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?


  1. Hi Teresa .. your posts in the A-Z were so interesting to read, and I felt like I was there in your home town.

    I was an insecure youngster .. I worked in an Old People's Home and hated it! Couldn't get to grips with it at all .. and I was always critical of all things .. quite frightening now I think of it. First car was one of my parent's hand me downs ...

    Good to read the additional comments to the story line.. cheers Hilary

  2. Very interesting analysis! And I love what you rediscovered about yourself on the journey!

    Ahh....and I've always thought it would be lovely to have curly hair! Ha!

    First car was a Buick Skyhawk, 2nd hand from my dad. First job was part time after school at a day care. Being seventeen...I'm a little sketchy here!

  3. Hilary, If we could have known then, what we know now, we might be kinder with ourselves and others.

    Elizabeth, I really do appreciate my hair now. But it was not cool then to have the curlies then nor the wavies nor the frizzies. :)

  4. Always hate work for that reason, takes away freedom. But needs to be done to enjoy what little we get.

  5. I loved your A to Z stories!

    I was incredibly critical of everything about myself, too, at seventeen. But I didn't especially love my car - other than it was wheels and I was free LOL. And at seventeen, that was good enough :)

  6. my first job was as a page in my local library---my first car was a corvair but it was my second car, another corvair that was my love---bucket seats, and baby metallic blue--i love the fact that you wore panty hose all the time! i once wore them with my "hot pants" :)

  7. Pat, Work is thief of freedom. Exactly "needs to be done enjoy what little we get".

    Carol, I'm still critical of myself. I hate that.

    Lynn, I would love to have ridden in your Metallic blue Corvair. I'll ride it in my mind -- you can drive. :)

  8. So many years ago! I remember I went to a lot of concerts. And by a lot I mean two to five a month. First job was at a car wash. I lasted a whole week!

  9. dear teresa, a brilliant post, as usual.
    at seventeen i looked like a girl of twelve. i was incredibly critical of everything about myself, too, but my ambition was to be one of the people who made a difference in this world. still is.

    thank you for sharing this interesting post. enjoyed reading through this.


  10. My uncle practically gave me a car, a Dodge Demon. And I worked at a place called Horrock's a family owned business that went from a small produce store to a huge sprawling place that sells just about everything now.

  11. I think it's great that you went back to a milestone year. I think the late teens are really critical. When I was 18 and had just graduated from high school, I got a scholarship to spend a month in Germany. That was my first really big adventure! Now, oldest my son is off on his European adventure.

  12. My first job was in a restaurant, too. I remember split shifts: working lunch then get a couple of hours off and have to come back to work dinner. Not fun. I'm way jealous of that Mustang.

    Thanks for stopping by to visit Hart :)

  13. I can't remember much of 17 since I probably didn't do all that much. I wish I had a picture of my first vehicle--an old utility van (Ford I think) that I paid $600 for. Someone had kind of fixed up the inside with shoddy paneling and carpet. The exterior was a pastiche of gray primer and varying shades of green paint. It was an ugly old thing that served me for a couple of years until it stopped in my parents' driveway and I sold it for $250.

    First job aside working with my parents in our juggling act and a few short lived jobs was a couple summers working at the construction yard at the contractor where my father worked. It was dirty and often hot work, but it provided me a decent stash to pay for college and have something left over for having fun.

    A Faraway View
    An A to Z Co-host blog


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