My first-ever, real job was at Rohs Opera House.
I don’t count my father’s monetary bribes for a Mt. Dew refill as a real job.
“I’ll give you a dime if you run upstairs and get me another glass of Mt. Dew,” he would say.
The first night of my first real job, I thought I was going to die.
“It’s Thursday night so we’re going to need to change the marquee,” the manager said. “You’re not scared of heights are you?”
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