Filthy rich
Mar 26, 2020
3 minutes
Chelsea Ferguson, 30, Hartlepool
Pinning my name badge to my McDonald’s uniform, I checked the time.
‘Seven hours to go,’ I said to myself, refilling the straws and napkins.
It was August 2005 and, aged 16, I’d got myself a part-time job.
It wasn’t very glamorous.
The days could be long and stressful, the grease would get everywhere.
And the £4.10 an hour wage just about covered my new clothes and shoes.
What’s wrong with being proud
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