First WordPress Publishing on October 7th, 2026
Jasmine Lives
Jazz Gets a Job
On Jasmine’s first night at Frank’s Burger Shack, the manager instructed her on several ‘how to’s’. This training began with how to methodically twist a metal key into the perforated insert of a paper-towel dispenser. “Just like so, careful and smooth…” Mr. Frank finished with a full pause to grasp the current feeling of his new trainee.
“I don’t want to overload you, Jasmine, but there are quite a few things we’ll cover today. Of course, any questions that come to your mind are good questions. All questions are good.” With emphasis on good, he began chasing his concluding statements with a questioning smile.
A furrowed brow was the reaction Jasmine initially offered, until she chose to uncoil a bit. At this point she matched the smile of Mr. Frank. Although she was confused by Mr. Frank’s enthusiasm, she hoped this smile would convey how grateful she was for the careful training. Amusement, overwhelm and appreciation all intersecting for this young teenage spirit, ready to begin a new job as an official employee.
Exhaling, she stood up, stretched back and felt taller.
Next, they examined the little numbers on the fryer, the temperature knobs, various lifting techniques, and “the necessity of greeting with a warm smile”— for all customers—“regardless of how ornery they seem.” This time, Frank extended his over-reaching mouth even wider.
By nine PM, the shift had already decorated itself onto her work attire. Her clothing exposed salt, grease, and oils—much of the variegated ingredients that complemented this kitchen ambience had made their way onto the cloudy grey-black trousers Jasmine had no longer insisted on making cute. She wondered if looking cute was out the front door she had entered when taking this job. “Oh well,” she thought. “I’ll be emancipated.”
Her face shone pink with the heat of the kitchen and her hair was marvelously disheveled, shirt hung loose and untucked. There was also a headset that pinched one ear, showed up as a dent in her skin. Still, when she clocked out, the receipt-sized slip in her hand said she had worked four hours and eleven minutes. Jasmine folded it, slowed before the second fold, and tucked it behind her bus pass, noticing the symbolic significance of this artifact. It seemed as though this were proof of a citizenship that Jasmine now had access to, in a country she had before only just peered towards. This foreign country was on a map she wanted to learn more about.
She began measuring a new dimension of her life, counting it in total worked shifts.
Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays after school. Six hours every Saturday if permission was granted. The other conditional determinant was based on Jasmine finding a ride to her job.
She recorded every paycheck and expense in a spiral notebook—bus fare, deodorant, school lunches—and she tracked the mathematics frequently. Alotted herself an hour for her accounting every Sunday. She wrote one word in block letters—EMANCIPATION— at the top of each page.
