Nancy Franson, who blogs at the delightful Out of My Alleged Mind, recently reflected on a job she had as a teenager. It was at a pizza joint and it was definitely without glamor. The back room was kept at such a high heat that the employees baked, along with the pies. The owner mainly sat in a corner and chain-smoked, glowering at his employees and barking out orders in Greek. It wasn’t fun. She had poor training, zero prospects... Read more