Confessions of a Prodical Daughter

By Katie McDaniel

Growing up, Elyza felt like she was the black sheep of the family. She would always try and pour her love onto them, and to always try to do her best in school, but it always felt like her best was never good enough for them, and that whenever she wanted a hug, hugs were just not their “thing”. It felt like her parents were more focused on her sisters for some things than others.
When she got to college, it was practically problematic roommates, scandalous coeds, and really trying to figure out if there was one major that she could focus on for a career that she could do for the rest of her life.
As an adult, well, Elyza had quite the adventures with some of her trips that she went on with scandalous tour guides, people taking advantage of her, and getting quite the ailments. She also had quite the trouble finding her perfect job. Will Elyza ever find her perfect job, and finally be happy with her life, or is she doomed to always have one heartache after another? Find out as you read this one very interesting story of one girl’s life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781984588289

Book preview

Copyright © 2020 by Katie McDaniel.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 07/16/2020

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

810146

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

GROWING UP

Chapter 1     Tough Love

Chapter 2     Working at an Amusement Park, Every Kid’s Dream… or Nightmare?

Chapter 3     The End of my High School Days

COLLEGE YEARS

Chapter 4     Freshman Year

Chapter 5     Sophomore Year

Chapter 6     Junior Year

Chapter 7     Senior Year

THE REAL WORLD

Chapter 8     One Last Hoorah with My Father

Chapter 9     Getting My License…Finally!

Chapter 10   Rekindling Old Friendships

Chapter 11   The Door to Door Soccer Mom

Chapter 12   Probation

Chapter 13   Gettin’ Baptized

Chapter 14   The End of an Era

Chapter 15   Audry

Chapter 16   Vegas Baby!

Chapter 17   A Month of Cruisin’, Woozin’, Bruisin’, and Bamboozlin’

Chapter 18   South Africa, Blessing the Orphans

Chapter 19   Probation…Again?

Chapter 20   The Fall

Chapter 21   New Job, New Car

Chapter 22   South Africa, Finding my Calling

Chapter 23   Back to School, and New Jobs

Chapter 24   San Diego; Let’s get physical!

Chapter 25   Jobs, Jobs, But Not a One for Me

Chapter 26   Temping, but Not Perming

Chapter 27   The Warden and the Deputy

For my father. May he rest in peace knowing that throughout all my

hardships with him, that I always loved him, and knew deep down,

somewhere in all that depression that he had gone through, that there

was a wonderful and caring man somewhere inside trying desperately

to get out, and that I had hoped to have loved and gotten to know.

Also, to everyone who has felt like they could never catch

a break. I hope, wish, and pray that you will be able to

have all your hopes and dreams come true soon!

Acknowledgements

I want to thank Jan Profit for the idea of my last chapter, and all of my friends and family who inspired me to write this book. It’s a true work of art, and I couldn’t have done it without all of your inspirations. I thank and love you all!

Growing Up

Chapter 1

TOUGH LOVE

Some people say that they’re an open book, and they would tell you anything about them, but in all reality, they will only tell you either what you want to hear, or sometimes leave out even the juiciest of stories. Well, I’m telling you that I am an open book, and this is my story, and no, I’m not leaving anything out.

They call me Elyza, and I will tell you my life; my story. Some people question me about things. They question me on why I’m still living with my mom, why I don’t have a job, how my life was growing up, where I want to be, where I want to go, why aren’t you trying hard enough, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

Well, I’ll tell you one thing. I have been trying hard with EVERYTHING my whole life. From trying to love my father, and hoping that he would be proud of me, to my school work growing up, to even trying to get a full-time job in a career of my choice. I just feel most of the time that people just don’t want to give me a chance

When I was growing up, I would always long for my family’s affection, especially my father’s. It was hard growing up in a family that didn’t like to show their affection when you’re one to always just want a hug. There was my father, Bernie; my mother, Tonya; my older sister, Laura; and my younger sister, Winnie. I loved them, and I knew that they loved me, but I just felt like it was tough love all the time. I just don’t know how else to describe it. I mean I remember up until I was seven years old, I remember running up to my father, when he would get home from work with my arms wide open, shouting, Daddy, Daddy, I love you, I’ve missed you!

Then when I was seven my father knelt, and asked me, Elyza, why do you do this to me? I never did this to my father. I didn’t know what to say after that. I just wanted to show my affection towards him.

