June 23, 2025 • 31 mins
Should employers be forced to pay a living wage? To find the answer, we tell the stories of our weird experiences working minimum wage jobs, and what we learned about them along the way.
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Speaker 1 (00:03):
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(01:00):
This episode was originally broadcast on eighth, twenty twenty one.
For decades, we've been hearing about a thing called a
living wage. It's what they call the minimum salary someone
requires to pay for their basic needs like food, clothing,
and shelter. Many people think employers should be forced to
(01:22):
pay this living wage.
Speaker 3 (01:24):
Fifteen dollars minimum wage is an economic and moral imperative
for our nation so that moms and dads don't have
to choose between asthma and haler's and rent and can
put food on the table.
Speaker 2 (01:35):
The Democrats are vowing to continue to push to raise
the minimum wage, which has not increased in more than
a decade. We're fifteen on our.
Speaker 1 (01:46):
But should they? Should employers be forced to pay a
living wage?
Speaker 2 (01:54):
I'm Patrick Carelci and I'm Adriana Coortez and this is
Red Pilled America, a storytelling show. This is not another
talk show covering the day's news. We are all about
telling stories.
Speaker 1 (02:06):
Stories. Hollywood doesn't want you to hear stories.
Speaker 2 (02:09):
The media mocks stories about everyday Americans that the globalists ignore.
Speaker 1 (02:15):
You could think of Red Pilled America as audio documentaries,
and we promise only one thing, the truth. Welcome to
Red Pilled America. For decades, people have been arguing about
(02:39):
raising the minimum wage and that every employer should be
forced to pay a full time employee enough to meet
their basic needs, but should employers be forced to pay
this so called living wage. To find the answer, we're
going to tell the story about our time working minimum
wage jobs and what we learned about them along the way.
(03:05):
As I stood there with hot grease stripping down my head,
staring at the manager blocking my escape, all I could
think of was how am I going to explain this
to Mom? It wasn't going to be an easy conversation
because I guess technically what I was attempting to do
could be categorized as a crime, perhaps the most ridiculous
form imaginable, but I'll let you be the judge of that.
(03:28):
It all stemmed from an odd infatuation I acquired as
a young boy. It was around my early elementary school
days that my parents started taking our family to a
Mexican restaurant called Tijuana Inn. We'd frequent this guardina establishment
every few weeks, and it was there that I was
introduced to my first love, salsa. Tijuana In had the
(03:53):
best chips and salsa my young palate had ever tasted,
and I couldn't get enough. Literally, every time we went
to Tijuana Inn, like clockwork, my mom would cap my
intake about ten minutes after the basket and jar hit
the table, Patrick, that's your last one until dinner, she'd say.
So to feed my craving, I came up with a
(04:14):
workaround shortly after I caught onto my mom's routine. I'd
asked to go to the bathroom. And why Well, my
six year old brain realized that when people were done
with their dinner and left, they'd leave their uneaten basket
of chips on the table. So as I marched my
way down to the Bonyo, I'd swipe chips from these
baskets all along the way. I figured the people had
(04:36):
already eaten they'd left the basket of chips behind, so
it wasn't really stealing. Who was a hurting? I mean,
it was almost praiseworthy. As children were starving in Africa,
I refused to let food go to waste. I thought
I had it all worked out, but the problem was
that I hadn't yet learned about discretion. On one of
(04:57):
these chip excavation trips, my mom caught me red handed
grabbing some of them from a recent vacated table. I was,
of course swiftly grounded, but by then my love for
that salsa had blossomed into a full blown addiction, so
I came up with another tactic. It went something like this.
During my ten minutes snacking grace period, I'd have unlimited
(05:17):
access to chips and salsa, so I took advantage of it.
Every time I put my hand in the basket, I'd
snag two chips. One would go into the salsa as
a parental diversion. The other would be stealthily stored in
one of my socks. That way, when mom imposed a
chip prohibition, my socks would already have a nice stockpile. Then,
as they got lost in conversation, I'd pull out a
(05:38):
chip from my stash. I'm not sure if I actually
tricked them or they'd just given me a pass for ingenuity.
Either way, the scheme worked for years until my mom's
prohibition phase was repealed. By the time I reached fourteen
years old, we moved to Torrents, and the relocation put
(05:58):
Tea on an end a little out of the way.
At first, the excite of the move clouded that fact,
and I didn't really miss my favorite spicy crunch combination,
but its absence made the heart grow fonder every time
I got a whiff of Mexican food, Tijuana ends, chips
and salsa would come drifting back into my mind, and
for a minute, a moment of innocence in my life
(06:20):
seemed lost. But that didn't last too long. You see,
As luck would have it, we soon figured out that
Torrance had its own salsa connoisseur, a little hole in
the wall called Romero's. Romero's was practically walking distance from
my house, and my mom would take us there whenever
she could afford to. But the problem with that was
(06:41):
that it wasn't as often as my craving demanded. And
so in nineteen eighty six, when I became old enough
to legally work, I applied for a job at Romero's
and they hired me. This was a game changer. Not
only was I getting paid to bus tables, I'd have
complete access to a salsa that was a cut above
my beloved Tijuana inn. Now, Romero's was my first real job.
(07:05):
I mean, I did have a paper route for about
a year, but this was the first time I'd ever
clocked in and hustled in an adult way, and I
learned a lot about what it meant to work. You
have to be on time, you have to be courteous
to clients. You have to be committed to succeed. But
even if you did all that, you're still expendable. If
you didn't have a skill, any bum on the street
(07:26):
could come and take that minimum wage position and the
machine would keep moving as if you'd never existed. I
also learned about how employers treated their employees. At Romero's.
We were allowed to have a full meal before a
shift started and after it ended. At the time, I
probably would have chosen that fringe benefit over health care.
