When I was sixteen, I had one of those classic first jobs that teaches you more about capitalism than calculus. I was a cashier at Publix. In the 1980s, this was a solid teenage gig. You wore the polyester green uniform, smiled like it was your job—because it was—and never let a customer lift their... Continue Reading →
The Perm, the Towels, and Me: My Glamorous Start in the Workforce
In 1986, at the tender age of 15, while most teens were at the mall or learning how to smoke behind 7-Eleven, I had a job at a hair salon. And by “job,” I mean my mom paid a man named Wayne Michael to let me work there. This was a shocking twist I discovered... Continue Reading →