I worked at a Texas Tom’s on Troost for a day. The cook kept pissing in the parking lot because we didn’t have a bathroom and the cash register was a calculator that you had to tilt towards the sun in a certain way to get it to work. This first day on the job was an accident. I brought in my information to fill out paperwork and they said they wanted to train me that day after making me give the definition of ghetto. Apparently, the last car in the drive through had called them ghetto and it resulted in me standing there struggling to find a way to make it sound like a good thing. These people paid me with a medium root beer for the day of “training.” If you’ve been reading my blog, you know that I’ve worked some craptastic jobs to support myself. I thought, and you probably agreed, that I’d sunk as low as I could go.
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