We also got a ten minute rest break for every
(07:47):
four hour shift. I was told it was the law.
I didn't often take the break because we were busy
and it didn't seem necessary, But on the rare occasion
that I did, I'd scarf down all the chips and
salsa i could in those ten minutes, just like the
old days at Tijuana Inn. It was heaven. But all
good things come to an end. Welcome back to red
(08:10):
pilled America. So I had a great time working as
a bus boy at the Mexican restaurant Romero's. During my
ten minute break, I'd scarf down as much of their
incredible chips and salsa as possible. Just like the old
days of Tijuana Inn it was heaven. But all good
things eventually come to an end. The owner's daughter had
it out for me and accused me of stealing alcohol.
(08:33):
I hadn't I saw the dishwasher do it, but I
didn't have any evidence, so the accusation kinda lingered like
a dark cloud over my head. My only shield was
that the owner liked me. But then one night, one
of my oldest and best friends, Mike, came by to
pick me up, and as he waited, instead of using
our restaurant bathroom, he decided to urinate just outside the
(08:53):
front door of the restaurant. The owner's daughter found her
opening and fired me the next day. It was a
big bummer all at once. I lost my job and
all you can eat access to the best salsa in town.
Speaker 2 (09:08):
Now.
Speaker 1 (09:08):
Around this time, in nineteen eighty six, another Mexican restaurant
was spreading its wings and torrents, and it had a
unique variety of salsa it was hard to find anywhere else.
The name of this new hot spot was called El
Poyo Loco, and their salsa was what we'd call pico degaio,
a blend of tomatoes, onions, Cilancho Lemon, and Jolopaeno's man.
(09:33):
At the time, there was nothing like El poyle Loco
anywhere in town. Its flamed cooked chicken was the perfect
substrate to deliver They're one of a kind salsa. The
first time I took a bite, I was smitten, and
just like Romero's, I thought the best way to my
true love was to be in close proximity to her.
So I marched down to El poyl Looco applied, and
(09:54):
once they saw Romero's on my application, it was a
done deal. They hired me on the spot. Now, like
most restaurants, Opoyo Loco had a uniform, but it wasn't
that black polo shirt, black pants and black baseball cap
of to day. Oh No, the mid eighties uniform had
(10:14):
much more flair. We had to wear a tan, short
sleeved button up jeans, brown topsider shoes, and the cherry
on the top was a big ten gallon cowboy hat.
They basically had us dress like Mexican ranchero's. Putting that
thing on was profoundly humiliating, but I figured it was
worth it for the paycheck and access to delicious food
and Anyway, my friends never really ate there, so I
(10:37):
thought they'd never see me. On my first day of work,
the manager explained their pretty formulaic promotion process. I was
told i'd start out as a general cleaner upper. After
about a month, i'd graduate to tortilla flipper. Two months
after that, i'd get my first rais and move up
to chicken chopper. And if i'd made it that far,
(10:59):
the ceiling was the limit, they'd either move me to
the cash or i'd be one of the select few
allowed to grill the chickens. After a few days of work,
I thought the manager must have sensed greatness because I
skipped the cleaner upper phase and went straight to the
griddle to flip tortillas. My job was to stand over
a hot griddle and put rows and rows of corn
(11:22):
and flour tortillas down on its hot surface. Then, after
a few seconds, i'd have to flip them by hand.
Once they were soft, I'd have to grab them off
the griddle, throw them into a plastic baggie, and store
them in a heated drawer below the griddle. This was
surprisingly grueling, the pure volume of tortillas that went through
that joint on Friday and Saturday nights was staggering. It
(11:43):
didn't matter how hard I tried. Every few minutes, I'd
burned the tips of my fingers on the griddle while
trying to flip those bad boys. I remember going to
school one day and complaining about it to one of
my good friends, Ricky. He responded loud enough for everyone
to hear, So you flipp a tortilla, Patrick, flipp A
de tortilla. That became my new nickname, Flippa de tortilla.
(12:05):
It was not my greatest moment, unlike Romero's. About halfway
through my l poyle Loco shifts, I was in need
of a break. It was hot, chicken juice was flying everywhere,
and we were fielding a constant barrage of customers. However,
when I went to take that break, I was asked
what I was doing just taking my ten minutes. I responded,
(12:28):
in a matter of fact tone, we don't do that here.
I was told by the manager. It was kind of shocking.
I had learned from Romero's that it was actually the law,
but at this El Poyo Loco they were apparently ignoring it. Well,
I got up and got back to work. But after
some time I got curious about this policy and looked
(12:49):
around for someone to talk to about it, and that's
when things started to come into focus. I'm sure you're
all familiar with those art posters that looked like nothing
but a bunch of colored dots. But if you give
your eyes time to adjust, all of a sudden, an
image pops out of them. Once you see that image,
(13:09):
it's hard to look at the artwork again without it
immediately popping into focus. Well, that is the best way
to describe this moment. When I looked around to talk
to some one about El Poyle Loco's rest brake policy,
I noticed that the only people that really spoke English
well were the manager and one white girl named Tracy.
So when there was a lull in orders, I pulled
(13:31):
Tracy to the side and asked, why won't they give
us a break? She'd been there long enough to be
a cashier, so I figured she'd know. Well, look around you,
she said, I don't think any of them have papers,
and that's when the hidden image in the artwork came
into focus. Most of the people working with us were
illegal aliens. Tracy added, they don't give us breaks because
(13:53):
everyone else here can't complain. I think this was really
my first true red pill moment. Sure, there had been
other times when reality didn't quite align with what I'd
heard from experts, but this was the first time that
realization whipped me into a new level of consciousness. You see,
(14:14):
it was nineteen eighty six and Ronald Reagan was on
the verge of giving amnesty to illegal aliens. So many
of them were flooding low skilled workplaces like Elpoile Loco,
waiting for the gipper to make them citizens. In the meantime,
their presence made it easy for companies to flout labor laws.
