some days-old-gum and saying, “Just laugh in their face when they ask to borrow $20.” Well, old man, they didn’t need my $20, they were on their parents’ dime. And, come to think of it, I didn’t need it either. Once I realized how much Everclear and experimentation I was missing out on, I called in sick and never came back. Responsibility at its finest. Read the rest on Insphire
