Telephone operator for an answering service: Sarasota, FL (1995--College) Duration? 1 week.
All the operators were trashy bitches.
Two of them had served time in prison, and another, a hugely pregnant woman with perpetual pink-eye, was waiting to give birth before going back to the slammer--she'd worked out this "deal" with her probation officer. She told amusing stories about how she'd been arrested on the McDonald's parking lot on the Tamiami Trail. "I couldn't figure out why I had to wait so long for a Big Mac," she chuckled as heartily as a pirate. "The drive-thru guy must have seen me smoking weed in the camera and called the cops." She patted her belly and sighed. "Fucker."
All of the operators fought lustily over "The Cookbook," which, apart from being the only source of reading material in the building, was a glossy-covered codex that revealed the secrets of such fast-food cuisine as the "McMuffin" and the "Whopper." They were all very excited about KFC's special seasoning.
I would have stayed the whole summer, but the pay ($5.25/hour) sucked even worse than the usual pay in Sarasota, and I thought Michelle could get me "in" to the more lucrative position as a Busboy at the Colony. Besides, I kept thinking about the pregnant convict's pink-eye, and how she would sometimes forget to spray down her keyboard with disinfectant before leaving to meet with her probation officer.