As a result, working conditions were lowered for everyone, including
heat exhausted tortilla flippers. As time went by, there were
(14:42):
other policies that seemed screwy. Unlike Romero's, there was no
free meal before or even after work. You had to
pay full price for everything. Not a smart policy, but
not illegal. However, what was perhaps even more off putting
was that at the end of the night, any unsold
chickens that were left on the grill were to be
thrown in the trash. Employees couldn't even pick at those carcasses.
(15:07):
The rationale was that workers could create excess food every
night by just throwing extra chickens on the grill. So
we were told to throw any unsold chicken into the
garbage to ensure they wrung every cent of profit out
of us. That was an eye opener. Apparently my frustration
with their policies wasn't affecting my work, because they fast
tracked me. After less than two months, I moved one
(15:29):
rung up their corporate ladder. I became a chicken chopper.
Shortly after my promotion, my pal Ricky jokingly ribbed me,
what's up, flipp de tortilla, and like a dumb ass,
I responded, wrong, Ricky, I'm chopping chicken.
Speaker 3 (15:43):
Now.
Speaker 1 (15:44):
I might as well have gift wrapped his response, you
chomped at chicken, Patrick, chop out at chicken. My new
nickname was born. As time went along, the only thing
that was really keeping me at Apoyo Loco was the
(16:05):
often talked about three month rais. I mean I was
working like an animal, with no breaks, no free food,
and to top it off, my acne was at an
all time high. I mean I had zits that resembled tumors.
The chicken juice was more than my sixteen year old
pores could handle. And I also wasn't making crap. With
a minimum wage at three dollars and thirty five cents
(16:25):
an hour, my two week paycheck was never over one
hundred dollars, so I rarely had any money in my pocket.
But it was that three month raise carrot they dangled
that kept me coming back. Working at Opoyo Loco also
started creating more problems than it solved. You see, since
my job was at a food place, my mom would
often ask me to bring chicken home for my little
(16:45):
brother Casey. On one instance, I forgot to bring money
to work, so I came home empty handed. Why couldn't
they just give you the chicken, for Christ's sakes, you
worked there, my mom asked a bit annoyed. So when
I forgot money the second time, I had a real problem.
I was either going to go home with nothing again
and disappoint mom, or I had to figure out a
(17:06):
way to take some chicken home free of charge. Now
you have to remember L. Poyle Loco was jipping me
on my legally required paid rest break for months. They
easily owed me a few hours of back pay, so
I figured, rather than take my case to the Ninth
(17:27):
Circuit Court of Appeals, I'd simply take payment and chicken.
As we began to close up that night, I desperately
tried to come up with a plan to slip a
few pieces out the door. But I was drawing a blank.
My shirt wasn't baggy, so there was no way to
hide a bag there. My jeans were too tight, so
my pockets were out of the question. I went to
(17:48):
the bathroom to contemplate my situation, and when I looked
at my reflection in the mirror, it hit me. I
had a cowboy hat on a big, high crowned chicken
concealing mechanism sitting right there on the top of my head.
I could hide the chicken in my hat now, unlike today,
I had hair back then, and it was saturated with joycojel,
(18:09):
so placing this greasy chicken directly on top of my
head would have been problematic. I needed a buffer. That's
when another idea struck me. I could put a few
bags of tortillas on the top of my head, place
a breast and a few wings on top of the tortillas,
then crammed the cowboy hat over the entire combo. The
only thing left would be to gingerly walk out of
Ilpoyo Loco, like those African women that balance baskets on
(18:32):
their head. How hard could it be? So I put
my plan into action when no one was looking. I
grabbed a breast and a few wings, then two baggies
of corn tortillas, and rushed to the back. I placed
the tortillas on top of my head, then the chicken,
then the hat. It sat kinda high, but it was working.
The problem now was that I had to get out
of their pronto, because not only was my cargo hot,
(18:55):
the chicken was juicy. So I made my way to
the exit, walking with my neck and head as stiff
as a board. As I crept from behind the counter
and passed a few of the cleaner uppers, I felt
grease dripping from the top of my head into my mullet.
It mixed with the joycogel in my hair to create
almost a snowball effect. The goop was getting bigger and
(19:17):
bigger as it slithered down the back of my head.
The feeling was almost unbearable, but I had a clear
shot for the front door, so I went for it,
being careful not to tip my head to the side.
As I approached the door, a feeling of relief swept
over me. Man, that was easy, I thought. And just
when I got comfortable, the Lpoyle Local manager stepped in
(19:39):
front of me. He had a serious look on his face.
Speaker 2 (19:43):
Oh man, I.
Speaker 1 (19:44):
Thought, I'm busted. This was not how I wanted to
be caught with a hot chick.
Speaker 2 (19:57):
Do you want to hear Red Pilled America stories? Add free,
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Speaker 1 (20:12):
Welcome back. So, in desperation, I decided to hide chicken
and tortillas under my Lpoyle Local cowboy hat. But as
I made my way to the front door, a manager
stepped in front of me. He had a serious look
on his face. Oh man, I thought, I'm busted. This
was not how I wanted to be caught with a
hot chick. The manager looked at me for what seemed
(20:36):
like minutes, then finally he opened his mouth. Patrick, we
really appreciate your work here. Next week, I'm moving you
up to the cash register. Oh that sounds great, I answered,
as the chicken juice reached the back of my neck.
All right, see you next week. And with those last words,
I did my best impersonation of an African head carrier
(20:57):
and made my way to the car. Once I got
into my dots in B two ten, I flipped my
head down and pulled the cowboy hat off. The chicken
and tortillas were still smoking. I'd gotten away with it,
but I would pay dearly. Later That weekend marked the
worst acne breakout of my entire life. The following week,
(21:17):
I showed up to work ready for my new position.
