Finals week finished up and I sat around for a few days doing absolutely nothing, realizing I needed to find a job for the summer. I applied to a few stores but heard nothing back so I decided to take it to the streets, and by streets I mean one in particular, Hanover street. I was moving in the next month to a North End shoebox (apartment) and figured having a block’s worth of a commute would suit me. The first restaurant I walked in to hired me on the spot and I was so relieved to have a job lined up for the summer. They gave me a rough 30-hour schedule over the course of my very first weekend and I panicked. On my very first day I remember sitting on my then-boyfriend’s bed talking to him about how nervous I was because I had never worked at a restaurant, let alone a busy one. He reassured me that it was going to be okay and that jobs are always tough the first few days. I left with some weight lifted off my shoulders but still a little tense.

I walked through the doors on the first day and immediately felt out of place. I was not only one of the youngest employees, I was also one of the only American girls. That weekend was not only physically tiring but by the middle of my first double shift, I had to call my friend because I was tired and hungry and didn’t think I could make it through the rest of the night. I ended up walking home that night with blisters on my feet and tears in my eyes and I didn’t want to go back the next day. I was told to stick it out, to push through the tough nights because in the end, I’m walking home with a pocket full of cash.

By the second weekend, it was normal for me to run to the bathroom calling anyone I could to talk me down and tell me that the night will end. Working long hours, sneaking bread and snacks that I stashed (that I would then get yelled at for), was grueling and my focus and attention span would crumble. The hours weren’t even the worst part, the environment was constantly stressful. Everything was an issue and nothing went smoothly, each day was new stress that followed me the second I walked through those double doors. I’d stand at the front, forgetting to breathe because I was too focused on standing up straight while my feet throbbed and back ached. But all while I was simply trying to do the best I could, I had the meticulous owner leaning over my shoulder taking notes on anything from my lipstick color to my choice of shoe.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, I’m just complaining about a man who wants his way (just like any other) with a minimum wage job. But that isn’t the point. I know how to be professional for the most part but I do not know how to handle a low-pay, high-stress job. Once the summer weather started to kick in I of course dressed appropriately in dresses, since that is the normal thing to do. But this only invited the non-american men (probably twice my age at least) to hoot and holler any chance they could get, which is not a normal thing to do. Eventually I gave up on my appearance and wore more casual clothes and barely bothered with eyeliner. This then prompted disapproval from the owner and since I couldn’t necessarily stand up to a millionaire, I took my own route.

After that night of being told countless times that leggings were not pants and my manager asking me if I had any common sense, I took matters into my own hands. Three weeks of working there and I had had it. I didn’t care if I didn’t have another job to fall back on I was tired, literally, of putting up with inappropriate comments and being bullied, for lack of a better word, by my uptight manager. There were plenty of other stressors in my life, having a job that increased my anxiety wasn't helping.

So the next morning, I woke up dreading to go in for my 10-hour day and sat at the table eating breakfast with the same blisters on my feet. I told my friends what happened the night before and it was a unanimous response to call in sick and never go back. So I did. It wasn’t my proudest moment to make up some excuse as to why I won’t ever come back to work there but I didn’t care. It wasn’t worth the stress and certainly wasn’t worth the below minimum wage.