My first real job was at a major roast beef fast-food franchise when I was almost 15, making $2.00 an hour. It was a cultural experience. My first day I watched a coworker I hadn't met yet stumble in the door, hung-over, looking like he hadn't slept in days. He pulled a pill bottle out of his pocket and poured the contents on the table. An assortment of shapes and sizes spilled out, he picked out a couple different ones, ate them dry, and went to work. The store was open late to catch the bar crowd, and a few hours before close someone would take alcohol orders. After close we'd sit outside and drink. Nobody cared that I was only 16 and drinking Sloe Gin, we were part of the team. The manager was a former pro baseball player, another manager was a hard-looking young married gal that liked to talk about her love life, another employee was so smooth he could pick up beautiful girls while wearing an apron covered with roast beef stains. I just took it all in. No job I ever had after was quite like that - I wouldn't trade those experiences for anything.