3. The Family-Owned Restaurant
In June of 2009, I had graduated high school and was still in the bottom feeder bagger position. After my hints at wanting to become a cashier were tactfully ignored, and my blatant request was convolutedly denied, I decided that I needed a change of scenery. The vacant storefront next to my best friend's tanning salon job had been bought by a Jordanian man who wanted to open up a restaurant. While smoking out front, either the owner or myself suggested that I work there. From that moment on, I didn't realize, I would be his right hand (wo)man in helping him run this restaurant. I was to be paid $8 an hour under the table in exchange for my soul and all my free time. I consistently worked until 4am, dealing with drunk men constantly. I couldn't even really tell you my job title; I cooked, cleaned, ran the cash register, ran deliveries, distributed advertisements, created a Facebook, and got supplies from GFS and Restaurant Depot....