Toughen Up, Son… it’ll do you some good.

I happen to enjoy friendship with a young family whose matriarch was at first, overjoyed at the prospects of their firstborn obtaining gainful employment in this tough economy.

Their son, who in this post is identified as Young Man, is a recent high school graduate, and demonstrates musical talent.

Recently she posted the following on her FaceBook page:

“Did you know if you work at McDonalds you are pretty much forced to *eat* McDonalds? 😦 The breakroom has only a table & chairs. No fridge to keep your food cool or microwave to heat it up. So, unless you are able to drive yourself to work & carry your food in a cooler in your car, then you have to eat there. Plus, you only get 30 minutes. This makes me upset! I’m trying to convince -*- to apply elsewhere…”

I found the numerous responses fascinating, which are as follows – my response is last, italicized and emboldened.

Tattooed Ladies & Trader Joe’s

I just got back from a brief rendezvous with Trader Joe’s. It’s a grocery store chain out of Monrovia, CA. That would be California for those unfamiliar with the Postal Service abbreviations for the 50 states. (I still haven’t figured out why the newspapers continue to abbreviate Alabama “Ala.,” Massachusetts “Mass,” or Vermont “Ver.”)

Anyway, I wanted some sourdough bread, brie and a bottle of wine. Eat and relax, you see. Because by this time, of course, I was already off work and back in Santa Rosa.

Before I arrived home,