I find growing up in abject poverty AND having worked a few brutal jobs has made me more than appreciate what I’ve earned, accomplished, and have. It didn’t take me long to realize, for example, that I HATED restaurant work. I worked at one place, no longer in business (shocker), that encouraged us to wear our hair down, we had to wear makeup even though we were just going to sweat it off, and whenever any of the men at the bar made drunken lewd comments or struck us (UNDERAGE girls) in the behind, we were encouraged to suck it up and take it. Y-e-a-h, I didn’t last long. It was, to date, the only job I was ever fired from/quit in the same breath because I “expressed” my opinion about how I didn’t want to be treated. How I thought management should have gee, perhaps discouraged patrons from assaulting the underage staff and not be the instigators of rumors that were considered harassment. I left there, went to one other restaurant, and shortly after shifted away from the service industry. It is brutal, hard, nasty work.