by Marsha Sigman

Created on: July 01, 2008   Last Updated: August 10, 2008

My first job is one that I do not enjoy speaking about. I have never added it to a resume. I have tried to block the entire experience from my memory. It was three weekends of pure torture.

I had just turned 16 years old. My father felt that if I could not purchase what I wanted on my $5 a week allowance then I must not really need it. We lived in a very small town and the number of summer jobs for teens was almost non-existent. The only friends I had that were working had either inherited their jobs from family members or they were actually working for their family. Imagine my excitement when a "Help Wanted" sign was posted at the main street diner. I was the first one there to apply for the job, no matter what that was. I assumed it was for a waitress position but I would be wrong.

The manager came out from the back room to speak with me. The diner only had two rooms, the main dining area and a shadowy back room that had to be the kitchen. I am not sure how I missed ever meeting Ms. Pickle before now; just her name alone had me fighting the desperate urge to giggle. That was until I met her eyes, or one of them anyway. She had a traveling eye. One stared at me with an intensity that seemed to burn to the back of my head, the other stared across the room. Every mature thought vanished from my teenage mind. I could not think of a thing to say but somehow managed to stutter through the interview. My main goal in the beginning was to get away from there as fast as I could, but the longer I stayed the more accustomed I came to just concentrating on that one eye.

The position was weekends only and it was for a dishwasher. When things became busy I would be asked to clear tables as well. The pay was very reasonable and I had no other options so I found myself agreeing to begin work that weekend.

I was not a prissy girl by any stretch but I was not used to hard work like this would be. I was always reading or spending time with my friends. I was very concerned with my hair and clothes that year. This was the real motivation behind needing that job and the extra money. I had no idea what was waiting for me.

The diner was open for lunch and dinner only, the hours were from 11-9 and that was my shift on the weekends. When I first arrived I was introduced to the back room, which was indeed the kitchen. It was not air-conditioned but had one huge fan at each end of the room. I worked over two steaming sinks of hot water for 10 hours straight. The diner stayed busy the entire

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