Manning the cash register meant no more sweating over the
griddle and no more chicken juice drenching my face. My
hard work had paid off. But when I showed up
to work that day, something unexpected happened. The drive through
intercom malfunctioned. Now someone had to stand outside and take
(21:38):
drive through orders, and that someone was the new cashier me.
I'd been avoiding being seen in my Lpoyle local uniform
since day one on the job, and now I had
to stand outside in the public on one of the
most trafficked intersections in North Torrents in a ranchero costume.
As I walked outside, I just hoped that no one
(22:01):
I knew drove by. But I I wasn't taking orders
for longer than fifteen minutes when I heard someone honking
behind me. As I turned around, I saw my buddy
Ricky in his blue Volvo. His car was packed. As
he drove by, he yelled out the window, flipping it out, dear,
chopping at your card. The rest of the night was
(22:21):
a blur. Now this may come as a surprise, but
I'm not the only person that's had an embarrassing experience
on a minimum wage.
Speaker 2 (22:31):
Job, because I remember definitely being upset and embarrassed that night.
When I went home, I think I may have even cried.
Speaker 1 (22:39):
Of course, that's my lovely wife and co host Adriana.
Her first real job was working at the social hub
of the MTV era.
Speaker 2 (22:49):
You know, mal's were a big, big thing in the eighties,
and the West Kavina Mall was. It was a fun
hangout for my friends and I. You know, think of
eighties movies where all the kids go to the mall,
So the West Covina Mall was like that.
Speaker 1 (23:05):
Since she was thirteen, Adriana had already worked on and
off at her aunt's hair salon.
Speaker 2 (23:09):
But she was not a good boss. My aunt. She
wasn't even paying me minimum wage because I was a kid.
But I was actually doing the job of someone that
just happened to call in sick that day. So I
was still doing the work of somebody else. And I
was a good worker. I was always a good worker.
I would go there on the weekends and I would
(23:30):
sweep up the hair, and I would answer the phones,
and I would take money, you know, check people out,
basically take the cash, give them their change, and then
she'd give me twenty dollars for the whole day, for
like eight hours, twenty bucks.
Speaker 1 (23:45):
When she turned fifteen, she was eligible for a work permit,
and so for her first real job, she turned to
the eighties. Teenage Mecca.
Speaker 2 (23:53):
I went to basically all the stores that I thought
were were the coolest stores at the West Covina Mall,
or the stores that I would like to work from,
or all the stores that I would want to work
at because and I would get some sort of a
discount the clothes.
Speaker 1 (24:03):
She applied at Contempo Casuals, Judies and windsor fashions, and
all of the jobs were paying minimum wage at the
time three dollars and thirty five cents an hour.
Speaker 2 (24:12):
Contempo passed on me, and so did Judies, and Windsor
Fashions was probably my last choice, and that's where I
got the job. That's where I ended up getting hired.
Windsors Fashions was not the epitome of cool. It was
the bottom of the barrel. It was the ugly chick location.
(24:32):
You know, I wanted to work at one of the
cool stores, but you know, I thought, I'm going to
make the best of this. I'm going to kill it.
I think they initially hired me to work in the
back and clean out the dressing rooms when people would
try things on and I had to put things back
on the hangar and put them back on the floor,
and also work in the stock room and then keep
(24:53):
everything nice and organized. But I think that they realized
very very quickly that they had a gold mine on
their hands in the form of me, and so they
put me on the floor to be a sales girl.
Speaker 1 (25:15):
Now, Adriana was brought on for the Christmas season rush,
but it was also another time of the year high
school winter formals, and that brought Windsor Fashion's biggest clientele.
Speaker 2 (25:24):
They had a lot of formal wear that was kind
of their thing. So when there was a winter formal,
or a prom or any type of a school dance,
a lot of people would go to Windsors to buy
a formal dress.
Speaker 1 (25:40):
At first, the retailer probably didn't know who they'd just hired.
Speaker 2 (25:45):
You know, I think that I probably presented chubby because
I was very busty, and so I would wear things
that were very very loose fitting, so it kind of
gave the appearance of a tent. But underneath, I was
definitely very very shapely. I had a very small so
I you know, it's cute. I was a cute fifteen
(26:06):
year old.
Speaker 1 (26:07):
As Winter formal arrived, the manager must have realized that
Adriana's shape could help with sales.
Speaker 2 (26:12):
So one day I went to work and I was
informed that I was going to be modeling the formal wear,
the dresses for winter formal, and I was all in.
I thought, yes, I've arrived, this is the moment that
I've been waiting for. But then they stepped it up
a notch and they said, you're going to be standing
in the window as a mannequin, as a live mannequin.
(26:37):
But when you're in there, don't move, Okay, you just
have to stay perfectly still, just like a mannequin. Can
you do that? And I said, yeah, I can totally
do that. I was so excited about it. I thought
it was great because I was the chosen one, you know,
of all of the ugly girls, they chose me, which
meant I was the least ugly of the uglies.
Speaker 1 (26:57):
So with her new directive, Adriana put on a Windsor
fashion formal dress and stepped into the window to perform
as a mannequin.
Speaker 2 (27:04):
People were walking by and like, oh, look, God, there's
a person in there. How cool and stuff. And I
didn't make any eye contact. I didn't smile. I just
I stayed in full mannequin character. I never broke character.
I probably stood there for thirty minutes at a time.
You know, I probably wore six dresses. I remember some
(27:25):
of the other girls wanted to do it, and I
was just like grabbing dresses and getting dressed and just
getting back in the window. I didn't want to share
the spotlight. And I'm up there and I'm slaying and
I'm killing it. I thought, Wow, I'm doing a fantastic job.
