Look Squidward, Money!

All I think about at a time like this is Spongebob. How sad is that?

This week I started my first real job. Minus the tax deduction. I still think it counts because it isn't for family or anything. It's for my parents' massage therapist. What I have to do is record financial information in a program called Quickbook...or Quicknote. Something like that. It's pretty simple, I only work a couple times a wekk for about an hour or so, and I get paid eight bucks an hour. And when you're my age without a car, that's a lot. I mean, I feel like I'll start bragging after awhile.

"No please, allow me to pay for your coffee."

On the first real day of the job, I had a pretty good day. Despite the fact people seem to never look for pedestrians anymore. It's really irritating. But, I walked down to this little coffee place that's connected to Snohomish Fitness and ordered an Italian Soda. If you've never had one, they are amazing. So I started talking to the cashier about my job. Hey, cut me some slack, I was bursting with excitement. It's like when you find out you're pregnant and you want to tell everyone you see that you're going to have a baby. Not that I've been pregnant before. I'm starting to regret this analogy. Anyway.

I'm going on about my job and when the cashier hands me my drink she says, "It's on me, congrats on your new job." Double score for that. I mean, first day on my first real job and I don't have to pay for my Italian Soda?? What's next? Raining chocolate?

"Chocolate is falling from the sky! It is getting in my eye! Time for some more chocolate pie! My oh my oh my oh...my...."

After a long week (not really, I started on Tuesday and only worked for five minutes on Thursday) I arrive at my job to get my paycheck. My paycheck. Paycheck. This is all new to me. I didn't think I'd be saying these things until I was at least eighteen. Actually, I thought I was going to get paid in cash, but then she prints a check and signs it.

"This is a real check? That I deposit? And I can spend? What do I do?!"

With the lovely features on the internet I was able to deposit it online.

"That's the total in my checking account? Really? What do I do now?!"

This means I have even more things to ramble on about. I can't ramble on about how much I hate work, but these things are, but are not limited to:

• Things I See Walking to Work
• How Much I HATE it When People Don't Look Before I Cross the Street
• Interesting Coffee Shop Experiences
• How Many Times I Almost Get Hit By a Car
• Paychecks
• How Stupid People Are for Not Looking for Pedestrians
• How Many Hours I Worked That Week
• People That Have to Slam on Their Breaks in the Middle of the Intersection Because They Didn't See Me and How Much I Hate That

And so it goes. You may see a recurring theme here. We all make mistakes, yes. But seriously, watch for people crossing the street.

Because how can I try to sound more important than I am by saying I have a job when you hit me with your car? Now, that would just ruin everyone's weekend.