I got my first job when I was about fifteen. I had always been eager to work and earn my own money because even though I had parents who provided very well for me, they were adamant about not just giving me money and about teaching me its value. I was always a child that would do chores for allowance, wrap Christmas presents, or take odd jobs to make a quick $20. So, the summer after my freshman year of high school, with my working papers in hand, I landed a job at a local bakery where my father shopped weekly.
At first, I was excited and proud to have a job! I was making my own money ($7.25 NYS minimum wage), I had responsibilities at this establishment, and I got to interact with customers. However, within a month or so, I realized that working at this establishment might not be for me. Immediately I experienced a workplace and supervisory practices that ranged from uncomfortable to racist and abusive. After I quit, my former employer harassed me by phone until my dad intercepted one of the calls and told them to stop. This workplace we