I got my first legitimate job when I was a runaway around fifteen years of age, though there was never any push for me to do so. I was being taken care of, supported by the all ‘The All American” welfare dollar, drug money, and a little hustle. It’s the hustle that reminds me to work it…
CLICK HERE IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN HIRING AMBER GARIBAY. She is currently looking for work in graphic design, social media marketing, and is available to hire as an event photographer with standards rates being $200 an hour with rights to images, though bids are welcome. She would also love to be taken on as a writer somewhere. She is currently a LIFE BLOGGER, and the owner of “A Smile Like Yours Photography: BOUDOIR, MATERNITY, NEWBORN,BABY,TODDLERS,CHILDREN, FAMILY,HIGHSCHOOL SENIORS, BUSINESS PORTRAITS, WEDDINGS This blog is the beginning of her resume…..
My daughter was a dancer, and now she loves the flute…
I arrived at my job interview dressed to the nines, polished, professional, poised….
in stolen clothes.
I didn’t like any part of stealing; I abhorred it, but I also considered it a necessary evil, kind of like slitting the throat of a chicken; you have to drain the blood to eat the meat. I would have gladly paid for my clothing if I had a job, but society had certain rules and so far the message had been, “You need not apply.”
First of all I wasn’t old enough. I wasn’t old enough to work “legally”, without parental consent, which I didn’t have. What I had were warrants for my refusal to comply. I couldn’t get the grown up’s to agree with MY PLAN for my life, so I changed my name and became someone else. Amber Gave was a juvenile delinquent with warrants out for her arrest. I have never been that person.
I have always had the best of friends, my entire life. They light my path like a halo, an arrow leading up and out. I have a dear friend who is a few years older and I owe her a debt of gratitude because she helped save my life at nineteen years of age. She added four more years to my identity, just enough to give me a fighting chance to support myself, “legitimately”. She let me become “her” until I was old enough to become me…
I walked in the building like I should be running the company, wearing a high wasted charcoal grey pencil skirt that was just a tad higher than it should be, but close enough to be just right. The top was tailored, pressed white cotton and the heels were appropriate, quaint. I took my time with my approach, trying to will myself to calm, because my insides were frayed. “What if he looks at me, laughs, and hands the id back? No way kid, there is no way you are nineteen!!! What if I forget to answer when he uses my new name???”
I have always had a baby face, and at fifteen I looked around twelve. I was a tiny little thing, and I remember feeling like I needed to put a cap on my youthful effervescence; grown ups were always so serious and calm. I was calm when I shook his hand. I looked him in the eyes evenly as I sat down and across from him at the booth. He had my application in front of him.
I studied the room, imagining the responsibility of it, and I knew that it was too easy. That was how the interview went. I had the job before I sat down because I wanted it enough to own it.
“Thank you for choosing Burger King. Go ahead with your order when you are ready….”