Unit 3: Compelling Evidence: Drowning in Dishes, but Finding a Home," by Danial Adkison

For me, that person wore a tie with a Pizza Hut logo on it.

Parents in my small western Colorado town encouraged teenagers to work in the service industry after school and on weekends.

I grew up mostly with my mother, and I never knew my biological father.

My relationship with those men was almost always fraught, and I was always looking for reasons to be away from home.

One basin was for soapy water, one for rinsing and the other for sanitizing, using a tablet that made me cough when I dropped it into the hot water.

One basin was for soapy water, one for rinsing and the other for sanitizing, using a tablet that made me cough when I dropped it into the hot water.

If they proved their mettle, they learned to make pizzas, cut and serve them on wooden paddles and take orders.

A few years earlier, my mother’s then boyfriend instilled a loathing of that task by making me scrub the Teflon off a cookie sheet, believing that it was grease, while he sat on the couch and smoked cigarettes.

A few years earlier, my mother’s then boyfriend instilled a loathing of that task by making me scrub the Teflon off a cookie sheet, believing that it was grease, while he sat on the couch and smoked cigarettes.

But, he promised, if I continued to leave a clean station and not complain, next week he would put me on the “make table,” where pizzas were assembled before being put into the oven.

I was ecstatic.

Pizza Hut became not only my escape from home but also, in many ways, an alternate home.

For one of the first times in my life, I felt empowered.

By the time I was in 11th grade, Jeff had promoted me to shift manager.

By my senior year, I was an assistant manager, responsible for much of the bookkeeping, inventory and scheduling.

Our staff was like a second family.

We had water fights in the parking lot and played music on the jukebox, turned up to full blast, after all the customers had left.

My mom hadn’t gone to college, and I didn’t have a lot of logistical or financial support at home.

The scholarship application had to be in by the end of November — and I was definitely not going there without a big scholarship.

But maybe because of the fee or because of my sheer cluelessness, I kept putting off the application.

Though my mom worked hard to take care of my siblings and me, there just was no room in the budget to send me on a college visit.

The verdict: None of them seemed to be very much fun.

While I was away, he was promoted to regional manager, and a different person was put in charge of our store.

The family had dispersed, and I felt free to shift my mind-set to college and the future.

Washing dishes for Jeff was grueling, greasy work.