All throughout my life with him, it was nothing but tough love. You see, growing up, I was always trying to do my best in school, but no matter what, I didn’t get the high marks that both of my sisters got. From the time, I got home from school till dinner I would work on my homework, then from after dinner till the time it was to go to bed I would do my best to finish it. My mom could help me with my papers, and studying for tests and such, but when it came math, I had to go to my father for help, and when I did, I felt like all he did would yell at me. He would question me on what I was learning, and he would try to teach me the way I guess he was taught, but it wasn’t the way that the teachers were teaching me and I guess I just wasn’t understanding how he was trying to teach me how to do the problems, so then he would get frustrated and start yelling at me until I would run out of the room. My mom would always try to tell him that he needed to patient with me, but it would never work.

I remember time and time again that my father would threaten me that if I would screw up so bad, that he would send me to boarding school. I don’t know why he would threaten me about boarding school. I never really did anything really bad, I mean, sure I would fight with my sisters every now and again, but that’s what siblings do. I guess it was his way to tell me to try harder, and that he was just getting so frustrated with me doing poorly in school, that he probably thought that strangers could do better than he was doing. All though, when I hit the sixth grade, he had told me that if I would screw up he would no longer send me to boarding school, but to an insane asylum. Of course, it hurt me, and I didn’t really know why he would say something like that, because again, I never really did anything really bad. I never did drugs. I wasn’t out causing mischief. I never really did anything that would cause anyone any harm.

I mean okay, there was that one Thanksgiving Day where my father wanted us all raking leaves, and when we had stopped to take a break for lunch, my father came into the kitchen yelling at us questioning, What are you doing? You’re all supposed to be outside raking leaves!

We needed to have some lunch, my mom responded.

Well I want you all outside raking those leaves when you’re done!!! My father left the room and came back a little later still finding me at the kitchen table eating my lunch since I was such a slow eater. What are you still doing here?

I’m finishing my lunch, I told him.

Well I want you outside!

But what about Laura and Winnie? I asked since they had run off somewhere to other parts of the house.

I don’t care about them right now. At this moment, I just care about you. GET OUT OF MY HOUSE NOW!!!

So, I did. I left his house, and went for a walk. I thought to run away. I figured that if he wanted me out of his house, then fine. So, I had walked in the brisk cool fall breeze to the park, and thought that that was going to be my home from then on. I figured that I didn’t want to live somewhere where I didn’t feel welcomed, but then my mom and Winnie found me there at the park a few hours later. That was the only time that I really ran away from home.

I didn’t know why I was doing so poorly in school. There was nothing more at the time that I wanted to please my parents in getting good grades like my sisters. I remember a report card day in eighth grade. I will never forget it. We were all sitting around the dinner table, eating, and my mom wanted us to show our father our report cards. My older sister, Laura, showed hers first with all of her As. Then my younger sister, Winnie showed hers with As and a B or two. When it came to being my turn, I didn’t want to show him. I pulled it out from my lap, and my hand was trembling so hard. He took the piece of paper, and took a look at it, with one A, the rest were Bs, Cs, and Ds. He then said, Maybe you won’t go to college. Maybe we’ll just buy you a farm, and you can be a farmer for the rest of your life and take care of your mom and me. I never really knew why he said it. I don’t know if he was referring that farmers were dumb, and/or that you didn’t need to know much to take care of a farm, or what, but that night after dinner, I had to go down the street and babysit for one of our neighbors. After I had put the kids to bed, I had turned on the TV to watch the Winter Olympic opening ceremony, but all I could really do was just cry, and wonder why my father would tell me something like that. Wondering if he had lost all hope of me ever succeeding in life or what. That summer, I was diagnosed with ADD, but I didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want to take the medication, and actually having my father’s stubborn gene, I didn’t want to accept the help of a tutor in school either. I don’t know what was really going on with me, or why I didn’t want to accept the help that I needed. I guess I just wanted to prove that even though I was struggling, that I wanted to prove that I could get through it on my own.

