At the ripe age of fourteen, I was going to experience something I never had ... my first job. This was a job that took place in the City of Boston. No, I was not in a cramped, un-air-conditioned inferno of an office, but breathing the semi-fresh, semi-clean air of Boston. I was going to work for the B.Y.C.C or Boston Youth Clean-up Corps. There were only two qualifications for this job: one, you had to reside in Boston and two, you had to be between the ages of 14 and 19.

The first thing I had to do was call the "Red Shirt" hotline (Red Shirt is the nickname for the B.Y.C.C. because its red t-shirt is an essential part of the uniform). The people in charge of the hotline asked for my Social Security number, my address, my phone number, and, of course, my name. They told me that I would receive a letter which would tell me where and when I would work.

I waited, and waited, and then I ... waited some more. Two weeks passed and still no letter. All of my companions had started working, but I was still waiting. After I had nearly given up hope, the mail carrier dropped the letter in my mailbox. A smile of relief crossed my face, and rather sternly I thought, Hey, it's about time. The letter told me to report to a field in West Roxbury on July 15th.

When I went to the work site and saw all my friends, my anxiety left, and now I was ready to think about how I was going to spend my paycheck! c