Being a teenager is certaintly no walk in the park. Especially if you’re a teen looking for some bling bling in this low economy.
Like any American teen when I turned sixteen I put applications in every restaurant and store I could think of. I thought the more applications I turned in the better chance I had at getting hired. Man was I ever more wrong. I waited and waited forever to get called in for an interview.
My seventeenth birthday had passed by and still I had not receive any calls. So I decided to call some of the jobs myself. I searched for my parents phone book, which I eventually found in the living room. Then I looked for one of the restaurants I had put an application into. When I called the number a man with a deep boring voice picked up. He remind me of the man who always did those clear eye commercials for the eye drop product.
“How can I help you,” he said.
“Well I was checking up on an application I turned in,” I said in a happy tone.
“Hmmm, you didn’t turn one in a year ago did you,” he said.
“Ummmmm, its been some months,” I mumbled.
“Well, if you did that’s good. We had an accident with the new applicants and lost them,” he said.
”What’s your name?” he asked.
“Duby Dee,” I said.
“I mean the one on your birth certificate?” he said.
“Duby Dee would be it,” I said.
“Oh, well let me find you. And if you sound interesting I might give you a call back,” he said.
I hung up the phone and I thought there was some hope after all. The phone ringed and I picked it up.
“How about you come on down here at 4:00 this evening for an interview?”
“That would be great,” I said.
I wondered why I had gotten a call back so quickly but I didn’t speculate too much. I was just happy to possibly have a job.
My mom dropped me off in front of the restaurant and wish me good luck with my interview. Just thinking about the interview made me nervous. I knew I should calm down but for some reason my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.When I made to the manager’s office I only mange to stop my hands from shaking for my knees to do the same thing.
“So you are Miss Duby Dee?” the manager asked in his boring tone.
“Yes sir that’s me,” I replied.
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