Wage slave

Andrew began work today on his very first job.
He's working at the Mission Street Wendy's. I haven't yet heard him say, "Ya wan' fries wi'dat?", but I suspect that's coming, if just in jest.
That young man decided he wanted to work this summer, and set about making that happen. He put together an impressive resume, emphasizing his leadership from Scouts -- being a senior patrol leader is a good start -- and his membership in the ski team. Being able to list yourself as a member of an Academic All-State team can go a long way toward impressing a potential employer.


It's not easy being 16 and getting a job. First, you have to ask, and somebody has to want to go through the trouble of wanting to hire you. Then, there's the whole work permit thing, which is a whole lot more complicated than I remember. Finally, there's the proof of citizenship and identity.
In two afternoons, Andrew and I trucked from Wendy's to the high school back to Wendy's, then back to the high school, then to the Secretary of State office, just to get the paperwork in order.
I know a lot of adults who would have just packed it in, but Andrew wanted this job. He even showed up 15 minutes early.
Most of his first day consisted of formal training; on Day 2, they put him on the building sandwiches, with an eye toward putting him on the till.
Man, when I was a McDonald's crew member, I started out scrubbing toilets and emptying trash.
It was a freaking promotion for me to be able to say, "Ya wan' fries wi'dat?"
Lunch rush, summertime.
He's already dreaming of new skis.