The First Time

The first time, you can't quite believe it's finally happening.  All that anticipation.  Will I enjoy it?  Will I get an A for effort?  Will I crash and burn?  The first time, you hope it's better than those forgettable part-times.  The ones you know won't last, the ones you regret, deny, dismiss.  But you show up, anyway.  You fake it.  Pretend like you're interested, when really, you're just staring at the ceiling, trying not to yawn.  Counting the minutes till you can get the hell out of there and go home.  The part-times are the dress rehearsal.  The part-times don't count. 
And then, the planets align, the universe gives the signal, you're cleared for take-off. You agonize over what to wear.  It's the first time, remember.  You want to look your best.  You want to look like a grownup, or at least, an emerging adult.  The first time, you leave your flip-flops behind.  The first time, your palms sweat, your breathing turns shallow.  You pull up and park.  You walk in the door, expecting hectic.  But no one's even there yet.  You're early.  You want to go back and sit in your car and wait. Then someone comes in and says, "Hey, you're the new guy.  Welcome."  You reach out, shake a hand or two.  You're so nervous, your voice shakes.  You tell yourself to chill.

Your first time zooms by.  Nothing to it.  One day down, many more to go, God willing.  Your first real job.  No one comes up and says, "Uh, sorry, we changed our minds.  See ya."  You pull it off.  They want you to come back tomorrow.  Your first real job.  No more of that part-time crap.  No more bagging groceries, which you did for three weeks.  No more shoving styrofoam peanuts into boxes, which you did for two summers.  You'll never forget your first time.  Your first real job stays with you for a lifetime.  You can trust me on that.