Chapter 1 - One

My first job lit the fuse; burning until it blew up everything, my hunger, my body, my cheerleading career. I was hired to clean up the slop in a local manufacturing plant. It was a horrible mismatch for me. I was a really feminine girl back then, and still am, mostly. The thought of wiping up garbage churned my stomach, but it paid more than mall jobs. I needed the money due to my addiction to nice dresses and jewelry. The purely aesthetic quality of looking at myself in clothes that were pleasing to the eye was one of my few simple pleasures. I was good at looking good and it was something that made others treat me well. Other than the fact that beautifying myself was overly expensive, it had no downsides.

I plowed through the job for a few months, gritting my teeth and closing my nose to the awful smells around me. It was fine until a local manager approached me. His breath stunk of cheap gin and scraggly hairs went every which way around his face. Just the sight of his awful floral shirt was enough for me to inch slowly away.

"You been doin a good job Linds. I like you around here. Some of the boys we had don't even do as decent a job as you as keeping the run offs to a minimum."

"Thanks Mr. Hedinger." I said, but he pissed me off. Slopping around filth wasn't a skill I wanted to have.

He invaded my personal space. His breath was unbearable.

"So, 18 huh? The big number. How's it feel to be a full grown woman?"

"Well, I'm not a woman. I'm still mostly a girl."

"You look like a woman to me, even in those overalls."

He put his hands on my shoulder and tried to make a move. I panicked and ran. I went home and stared at the wall for about an hour. After the adrenaline had subsided I realized this *** wouldn't get away with that. I went straight to the factory's regional manager.

...

I was transferred to another factory under the new job title, "efficiency overseer." Basically, I sat and watched the assembly line and made sure everything looked OK. I was doing a monkey's job, but that was fine by me as long as I didn't have to clean up industrial filth.

My first day was a surprise. The goods I was overseeing were things I tried to keep miles away from; baked goods and chocolates.


....

I know a lot of girls have a sweet spot, pardon the pun, for chocolate. I, on the other hand, am a bona fide chocoholic. I used to never let my mom bring the stuff into the house because it makes me weak in the knees. The taste of chocolate makes me want to go frolic on some rainbow like a deranged lepricon who found her pot of gold. My first inclination was to quit. I even started writing my letter of resignation in my mind. But my brain flashed to the new dress sitting in the front window of the Anthropologie. Then it flashed to a Times article (yes, I read, I'm not dumb just because I'm pretty) about the shortage of student jobs. And finally, my mind focused in on all those articles about willpower from English class. I could do this. I knew it.

My first day went well. I sat in my little chair and watched all the sweets go by, without wavering. I was bored to tears but I was being paid well for doing just about nothing.

As the weeks went on I started munching to quell the boredom. My boss Margaret was a nice woman. She looked like she had been working around cakes for a bit too long, however. It looked like a big run off of one of the lard vats had somehow found its way under her shirt. She encouraged me to take unorthodox job benefits.

"Go on, and test out some of the finished products when you feel like it. It'll help make sure that they're good quality." She winked and grabbed a little chocolate cake off the assembly line. I think she was trying to be nice, but I hated that woman for pressuring me to giving into temptation.

I started taking Martha's advice. I'd look at the chocolate, then I'd lie to myself, "Just let yourself eat one and you'll be done."

Of course, after I'd eaten one, I would proceed to munch away at the treats until my stomach hurt from too much sugar. No freakin' willpower.

...

I saved up enough for the dress. I drove like a maniac to the mall with my friend Liz. Something terrifying happened in the changing room. It didn't fit! Liz's eyes told me something was wrong. My stomach welled up slightly under the fabric, creating a small ball of pudge that stretched the silk. Around my hips, little pockets of flesh stuck outwards. I felt like someone was trying to crush me with shrink rap.

"Oh my God Liz, I'm fat!"

"No you aren't, shut up."

"But look at me, this thing fit me a month ago."

"Oh, boo hoo. A size 0 doesn't fit you anymore. Just get a bigger size and let's go."

Liz's smile broadcast that she was a little less jealous of my body. She was thoroughly enjoying this.

I didn't buy the dress. I just went home and cried.