When I was a sophomore in high school, I had this science teacher, Mr. Smort. I didn’t particularly care for him, especially since he would never call me by my right name. He had always called me Lyza, instead of Elyza. I even wrote it on the board one day to emphasize that my name had started with an E instead of just starting with an L, but he still just called me Lyza. I mean that’s just like saying that your name is Len instead of Glen. You want people to say your name correctly, because that’s you, that’s your identity. Anyway, I had signed up for his college prep course, and I was doing fine in it. I mean I wasn’t getting As, but I was getting Bs. In fact, the first two quarters I had a B average in his class, until it came to the mid-term at the end of the first semester. He had started treating me even more different from the rest of the class, besides just not calling me by my rightful name. When he had passed out the test, he gave everyone a test and a Scantron, except he didn’t give me a Scantron sheet, just the test, and told me to just wright on the test. Throughout that whole test I was wondering why he was singling me out like that. I had thought that since he couldn’t even say my name right that he probably though that I was just too dumb to know how to use a Scantron. After that I just figured to just let it go, and not worry about it, but a few weeks later, we had our first test after that midterm, and there was a substitute teacher that day. The teacher gave everyone a test and a Scantron, but me. Then she gave me this one-page sheet of paper that had five essay questions on it, and told me that I could have as much time that I needed for it and that I could even take it home and complete it if I wanted. I looked down at the sheet of paper and across the top it said, Basic Level Environmental Sciences, and the first question was talking about bears, which I knew we didn’t discuss anything about bears. So, I just stared at it the whole period, took it home and brought it back still blank, since I refused to take that test. When I had brought it back, I had ripped it up in front of Mr. Smort, telling him that I didn’t appreciate being treated like a basic student since I was in his college prep course, and was doing just fine with the course work at the college prep level, and ran out of the classroom crying in front of the whole class. He did follow me and told me that he had a parent teacher conference with my parents and they decided that it would be in my best interest to keep me in my same class, but give me easier tests. I don’t know who you are though, who thinks that an essay test is easier than multiple choice and true false, but it’s not. Also, if you think it’s a good idea to go behind someone’s back, and not include them with how you’re going to treat them, then you’re sadly mistaken. I mean no one likes to be singled out, or treated differently. I may have been a kid at the time, but I still should have been included in the decision. Plus, why would they do it with one of my better courses? I might not have been getting an A, but I surely was getting a B, and the rest of my courses I was pretty much getting Cs and Ds. I mean in my book, I feel like if it ain’t broke don’t fix it, right? So even though that they probably had my best interest at hart, it really made me feel like I was the dumbest person in class, and that it was another way for my father to tell me how dumb and stupid I was.

After all of that, I had decided that I didn’t want to stick with my regular high school for my junior and senior years. I had told my parents that I wanted to go to vocational school instead, and that I might do better in that kind of environment. So, then they questioned me, So does this mean that you don’t want to go to college?

No, it doesn’t mean that I don’t want to go to college. It just means that the environment just might be better suited for me, and I might do better in that kind of setting. It doesn’t mean that just because you go to vocational school, you can’t go to college, you can always go to college.

So, they did. They allowed me to go to vocational school my junior and senior years of high school. The first year I was taking the school’s business technology program, and I was doing so well in it, that the teacher who was teaching the senior travel, leisure and hospitality program wanted me to join that program my senior year. In fact, I also joined the tech prep program there which prepares you for college, and I had joined it a little bit on the late side, that when I joined, I was supposed to be in a separate Algebra class than the rest of my class, and since they told me that I was a little late in the enrollment; or maybe they were a little late in getting me in the enrollment process, I actually had to teach myself Algebra II when the rest of my class was taking Algebra I, and I still came out of that class with a B. In fact, I pretty much got As and Bs while I was in vocational school both years. I even got Dean’s List one quarter and had gotten in the National Vocational Honor Society while I was there. My mom, at least was happy and proud of me, and in fact both of my parents allowed me to have a job while I was in vocational school. I mean, I’m sure my father was proud of me too, since I was proving him wrong that I wasn’t as dumb and stupid he made me feel like I was, he had just gotten into such a deep and dark depression, that he couldn’t show much emotion. They told me that I could have a job as long as my grades didn’t suffer, and sure enough… they didn’t. I was able to juggle my school work, my extra-curriculars, and my job. One thing though, was that I was having a hard time obtaining one thing that I wanted…my driver’s license. It took me a couple of tries to pass the written test to get my temps, and a lot of the time that I was out practicing my driving, it was with my father instead of my mother, whom would yell at me to stop at the top of his lungs, instead of just telling me to stop, which is really not something that you should do with a new driver behind the wheel, and my mother was usually afraid to get in a car with me behind the wheel. I had tried to take the actual driving test three to four times before my parents pretty much gave up on me trying to get my license until after I graduated from college. I mean I know that parents should never give up on your children, but that’s how I felt, especially since it seemed like they were more interested in Winnie getting her license more than me. Since she had turned fifteen and a half, and they were taking her out driving more than me. I just could never find out why they were wanting my little sister to get her license more than me, especially since I was about to go off to college two and a half hours away. Also, that I was wondering why they would allow my little sister to get her license when she was fifteen and a half, and not me. I mean, they told me that they just weren’t sure when I was fifteen and a half because the state law had just changed from getting your temps when you’re sixteen to fifteen and a half, and they told me that they weren’t sure when the actual cut off was, but when I was fifteen and a half, I told them that my friend, Precious, had gotten her temps in June when she was fifteen and a half and she was a month younger than I was, but it just seemed like they didn’t care. They didn’t care that my friend who was younger than me had gotten her temps, and that they didn’t care that I when I was going to go off to college two and a half hours away, and would have to drive five hours round trip every single time I wanted to be picked up. They didn’t care that I was getting a job that they would have to drive me to and from every day that I had to work. They just wanted my little sister to get her license.

