The Candy Factory: Day 1 and a half.

So I've got a full day of working at ye olde candy shoppe under my belt now and am staring into the impending doom that is my first night shift. There is no Willy Wonka. There are no Oompa Loompas. We don't even make the candy. The candy gets made at another factory and shipped to our factory. Apparently that's cost effective. What do I know?

I suppose, then, that I should refer to it as The Candy Packaging Factory but that just doesn't have the same ring to it. Makes it sound like what it is: a place where candy hatred begins.

My work outfit? Consists of:
-hyper butch steel toed shoes
-a hair net
-a smock designed to extract the maximum amount of sweat from my body (The amount is quite high, in case you're wondering. It's been a full day and I'm still a little parched)
-ear plugs

I don't hate it exactly, but (presumably because I'm a snob) I'm left with this idea that I'm too good for the job. And I have to believe that I'm destined for something better in the long run. But for now, for a couple of months (the only way I could persuade myself into the factory) it should be tolerable. It's ridiculous, my dad works in a factory and my grandpa worked in a factory (and on the railroad, which is much cooler). It's just that I'm surrounded by grisled women who've clearly been smoking for 76 years and have no interest in imparting their years of hard earned factory experience on a sweaty and nervous Toni. It's also that at the orientation for this place, they reminded us that we had to shower regularly. Thanks. I had one of those 'is this really happening or did I smoke too much peyote' moments. Then I started screaming "I have a B.A.H." in my head. Like, I know it's not the same thing as saying you have a Nobel Peace Prize, but it has to count for something or my head is just going to explode right now.