Writing The Boss Meet

For the A-Z BloggingChallenge I wrote 26 stories about one particular summer called The Waiting Summer.  The "Waiting" in the title refers to my waiting tables, waiting on my senior year to begin, friends and adult life to begin. Here are my reflections on writing The Boss Meet.

In The Arrangement, I wrote about working up the nerve to tell my parents that I'd decided to work in a town, nearly twenty miles away, waiting tables. I really didn’t think they would go for me driving so far, but announced it that way hoping they would. My dad came home from work, a day or so later, saying that a restaurant near the state park where he worked needed a waitress.  This restaurant was only a few miles from where I lived. Although, I’m pretty certain that he’d already secured the job for me, it was presented to me that I needed to go see the owners and convince them to hire me.

The second story, The Boss Meet, tells how I prepared myself to go interview and meet the boss.

What I learned about (or reminded) myself writing The Boss Meet:

• In real life we have to do things to get things—like work. I wanted the money from a job, but clearly didn’t like how working would rob my freedom.
• I struggled with my curly hair which in turn impacted my life or so it seemed. I longed for straight, shiny hair (not wavy and frizzy). If only I’d had a flat iron.
• I nearly left before going inside for the interview. If I had, my entire summer would have been a different chick flick.

Writing this story reminded me that:

• I was incredibly critical of everything about me: appearance, motives, individuality.
• I loved my Ford Mustang as much as I loved my family and friends. Really! 

What I didn’t tell you in the story:

• I really liked that particular (homemade) dress on my skinny seventeen year old body. The photo shows me at sixteen wearing the dress.
• I wore pantyhose with everything (except shorts): long dresses, short dresses, slacks and jeans. Ok, I confess, I wore them once with shorts then decided it looked stupid.
• The smells of the restaurant would eventually drive me crazy. The odors lived in my clothes, hair and (I felt) oozed from my skin—no matter how many baths I took. Ode to Restaurant Perfume.
• I met both owners that day, but included only the conversation with the woman since the man said nothing.

Comments on the Comments

• I loved how many of you were loving the car and others identifying with my overwhelming nervousness.

(These stories can be found at The Ruralhood and under the tab The Waiting Summer - except I'm still working on getting them linked to the tab.) 

So tell me, what was your first car? Your first job? What is one thing you remember about the age of seventeen?