But then my best friend Lisa and my two other
(27:46):
girlfriends walk by. They came to see me, and I
hadn't told them like I'm going to be in the
window at windsor Fashions or anything like that. You know,
it just so happened that they went to the mall.
They probably went to get a dress for winter formal,
and there I am in the window as a mannequin,
and they start hysterically laughing that I just ignored them
(28:11):
because I'm in character. I'm working and to no means
to know that I take my work very, very seriously,
and I've always been that way. I don't care what
job I'm doing. I'm gonna do that job to the
best of my ability. So I wasn't gonna break They
were laughing, but they couldn't believe that I wasn't laughing
and I wasn't acknowledging them that I was still basically
in characters. But then they basically went on a mission
(28:33):
to try and make me laugh, and they were trying
to make me laugh, but I never broke character. I
was like one of the Queen's soldiers. But then that night,
I was having some regrets because I was a little
embarrassed and my friends were making fun of me. I
think I may have even cried.
Speaker 1 (28:48):
Then when payday arrived, she probably learned her biggest lesson yet.
Speaker 2 (28:52):
Yeah. I remember my first paycheck. It might have been
eighty six dollars for two weeks of work, and I
remember just being absolutely just floored by what a small
dollar mount it was. I couldn't believe it, but you know,
that's the way it was.
Speaker 1 (29:07):
I had a similar lesson at El Poyle Loco. After
three months, the momentous day of my big pay raise arrived.
The manager handed me the memo, and just like that,
the carrot they'd been dangling since I started was finally
in my hand. It read, Patrick CARELCI, your new salary
is three dollars and fifty cents per hour. I got
(29:27):
a fifteen cent per hour raise. I quit immediately, Which
leads us back to the question should employers be forced
to pay a living wage? The answer is no. Anyone
(29:47):
could be taught to flip tortilla's chopouted chicken and stand
like a mannequin. These minimum wage jobs were never meant
to be careers. They were for young people to learn
the basics of what it meant to work. They were
considered stepping stones to the next thing. After Adriana's first
job at Winter Fashion, she reapproached the same stores that
initially turned her down.
Speaker 2 (30:08):
Now I could apply at the cool stores because now
I actually had some work experience under my belt. Now
I was like, yes, I have worked retail. In fact,
I've also been a mannequin. But I definitely got the
retail fever. I worked at Contempo, I worked at the Limited,
I worked at Nordstrom, I worked at Macy's. I worked
at this place called Devin Beck. Then I went to college,
(30:31):
and in college, I interned at Diesel. We used to
style Jennifer Lopez. And then I worked at BCBG. That
was my first real job out of college, my first
corporate job. I worked there for five years.
Speaker 1 (30:43):
She'd go on to start a business with me, writing
stories and yes coming up with ideas for our own
retail store. As for me, those early minimum wage jobs
provided me my first red pill moment, and the dominoes
had been falling ever since. I exited the food industry forever,
but I never lost my love for that chip dip
I ended up finding a local girl that makes the
(31:05):
best damn salsa I've ever tasted, but you can't buy
it in stores. It's a homemade blend that I call
fifteen percent because it's fifteen percent of the reason why
I'm married her.
Speaker 2 (31:15):
Red Pilled America is an iHeartRadio original podcast. It's owned
and produced by Patrick Carrelci and me Adriana Cortez of
Informed Ventures. Now. You can get ad free access to
our entire archive of episodes by becoming a backstage subscriber.
To subscribe, visit Redpilled America dot com and click join
in the top menu. Thanks for listening.
This is Red Pilled America.
Speaker 2 (00:07):
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(00:29):
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only podcast. Just visit Redpilled America dot com and click
join in the topmenu. That's red Pilled America dot com
and click join in the topmenu. Now on with the show.
(01:00):
This episode was originally broadcast on eighth, twenty twenty one.
For decades, we've been hearing about a thing called a
living wage. It's what they call the minimum salary someone
requires to pay for their basic needs like food, clothing,
and shelter. Many people think employers should be forced to
(01:22):
pay this living wage.
Speaker 3 (01:24):
Fifteen dollars minimum wage is an economic and moral imperative
for our nation so that moms and dads don't have
to choose between asthma and haler's and rent and can
put food on the table.
Speaker 2 (01:35):
The Democrats are vowing to continue to push to raise
the minimum wage, which has not increased in more than
a decade. We're fifteen on our.
Speaker 1 (01:46):
But should they? Should employers be forced to pay a
living wage?
Speaker 2 (01:54):
I'm Patrick Carelci and I'm Adriana Coortez and this is
Red Pilled America, a storytelling show. This is not another
talk show covering the day's news. We are all about
telling stories.
Speaker 1 (02:06):
Stories. Hollywood doesn't want you to hear stories.
Speaker 2 (02:09):
The media mocks stories about everyday Americans that the globalists ignore.
Speaker 1 (02:15):
You could think of Red Pilled America as audio documentaries,
and we promise only one thing, the truth. Welcome to
Red Pilled America. For decades, people have been arguing about
(02:39):
raising the minimum wage and that every employer should be
forced to pay a full time employee enough to meet
their basic needs, but should employers be forced to pay
this so called living wage. To find the answer, we're
going to tell the story about our time working minimum
wage jobs and what we learned about them along the way.
(03:05):
As I stood there with hot grease stripping down my head,
staring at the manager blocking my escape, all I could
think of was how am I going to explain this
to Mom? It wasn't going to be an easy conversation
because I guess technically what I was attempting to do
could be categorized as a crime, perhaps the most ridiculous
form imaginable, but I'll let you be the judge of that.
(03:28):
It all stemmed from an odd infatuation I acquired as
a young boy. It was around my early elementary school
days that my parents started taking our family to a
Mexican restaurant called Tijuana Inn. We'd frequent this guardina establishment
every few weeks, and it was there that I was
introduced to my first love, salsa. Tijuana In had the
(03:53):
best chips and salsa my young palate had ever tasted,
and I couldn't get enough. Literally, every time we went
to Tijuana Inn, like clockwork, my mom would cap my
intake about ten minutes after the basket and jar hit
the table, Patrick, that's your last one until dinner, she'd say.
