A friend and I were talking about the importance of the first real jobs we ever had. Getting our first paychecks, having cash in our pockets, knowing we earned that money on our own. Knowing what it took to earn it. My first job was at a car wash in Darien, Connecticut, where I grew up. I was sixteen and it was the start of the summer. My boyfriend had gotten a summer job there and I wanted to be with him so I went to the owner and asked if I could work there too. There were no girls working there at the time, just guys – one older man named Jimmy (I just now remembered his name after all these years) and a lot of young kids like my boyfriend and me.