***
I remember it well. I was 16 at the time, hoping to get my first job waiting tables.
"Good luck, Honey. Come home a working man," I remember Mamma O'Brien saying the day I left. There were tears of joy in her eyes as she wished her youngest son luck in his job-getting adventures. Somehow we both knew that, even though I'd always be her son, now that I was entering the work force, I was becoming a man. Things would never be the same.
I knew there was a Macaroni Grill within walking distance of my house, so the night before, I searched online to see if they were looking for any extra help. Now, you've got to remember, this was years ago: The internet wasn't as finely tuned and organized as it is today. When I was 16, a Google search of Macaroni+Grill+Job
could lead you to Macaroni Grill's website, but it could just as easily lead you to directions and information regarding
Macocroni Grill, a completely different affair. Did you notice how there's a subtle, "coc" (short for "cock") thrown in the middle of the word "Macaroni?"
Well, Google didn't notice the trademark porn wordplay, and I didn't either, so I downloaded the application and made an appointment for
Macocroni Grill, sincerely believing that I was on my way to my first table-waiting job.
I really should have noticed something was wrong early on, to be honest. I mean, I was
confused when I was instructed to meet in a smelly, poorly-lit basement for my interview instead of, say, a Macaroni Grill, but I didn't want to question the decisions of the men I