So to feed my craving, I came up with a
(04:14):
workaround shortly after I caught onto my mom's routine. I'd
asked to go to the bathroom. And why Well, my
six year old brain realized that when people were done
with their dinner and left, they'd leave their uneaten basket
of chips on the table. So as I marched my
way down to the Bonyo, I'd swipe chips from these
baskets all along the way. I figured the people had
(04:36):
already eaten they'd left the basket of chips behind, so
it wasn't really stealing. Who was a hurting? I mean,
it was almost praiseworthy. As children were starving in Africa,
I refused to let food go to waste. I thought
I had it all worked out, but the problem was
that I hadn't yet learned about discretion. On one of
(04:57):
these chip excavation trips, my mom caught me red handed
grabbing some of them from a recent vacated table. I was,
of course swiftly grounded, but by then my love for
that salsa had blossomed into a full blown addiction, so
I came up with another tactic. It went something like this.
During my ten minutes snacking grace period, I'd have unlimited
(05:17):
access to chips and salsa, so I took advantage of it.
Every time I put my hand in the basket, I'd
snag two chips. One would go into the salsa as
a parental diversion. The other would be stealthily stored in
one of my socks. That way, when mom imposed a
chip prohibition, my socks would already have a nice stockpile. Then,
as they got lost in conversation, I'd pull out a
(05:38):
chip from my stash. I'm not sure if I actually
tricked them or they'd just given me a pass for ingenuity.
Either way, the scheme worked for years until my mom's
prohibition phase was repealed. By the time I reached fourteen
years old, we moved to Torrents, and the relocation put
(05:58):
Tea on an end a little out of the way.
At first, the excite of the move clouded that fact,
and I didn't really miss my favorite spicy crunch combination,
but its absence made the heart grow fonder every time
I got a whiff of Mexican food, Tijuana ends, chips
and salsa would come drifting back into my mind, and
for a minute, a moment of innocence in my life
(06:20):
seemed lost. But that didn't last too long. You see,
As luck would have it, we soon figured out that
Torrance had its own salsa connoisseur, a little hole in
the wall called Romero's. Romero's was practically walking distance from
my house, and my mom would take us there whenever
she could afford to. But the problem with that was
(06:41):
that it wasn't as often as my craving demanded. And
so in nineteen eighty six, when I became old enough
to legally work, I applied for a job at Romero's
and they hired me. This was a game changer. Not
only was I getting paid to bus tables, I'd have
complete access to a salsa that was a cut above
my beloved Tijuana inn. Now, Romero's was my first real job.
(07:05):
I mean, I did have a paper route for about
a year, but this was the first time I'd ever
clocked in and hustled in an adult way, and I
learned a lot about what it meant to work. You
have to be on time, you have to be courteous
to clients. You have to be committed to succeed. But
even if you did all that, you're still expendable. If
you didn't have a skill, any bum on the street
(07:26):
could come and take that minimum wage position and the
machine would keep moving as if you'd never existed. I
also learned about how employers treated their employees. At Romero's.
We were allowed to have a full meal before a
shift started and after it ended. At the time, I
probably would have chosen that fringe benefit over health care.
We also got a ten minute rest break for every
(07:47):
four hour shift. I was told it was the law.
I didn't often take the break because we were busy
and it didn't seem necessary, But on the rare occasion
that I did, I'd scarf down all the chips and
salsa i could in those ten minutes, just like the
old days at Tijuana Inn. It was heaven. But all
good things come to an end. Welcome back to red
(08:10):
pilled America. So I had a great time working as
a bus boy at the Mexican restaurant Romero's. During my
ten minute break, I'd scarf down as much of their
incredible chips and salsa as possible. Just like the old
days of Tijuana Inn it was heaven. But all good
things eventually come to an end. The owner's daughter had
it out for me and accused me of stealing alcohol.
(08:33):
I hadn't I saw the dishwasher do it, but I
didn't have any evidence, so the accusation kinda lingered like
a dark cloud over my head. My only shield was
that the owner liked me. But then one night, one
of my oldest and best friends, Mike, came by to
pick me up, and as he waited, instead of using
our restaurant bathroom, he decided to urinate just outside the
(08:53):
front door of the restaurant. The owner's daughter found her
opening and fired me the next day. It was a
big bummer all at once. I lost my job and
all you can eat access to the best salsa in town.
Speaker 2 (09:08):
Now.
Speaker 1 (09:08):
Around this time, in nineteen eighty six, another Mexican restaurant
was spreading its wings and torrents, and it had a
unique variety of salsa it was hard to find anywhere else.
The name of this new hot spot was called El
Poyo Loco, and their salsa was what we'd call pico degaio,
a blend of tomatoes, onions, Cilancho Lemon, and Jolopaeno's man.
(09:33):
At the time, there was nothing like El poyle Loco
anywhere in town. Its flamed cooked chicken was the perfect
substrate to deliver They're one of a kind salsa. The
first time I took a bite, I was smitten, and
just like Romero's, I thought the best way to my
true love was to be in close proximity to her.
So I marched down to El poyl Looco applied, and
(09:54):
once they saw Romero's on my application, it was a
done deal. They hired me on the spot. Now, like
most restaurants, Opoyo Loco had a uniform, but it wasn't
that black polo shirt, black pants and black baseball cap
of to day. Oh No, the mid eighties uniform had
(10:14):
much more flair. We had to wear a tan, short
sleeved button up jeans, brown topsider shoes, and the cherry
on the top was a big ten gallon cowboy hat.