Chapter 2

WORKING AT AN AMUSEMENT PARK,

EVERY KID’S DREAM… OR NIGHTMARE?

When I was sixteen, I did get my first job. It was in between my sophomore and junior years of high school. I worked at an amusement park. You would think that it would be every kid’s dream to work at an amusement park, and most of the time, at least my first year was. I decided to work in the food industry of the park. They put me where they do all of their big corporate picnics. If a big company had rented out the park, you were sure to serve them a nice picnic meal there. We served pretty much any kind of picnic food you could think of, from hot dogs and hamburgers, to fried chicken, to pulled pork, to even I think we even served ribs; along with baked beans, Cole slaw, potato salad, corn on the cob. It was nice serving people and making them happy with their bellies full.

On days that I was not in the picnic grove, but still had to work, they put me at other eateries around the park. Some days I would be serving hot dogs, and hamburgers in the kiddie section of the park or soft serve ice cream, sometimes I would be making pretzels at the pretzel shop, selling pizzas at the pizza parlor, or even serving food in the employee cafeteria. I got to know all types of the food industry.

When I was off, I would sometimes go and hang out with my friends. I even rode one of the new roller coasters the first day that it was open. I don’t think that I wanted that summer to end. I also got to see Sugar Ray when they played there, and even was able to reach out and touch Mark McGrath, when he came down the aisle where I was.

When the season was over, and we closed up the grove for the winter, it was time for me to find another job. So, I became a floor associate at Old Navy. It was an okay job, but they never allowed me to run a register. I don’t know if you had to be a certain age to run a register there or what, but all they allowed me to do was fold clothes, run clothes back from the dressing rooms, and even run the dressing rooms a few times.

Since the store was the closest Old Navy from my home, I would see a lot of people that I knew, but oh the people that I didn’t know, were sometimes a hoot. One night I was working in the kids’ department, and this mother comes up to me asking, Do you have thongs for little five-year old’s? I was shocked that a mother would want her five-year-old daughter to be wearing thongs. I mean come on. I know that it was the late 1990s, but still. No five-year-old of any era should be wearing thongs. I mean I could possibly understand a maybe a sixteen or seventeen-year old, but at least in my mind, definitely nobody under the age of thirteen should be wearing a thong. That’s just totally ridiculous.

I wanted to tell the mother that she was totally wrong about wanting her five-year old daughter to be wearing thongs, but I just responded, No ma’am, I’m sorry, but we do not sell thongs for five-year old’s.

After she left, I told one of my co-workers, and she was shocked as well. Are you serious? she asked me.

Dead serious, I mean, if you want your five-year old daughter to be wearing thongs, then you should grab a piece of elastic and sew a string from it, I replied.

Yeah, really! my co-worker laughed. I mean the strangest things you hear. I felt sorry for that little five-year old who has to grow up with a mother wanting her to dress that way.

In January of my junior year of high school, my manager from the picnic grove called me up asking me that they wanted me to come back for another season, and actually be promoted to a foreman. I couldn’t believe that they wanted me to be foreman, and that I would be able to run my own picnics, tell people what to do, and even have people trust in me. I of course responded to her with a big Yes, and she told me that I would report back to work on March 23 to get the grove back up and ready for the coming season. I told my parents after getting off the phone, and they were so proud of me for once.

