My Shortest Job

At the beginning of my senior year of high school, I needed to find a part-time job. I had just moved away from from a fast food job I loved (detailed here), so I naively tried to recreate that experience by applying at Kentucky Fried Chicken.

I left after two days.

This was well before I became a vegetarian (now vegan), but there was just something kinda gross about all the dead chickens that had to be cut into quarters, halves, etc. I think I spent most of an evening trying to scrub the thick grease off of a single pan--"clean" to KFC and "clean" to me were two very different things (admittedly, I'm a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to dishes--about a third of what I pull out of a dishwasher goes back in for another go). It was one of those jobs where time moves agonizingly slowly, you come home smelling like grease and chicken fat, and it's hard to work up the drive to go back.

Fortunately, I didn't have to. I called in some powerful favors (okay, my Dad) and landed a sweet gig I'll tell you about some other time . . .