They basically had us dress like Mexican ranchero's. Putting that
thing on was profoundly humiliating, but I figured it was
worth it for the paycheck and access to delicious food
and Anyway, my friends never really ate there, so I
(10:37):
thought they'd never see me. On my first day of work,
the manager explained their pretty formulaic promotion process. I was
told i'd start out as a general cleaner upper. After
about a month, i'd graduate to tortilla flipper. Two months
after that, i'd get my first rais and move up
to chicken chopper. And if i'd made it that far,
(10:59):
the ceiling was the limit, they'd either move me to
the cash or i'd be one of the select few
allowed to grill the chickens. After a few days of work,
I thought the manager must have sensed greatness because I
skipped the cleaner upper phase and went straight to the
griddle to flip tortillas. My job was to stand over
a hot griddle and put rows and rows of corn
(11:22):
and flour tortillas down on its hot surface. Then, after
a few seconds, i'd have to flip them by hand.
Once they were soft, I'd have to grab them off
the griddle, throw them into a plastic baggie, and store
them in a heated drawer below the griddle. This was
surprisingly grueling, the pure volume of tortillas that went through
that joint on Friday and Saturday nights was staggering. It
(11:43):
didn't matter how hard I tried. Every few minutes, I'd
burned the tips of my fingers on the griddle while
trying to flip those bad boys. I remember going to
school one day and complaining about it to one of
my good friends, Ricky. He responded loud enough for everyone
to hear, So you flipp a tortilla, Patrick, flipp A
de tortilla. That became my new nickname, Flippa de tortilla.
(12:05):
It was not my greatest moment, unlike Romero's. About halfway
through my l poyle Loco shifts, I was in need
of a break. It was hot, chicken juice was flying everywhere,
and we were fielding a constant barrage of customers. However,
when I went to take that break, I was asked
what I was doing just taking my ten minutes. I responded,
(12:28):
in a matter of fact tone, we don't do that here.
I was told by the manager. It was kind of shocking.
I had learned from Romero's that it was actually the law,
but at this El Poyo Loco they were apparently ignoring it. Well,
I got up and got back to work. But after
some time I got curious about this policy and looked
(12:49):
around for someone to talk to about it, and that's
when things started to come into focus. I'm sure you're
all familiar with those art posters that looked like nothing
but a bunch of colored dots. But if you give
your eyes time to adjust, all of a sudden, an
image pops out of them. Once you see that image,
(13:09):
it's hard to look at the artwork again without it
immediately popping into focus. Well, that is the best way
to describe this moment. When I looked around to talk
to some one about El Poyle Loco's rest brake policy,
I noticed that the only people that really spoke English
well were the manager and one white girl named Tracy.
So when there was a lull in orders, I pulled
(13:31):
Tracy to the side and asked, why won't they give
us a break? She'd been there long enough to be
a cashier, so I figured she'd know. Well, look around you,
she said, I don't think any of them have papers,
and that's when the hidden image in the artwork came
into focus. Most of the people working with us were
illegal aliens. Tracy added, they don't give us breaks because
(13:53):
everyone else here can't complain. I think this was really
my first true red pill moment. Sure, there had been
other times when reality didn't quite align with what I'd
heard from experts, but this was the first time that
realization whipped me into a new level of consciousness. You see,
(14:14):
it was nineteen eighty six and Ronald Reagan was on
the verge of giving amnesty to illegal aliens. So many
of them were flooding low skilled workplaces like Elpoile Loco,
waiting for the gipper to make them citizens. In the meantime,
their presence made it easy for companies to flout labor laws.
As a result, working conditions were lowered for everyone, including
heat exhausted tortilla flippers. As time went by, there were
(14:42):
other policies that seemed screwy. Unlike Romero's, there was no
free meal before or even after work. You had to
pay full price for everything. Not a smart policy, but
not illegal. However, what was perhaps even more off putting
was that at the end of the night, any unsold
chickens that were left on the grill were to be
thrown in the trash. Employees couldn't even pick at those carcasses.
(15:07):
The rationale was that workers could create excess food every
night by just throwing extra chickens on the grill. So
we were told to throw any unsold chicken into the
garbage to ensure they wrung every cent of profit out
of us. That was an eye opener. Apparently my frustration
with their policies wasn't affecting my work, because they fast
tracked me. After less than two months, I moved one
(15:29):
rung up their corporate ladder. I became a chicken chopper.
Shortly after my promotion, my pal Ricky jokingly ribbed me,
what's up, flipp de tortilla, and like a dumb ass,
I responded, wrong, Ricky, I'm chopping chicken.
Speaker 3 (15:43):
Now.
Speaker 1 (15:44):
I might as well have gift wrapped his response, you
chomped at chicken, Patrick, chop out at chicken. My new
nickname was born. As time went along, the only thing
that was really keeping me at Apoyo Loco was the
(16:05):
often talked about three month rais. I mean I was
working like an animal, with no breaks, no free food,
and to top it off, my acne was at an
all time high. I mean I had zits that resembled tumors.
The chicken juice was more than my sixteen year old
pores could handle. And I also wasn't making crap. With
a minimum wage at three dollars and thirty five cents
(16:25):
an hour, my two week paycheck was never over one
hundred dollars, so I rarely had any money in my pocket.
But it was that three month raise carrot they dangled
that kept me coming back. Working at Opoyo Loco also
started creating more problems than it solved. You see, since
my job was at a food place, my mom would
often ask me to bring chicken home for my little
(16:45):
brother Casey. On one instance, I forgot to bring money
to work, so I came home empty handed. Why couldn't
they just give you the chicken, for Christ's sakes, you
worked there, my mom asked a bit annoyed. So when
I forgot money the second time, I had a real problem.
