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And I've put up with some jobs I hate, let me tell you. When I was fifteen I worked at my hometown's Western Sizzlin', where I was thought to be hard of hearing and "slow" because in my first days I had to stop and ask, "What?" many, many times. Not because I'm hard of hearing or slow, but because I couldn't understand a word my hillbilly co-workers said.

And that's how I was treated for the year and a half I worked there. Not once did I stand up and say, "Hey, you pack of ignorant high school drop-out welfare moms - you may be a wunderkind at taking steak orders and avoiding the rush at the free clinic, but I've got an IQ over 130. I may not fill iced tea glasses to your exacting specifications, but you're going to be working here until the health department kicks you out while I'm off to bigger and better things." I just took what they dished out. In the time I worked there, my school life involved maintaining a B average, winning speech and debate awards, founding and presiding over the school's creative writer's group, editing the school newspaper and acting as vice-president of the anti-drug group. And yet, my feelings of worth were dictating by the morons at that job.

Because I was lucky to have someone giving me money, and I needed to do everything in my power to make sure they didn't stop giving me money.

I eventually left that job when my boss wouldn't give me a week off to attend Girl's State, where this hard of hearing and slow kid held office, thankyouverymuch. When I returned I got a job working at a little mom and pop pizza place. Wonderful job with great bosses. And the whole time I worked for them, I wondered why in the hell I'd spent all that time at Western Sizzlin', taking abuse and being treated like less of a person when, just a mile down the road, there was a place that would pay me and treat me with respect. What a concept.

Unfortunately, that little pizza place was the exception, not the rule, in my working life. From there I went on to working at a plus-size clothing store with a bulemic district manager who once told me I looked like a "streetwalker". Then it was an art gallery/upscale clothing store with the manager who called me a fucking bitch when I put in my notice.

Then it was on to my job as a personal assistant for a family that owned hotels, with my office in their home. That was fine for awhile, but eventually I think they began to view me as family, which means they began to view me as slave labor. I was in college at the time, and eventually found myself devoting more of my time and energy to keeping the peace at my job instead of concentrating on my studies. Anything for a job at the cost of everything else. Even my education.

My next job was as a receptionist for a video production job at a large university, where I had been interning for a year. After six months my boss left and I moved into her position ... sort of. Since I didn't have all of her experience and education, I moved into her position, with about 50 percent of her pay. Oh, and with a list of new responsibilities. They created a new position for me - I think the original title was Kick the Fuck Out of Me and Pay Me a Poverty Wage. Instead of putting this position under the manager of the video production department, they put it under the manager of the film library. Of course! The manager of the film library knows all about producing interactive video classes for live broadcast over the university system's T1 network, right? Of course.

Or not.

My immediate manager had no idea how to do my job, and he assumed I didn't know, either. He would go for weeks without saying one word to me for no reason. Literally, he would walk into our communal office in the morning, say hello to everyone else, and not say one damn word to me. His boss would routinely scream his head off at me for mistakes I didn't make.

I was routinely told that I was young and without a degree, and I should be thankful to have the job at all. Nevermind that I was good at what I was doing. That didn't matter. I put up with this for four years.

I don't mean for this to sound like, "Woe is me; I've been mistreated by everyone I've worked for." I now realize that I was as much, if not more, at fault than my bosses, because I allowed them to treat me this way. By keeping my mouth shut and just working harder after each brow-beating, I sent the message that what they were doing was not only ok, but it was working. The more they yelled, the harder I worked, at the expense of everything else in my life. Because I never really thought I deserved better.

When I moved to St. Louis I was lucky enough to marry someone whose salary could support both of us. Not in the lap of luxury, but we could get by while I tried to figure out what to do next. I went to culinary school, determined to never, ever again get stuck in a job that I hated because I didn't think I could do better. I wanted to do something I loved, and I have been so, so lucky since then.

But old habits ... is it any wonder that now, when faced with a possible confrontation with a good boss, one who has always treated me with respect and regular raises, I'm a ball of knots? Realistically, I know that we'll talk things out, maybe make some changes, and all will be well. But in my mind, I'm still the hard of hearing and slow kid, and the boss won't see me as anything but that, no matter how completely wrong his interpretation of me is.