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The Jobs Issue

Dear Diary

I don't even want to try to write for the "Open Your Eyes and See" essay contest. I know I won't win so why should I even fucking bother?
LA
Κείμενο Lesley Arfin
1.12.04

April, 1998

I don't even want to try to write for the "Open Your Eyes and See" essay contest. I know I won't win so why should I even fucking bother? I wish more than anything else in the world—wait, honestly, if I had had three wishes they would be
1. for my mother to be completely happy with her life and to live a long one
2. for Bobby to live a full and rich life and to be happy and lucky
3. for me to be the most amazingly brilliant writer.
Johnny has a girlfriend. Also, Andre started working at the Yogurt ‘n Such at Plainview, but I don't want to switch stores because I can't leave Stacey.
Peace out,
Lesley April, 2004

I chickened out of the "Open Your Eyes and See" contest because I didn't know what to write about––I couldn't think outside the box, if you know what I mean. Whatever though, let's talk about Yogurt ‘n Such, my first real job. Turning 14 meant getting my "working papers" and it meant getting paid $4.50 an hour. Stacey, my manager, was a year older than me. She was perfect—tan skin, long blonde hair, white leather Keds that matched her gleaming white teeth. She taught me how to steal from the cash register. We had it all worked out, because you can't really take inventory on frozen yogurt. The "Such" part of the job was throwing veggie burgers and cookies at mean customers. Or maybe the "Such" was what the frozen yogurt tasted like after we spit in it.

After I quit (Stacey quit first, and I realized I had no idea how to do my job once she was gone), I worked as a telemarketer for a minute, but I got fired because I would just call my friends. Then I returned to the soft-serve biz at Carvel (Carv-Hell), but it wasn't hell at all, really. All the drug dealers sold weed in the parking lot, so work was pretty much smooth sailin'. Plus, I worked with a bunch of Italian guys who were like, "Girls don't mop. Girls don't do garbage." My job was to work the register and look pretty. Which I did.