So, the next time I was working at Old Navy, I asked my manager if it was at all possible to get rehired after I did this next season at the amusement park. No, I’m sorry, but I cannot do that, but if you want, you can help us out in moving our store in August. So, I agreed to that.

March 23, came and I was so excited to be a foreman. I got my picnic shelter, and they told us to look on the wall every day to see who was going to be working in your shelter; the problem though was they did the shelter assignments by last names, and everyone knew each other by their first names, but eventually we all got to know each other as well, and even some of my friends who were first years the previous season as well were promoted as well.

There were a lot of newbies that year too, and even a lot of people from all over the world. I got to know people from Poland, Slovakia, Switzerland, England, they were all there for some sort of an abroad program. It was so much fun and educational working with them.

There was this one guy though. He was American, forty-six, and he kind of reminded me of Gargamel from the Smirfs with his short stature, big eyes, horseshoe-wild hair, dark bushy eyebrows; but with salt and pepper hair instead of being all black. He was a first-year employee. He wasn’t mentally retarded or anything, but I could tell that he didn’t quite have all of his marbles. His name was Oscar, and being the kind of person that I was, I was nice to him; treated him just like anyone else on my team.

One Saturday afternoon in April, though, we were tearing down and cleaning up my shelter from a picnic we had just completed, and for some strange, odd reason, he wanted to dance. I told him that if he wanted to dance, he could dance. So, while the rest of my crew was sweeping the shelter, he danced around me as I just stood there watching and supervising. When we were done cleaning up, I told them all to go to lunch.

When we came back from lunch, I went to my cubby in the kitchen by the office and grabbed my fold to do my paperwork that I needed to fill out for the picnic that I had conducted before lunch. Oscar came up to me, Elyza, can we talk?

Yes Oscar, we can talk, let’s go outside to where I’m going to do my paperwork, but remember, the managers are around, so you can’t sit.

Yes, I know. So, we go out of the kitchen, and to the shelter right next to the building. I sit down at the end of the first picnic table, and Oscar stands at the end of the table.

Okay Oscar, what did you want to talk to me about? I asked.

Well, I was just wondering when could we possibly go out into the park together. I can’t stay tonight, but I think the bus stays late next Saturday. I was shocked at what I was hearing. He was forty-six, and I was only seventeen. He was twenty-nine years older than me.

At that moment, I hear Miranda from across the grove, HEY OSCAR, I NEED YOUR HELP OVER HERE! I don’t know if either Oscar didn’t hear her, or if he was just ignoring her, but he didn’t move.

Um…Oscar, I think Miranda wants you, I told him.

Okay, he responded, "but before I go, I just want to say, I like you, and you know you like me." He then turned and left. I again, couldn’t believe my ears. I didn’t understand what just had happened. I did my paperwork the best that I could since I was so shaken up, and completed my shift.

That Monday, on my way home from school, I told my bus driver what had happened to me over the weekend since she and I were pretty close.

That’s sexual harassment Elyza, and you shouldn’t take it. When’s the next time you work?

Saturday, I responded.

Okay, well when you get to work, go to your supervisor, and tell him what happened. You should not have to tolerate that, she told me.

Alright, thanks!

So that Saturday, I looked at my list of people who were to work for me for that day. I recognized everyone’s last name but one, White. So, I went looking for one of my supervisors, and thought to talk to Sean since he does the schedules, who was actually conducting one of his own picnics at the time. Hey Sean, whose last name is White?

Oscar’s, but I don’t think he’s even coming in today, why? Sean responded.

Can you make sure he never works in my shelter again?

Yes, but why? he asked.

I didn’t mean to, but I raised my voice, Because he SEXUALLY HARRASED ME!!! Luckily none of the picnickers turned around, or acknowledged that they heard me.

Um…yea, can we talk about this later?

Yes. I left, feeling a little embarrassed on how I handled that and relieved that I wasn’t going to see Oscar that day. Later, after all of the picnics had commenced, Sean came up to me and asked me what had happened.

I told him, "Well, last Saturday, he came to me after lunch, and asked me when we could go out into the park, and then when he told me that he wanted to do it today, he had told me that he liked me, and he knew that I liked him, and that just made me very uncomfortable especially since I was just trying to make him happy when he was wanting to go out into the park. So, I was just wondering if you could make sure that he never comes into my shelter again?"

