Who We Are

                   I still remember the smell that hit me, the first day, a combination of bread, aged beef, and bleach; and as I walked in through the back doors of the restaurant, I felt terribly nervous about interacting with the General Manager. My sister had already warned me how serious he was, and to be very respectful, and always on time; I wanted to make a good impression on him. My sister took me to work since I was just a few days shy of my sixteenth birthday; she was still obligated to drive all of her younger siblings around.    She introduced me to the GM and he waved me into his office to put me in the computer system. Since he knew my sister I had not even filled out an application for the host position. So, when he asked for my identification and social security number I did not have any with me, not being informed I needed them. He laughed and s...