Blue Tags

I stopped at Publix this evening, my grocery store of choice here in Florida (as well as the place that employed me for a good portion of my teenage life). As I was standing at the register watching the bag boy attempt to banter with the cashier, I noticed the blue tags they were wearing. Blue name tags at this store mean you are under 18.

I remember when I was a blue tag. Required 30 minute breaks every three hours. No working past a certain time. No over time.

Some days work included running around the store with a pricing gun, tagging unsuspecting co-workers. Or sitting in the stock room chatting. Or locking the new obnoxious guy in the freezer. Or telling same obnoxious guy that is was necessary to shake all the salad dressing bottles at the end of the night. Or making an extra five bucks every couple of nights for being the only kid who knew the company's mission statement. Or hoping that the cute bag boy was going to be bagging for you on a busy night.

Work was fun then.

And then I felt old. Somewhere between blue tag and blue hair.


Currently Listening to: Nelly Furtado's acoustic cover of Gnarls Barkley's Crazy
Currently Reading: nothing tonight - but still working on A.J. Jacobs