Day 1

Shit.

It's six forty five in the morning and I am waiting outside the offices of The Hollywood Beautification Team and there is no sign of Lindsey or Paris.

The kind folks at HBT have rescued me from having to spend 20 days in the County Jail for what I'll refer to as The Incident. There is a group of about fifty of us waiting in the mild ginger scented air, only a hundred feet from the star of Orson Welles on the Walk of Fame. Thats where the romance ends, of course. The HBT offices are really more like a super-sized janitor's closet full of paint, gardening implements, and handwritten signs threatening "You Will Not get your hours and you will be sent home if you are caught smoking (except on breaks)." It's all about the hours...I have 160 to go. Seems daunting at this point.

The group is actually a little more mixed than what you would find on an LA city bus. There are some older white guys like me. What did they do? Oh wait, they are each with a much younger boy or girl. Aha, the minors must have to bring a parent. Looks like about half the group is under eighteen. And I thought a was embarrassed when my mom picked me up after school.

Ok, we are going in...