Oh my, yea Elyza, don’t worry, I’ll make sure that he doesn’t come into your shelter again, in fact, he’s banned from a few other people’s shelters as well.

Thank you very much Sean.

You’re welcome! and then we left it at that, and went to go finish cleaning the kitchen so we could get out of there awend go home for the night.

Three weeks later, I was in the women’s locker room at work getting ready to call my father to have him come pick me up, when Miranda; this woman, who also worked back in the picnic grove, but was a first year employee, was sitting in front of her locker brushing out her rat’s nest hair, and complaining how she couldn’t believe that her boyfriend wasn’t going to be able to come pick her up for another hour and a half. I had thought to just ignore her, but being the kind person that I am, I spoke up, Would you like for me to stay and I can go out into the park with you?

Yes, I think I would like that, thank you! she replied. So, after we were done getting ready, we went out into the park. We rode a couple of rides, and she asked me about my family, and life. I don’t know how it really happened, but I talked mostly about my father, I guess because I told her that I was about to go call him to come pick me up before I decided to ask her if she wanted me to stay.

When we were going back through the park towards the parking lot, another guest asked us where the nearest restroom was. Miranda and I looked at each and then back to the guy who asked us where the restroom was, and told him, It’s just back there?

Okay, thanks, are you two sisters? he asked."

Just wondering, he said, and we were on our way again. I had called my father to come pick me up, and my night was done.

Three weeks later, Miranda and I were sitting next to each other, on the same bench waiting for our rides to come since there wasn’t any other place for me to sit and my feet were so tired from our shift of working picnics all day. There was this beautiful sunset in the sky with all the pinks and purples. So, I said out loud, What a beautiful evening! She didn’t reciprocate.

Another couple of weeks went by, and that was probably one of the worst days I had back in the picnic grove. That day, I had dropped a pan of baked beans on the floor. I had tried to start cleaning them up, when one of the other workers told me to go on break since I was a minor and had to take a break before my four and a half hours was up. So, I did, and when I came back, this one supervisor, Granny; who was this little old lady that had been working there for nine years or so and told us to just call her Granny since everyone called her Granny, had a hissy fit at me, Why did you leave a spilled pan of beans ALL OVER the floor?

One of the other workers told me to go on break since they knew that my four and a half hours was about up and knew that I was still a minor, I told her.

Well, I don’t care if you are a minor and that your time was almost up, you shouldn’t have left beans all over the floor. You should have stayed and cleaned them up even if it took you three hours to clean them up.

Yes, Granny. I told her and went back out to conduct my 2:30 picnic. After the picnic was over and cleaned up, it was time for me to take another break. I went to the employee cafeteria to eat again, and this was back when people were allowed to smoke inside public areas, and since a lot of my friends from the grove were sitting in the smoking section, I went and sat with them even though it meant having to deal with the smell and the second-hand smoke. We were talking and having a good old time, in fact, we lost all track of time, and when we finally realized it, it was past time for us to get back to work. So, when we finally got back to the grove, our very angry area manager, Camilla, was waiting for us. Where have you all been? she screamed. You were all gone for over an hour! You all should know better, you are all foremen and supervisors, there was five of us that was getting in trouble. You all should be setting a better clock in, and help them clean that kitchen!

So, we did, and they were throwing water on the floor to scrub them. I was holding a scrub brush in hand and saw Miranda across the way, and it looked like she was having a bad day as well. So, I thought to go over and try to cheer her up a little and tell her that I was basically having a bad day as well. I had only gotten two syllables out before she interrupted me, Hey Mir—

"DON’T TOUCH ME, DON’T TALK TO ME EVER, EVER!" she screamed as she ran away and talked to Granny.

What did I do? I wondered. After scrubbing the floor with my other co-workers, I clocked out and called home to come pick me up. I was so glad that day was over.

The next day that I worked was Father’s Day. I came in later than everyone else did, since I had told them when I was hired that my father told me that I couldn’t work unless I got Sunday mornings off to go to church. So, I clocked in, grabbed my folder to see what kind of picnics I had for that day, went behind the kitchen to grab a pallet to put my stuff on for my 2:30 picnic, and started grabbing things that I needed like the Sterno, the