Fresh

A winsome girl who aims to win makes pilgrimage to the big city, big dreams in tow. Big dreams confront bigger challenges and soon are downsized to make room for real reality. Sorry, I'm not making much sense today.

Random subject. What was your first job? My first paid job for a promotional company required me to wear a Mentos uniform. Cinnamon Fresh had just debuted, so my outfit was appropriately engulfed in acrylic flames.
I worked with a group of exotic male dancers. Happy happy. Mentos was the big client that year.

The job location varied each weekend. One weekend, I worked outside a Giants game. I had to go find security because a man followed me around trying to give me detailed instructions about how to make a bomb. Another project was at the Folsom Street Gay Fair. Surrounded by leather, cheeks and chains for four hours was mildly uncomfortable for me, but my hetero male coworkers were visibly shaken. I guess watching men suggestively eat corn on the cob might weird me out as well, but I was too busy dodging lesbians to notice any cob jobs.

We were always given a certain number of sample-filled boxes. As we were always paid the full shift no matter when we finished, the goal was to rid ourselves of the Mentos as soon as possible. Tricky at times, as undercover Mentos employees would stalk us, invariably betraying their identities by quizzing us on the origin of the Mento. Who else would care? Holland, for the record. Cops and drivers of the big brown van were accessory to my scheming ways, allowing me dump boxes of the freshmaker on their passenger side seats. Thanks to me, criminal suspects enjoyed the refreshing scent of cinnamon as SFPD officers breathed them their Miranda rights. Soon I was ridding myself of 12 boxes in 1-2 hours, making my hourly rate of pay one of the highest in my working career. Sad.