When I was 18, I had my first job as a waitress. I worked in a very nice hotel in a small town in Scotland where there were a lot of tourists in the summer so they were taking on extra staff. I lived in a little house opposite the hotel. I had to be at work in the dining room at 7:30 in the morning to start serving breakfast. After serving the breakfast, at about ten o’clock, I had my own breakfast. After that, we started getting the dining room ready for lunch-cleaning the silver, setting the tables, hoovering the floor. I didn’t make too bad a job of serving lunch—one of the waiters looked after me and showed me how to do things. I would on the first day have been quite happy, but I had a problem which was that I’d got up in such a hurry and I just put on my shoes with really high heels. After a few hours on my feet I was in agony and there was nothing I could do about it, there was certainly no time to go and change them. I can tell you I never wore tho
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