Which makes me actually 45 if you've been educated by the southern USA school system.
For some strange reason, I was recalling my first clock in, clock out and get fucked in taxes job. It was at a Dunkin Donuts across the street from my high school. I may have blogged about this before but I am old, bitter and my memory is for shit so deal.
It was also my first experience into the world of flirtation from a male that didn't still have pimples and jerked off nightly to the Farrah poster on their bedroom wall. (As legal adults, they could now jerk of to the current Penthouse. )
Looking back I am sure I was smokin' hot in my pink cap and smock with the smell of grease seeping out of my pores but the attention was something pretty freakin' ego building even if it was by chain smoking, coffee drinking guys with Guido accents and bad hair.
My job was a donut finisher. A few days a week after school I would pull trays of donuts out of steel lockers and make them into boston creme or blue berry or coconut or whatever was missing in the display cases. (Note, NEVER eat the coconut, the sugar sauce they use to make the coconut stick to the donut is disgusting.)
At 5pm the owner and his wife went home and two of us girls were in charge until the "Time to make the donuts" guy came in at midnight. One of us worked the counter and the other one had to clean the donut finishing area. Believe it or not, I would always choose cleanup. I had a great system for this. I would use a regular garden house that I would drag in the back door and spray everything down. There were drainage holes in the floor so after 20 minutes of spraying it down I would use a floor sweeggy thingy to push all the powdered sugar and jellied goo down the holes. It was a brilliant plan that would have never occurred me. Fortunately, I was specifically forbidden to do it this way on my first day due to some health department rule about hot water, contamination and blah blah.
So I got that all night duty out of the way in about a half hour and then proceeded to stand at the counter flirting with the customers and putting counter payments in my tip jar.
I can't believe they had the nerve to eventually fire me.
Oh, and that thing about cops and donuts? Totally true. Every night several area cops would come in for donuts and coffee on the house. Not that my employer offered that particular perk but having the cops around at night while two young girls ran a shop alone? They could have anything they wanted as far as I was concerned.