My first job was at a donut shop. Yes, I was a Dunkin Donuts gal. If any of you are getting up in age like me, you'll remember this ad...Time To Make The Donuts.
That was actually my job. Well, I didn't "make the donuts", I was a donut finisher. That meant that I got to play with all the little pumps that filled the donuts with their processed faux fruitlike substances. I also got to put my hands in big vats of goo to fills up the donut filler machines and pastry bags and no, we weren't provided gloves.
It was a job right up my alley. Even back then I was antisocial and this allowed me to work in the back room safe from fucked up customers and their stupid pointing, hemming and hawing.
Some people treated choosing a dozen donuts like they were deciding what college their precious spoiled brats should attend.
On Saturday morning though, I had to work the dreaded FRONT COUNTER. Man this sucked. The only halfway good part was that even though there was a big obnoxious sign over my head that said "NO TIPPING", most men didn't let any fucking sign deter them from tipping the 16 year old in the pink smock and big boobies a few coins.
God Bless them.
Saturdays were so busy that sometimes I would bring the gentlemen (it was only men who sat at the counter alone in those days) their coffee and donut and was never able to go back and take payment so they would just leave it on the counter. That coinage went right in the ole tip jar.
Hey, how could I be sure what that money was meant for?? I was busy!
The greatest part about working at the donut shop was that it was opened 24 hours a day. Even though I had a curfew of 11pm, my parents would let me work until 2am when the managers needed me.
It was amazing how often I was desperately needed on Friday and Saturday nights through high school! Fortunately, I borrowed the only car so they could never stop by and visit and personal calls were strictly prohibited. (Or so I told them).
At that time, Dunkin Donuts was a franchise and each store was individually owned. The one that I pillaged was owned by a husband and wife team with the sister in law working as manager. You could just imagine the drama that went on in that place. Voices raised, donuts flying...
One of my most vivid memories is when I met my first husband across the counter. He was kind enough to warn me never to drink the grape or fruit juices as he and his friends routinely reached over, lifted the lids and put their cigarette ashes in it.
How could you not love someone so considerate?
So kiddos, how about doing a blog entry about your first job? I am tagging all of the kewl kids and the rest of you that are still in the initiation period. If you've already blogged about it, send a gal a link please.