I was either going to go home with nothing again
and disappoint mom, or I had to figure out a
(17:06):
way to take some chicken home free of charge. Now
you have to remember L. Poyle Loco was jipping me
on my legally required paid rest break for months. They
easily owed me a few hours of back pay, so
I figured, rather than take my case to the Ninth
(17:27):
Circuit Court of Appeals, I'd simply take payment and chicken.
As we began to close up that night, I desperately
tried to come up with a plan to slip a
few pieces out the door. But I was drawing a blank.
My shirt wasn't baggy, so there was no way to
hide a bag there. My jeans were too tight, so
my pockets were out of the question. I went to
(17:48):
the bathroom to contemplate my situation, and when I looked
at my reflection in the mirror, it hit me. I
had a cowboy hat on a big, high crowned chicken
concealing mechanism sitting right there on the top of my head.
I could hide the chicken in my hat now, unlike today,
I had hair back then, and it was saturated with joycojel,
(18:09):
so placing this greasy chicken directly on top of my
head would have been problematic. I needed a buffer. That's
when another idea struck me. I could put a few
bags of tortillas on the top of my head, place
a breast and a few wings on top of the tortillas,
then crammed the cowboy hat over the entire combo. The
only thing left would be to gingerly walk out of
Ilpoyo Loco, like those African women that balance baskets on
(18:32):
their head. How hard could it be? So I put
my plan into action when no one was looking. I
grabbed a breast and a few wings, then two baggies
of corn tortillas, and rushed to the back. I placed
the tortillas on top of my head, then the chicken,
then the hat. It sat kinda high, but it was working.
The problem now was that I had to get out
of their pronto, because not only was my cargo hot,
(18:55):
the chicken was juicy. So I made my way to
the exit, walking with my neck and head as stiff
as a board. As I crept from behind the counter
and passed a few of the cleaner uppers, I felt
grease dripping from the top of my head into my mullet.
It mixed with the joycogel in my hair to create
almost a snowball effect. The goop was getting bigger and
(19:17):
bigger as it slithered down the back of my head.
The feeling was almost unbearable, but I had a clear
shot for the front door, so I went for it,
being careful not to tip my head to the side.
As I approached the door, a feeling of relief swept
over me. Man, that was easy, I thought. And just
when I got comfortable, the Lpoyle Local manager stepped in
(19:39):
front of me. He had a serious look on his face.
Speaker 2 (19:43):
Oh man, I.
Speaker 1 (19:44):
Thought, I'm busted. This was not how I wanted to
be caught with a hot chick.
Speaker 2 (19:57):
Do you want to hear Red Pilled America stories? Add free,
then become a backstage subscriber. Let's log onto Redpilled America
dot com and click join in the topmenu. Join today
and help us save America one story at a time.
Speaker 1 (20:12):
Welcome back. So, in desperation, I decided to hide chicken
and tortillas under my Lpoyle Local cowboy hat. But as
I made my way to the front door, a manager
stepped in front of me. He had a serious look
on his face. Oh man, I thought, I'm busted. This
was not how I wanted to be caught with a
hot chick. The manager looked at me for what seemed
(20:36):
like minutes, then finally he opened his mouth. Patrick, we
really appreciate your work here. Next week, I'm moving you
up to the cash register. Oh that sounds great, I answered,
as the chicken juice reached the back of my neck.
All right, see you next week. And with those last words,
I did my best impersonation of an African head carrier
(20:57):
and made my way to the car. Once I got
into my dots in B two ten, I flipped my
head down and pulled the cowboy hat off. The chicken
and tortillas were still smoking. I'd gotten away with it,
but I would pay dearly. Later That weekend marked the
worst acne breakout of my entire life. The following week,
(21:17):
I showed up to work ready for my new position.
Manning the cash register meant no more sweating over the
griddle and no more chicken juice drenching my face. My
hard work had paid off. But when I showed up
to work that day, something unexpected happened. The drive through
intercom malfunctioned. Now someone had to stand outside and take
(21:38):
drive through orders, and that someone was the new cashier me.
I'd been avoiding being seen in my Lpoyle local uniform
since day one on the job, and now I had
to stand outside in the public on one of the
most trafficked intersections in North Torrents in a ranchero costume.
As I walked outside, I just hoped that no one
(22:01):
I knew drove by. But I I wasn't taking orders
for longer than fifteen minutes when I heard someone honking
behind me. As I turned around, I saw my buddy
Ricky in his blue Volvo. His car was packed. As
he drove by, he yelled out the window, flipping it out, dear,
chopping at your card. The rest of the night was
(22:21):
a blur. Now this may come as a surprise, but
I'm not the only person that's had an embarrassing experience
on a minimum wage.
Speaker 2 (22:31):
Job, because I remember definitely being upset and embarrassed that night.
When I went home, I think I may have even cried.
Speaker 1 (22:39):
Of course, that's my lovely wife and co host Adriana.
Her first real job was working at the social hub
of the MTV era.
Speaker 2 (22:49):
You know, mal's were a big, big thing in the eighties,
and the West Kavina Mall was. It was a fun
hangout for my friends and I. You know, think of
eighties movies where all the kids go to the mall,
So the West Covina Mall was like that.
Speaker 1 (23:05):
Since she was thirteen, Adriana had already worked on and
off at her aunt's hair salon.
Speaker 2 (23:09):
But she was not a good boss. My aunt. She
wasn't even paying me minimum wage because I was a kid.
But I was actually doing the job of someone that
just happened to call in sick that day. So I
was still doing the work of somebody else. And I
was a good worker. I was always a good worker.
I would go there on the weekends and I would
(23:30):
sweep up the hair, and I would answer the phones,
and I would take money, you know, check people out,
basically take the cash, give them their change, and then
she'd give me twenty dollars for the whole day, for
like eight hours, twenty bucks.
Speaker 1 (23:45):
When she turned fifteen, she was eligible for a work permit,
and so for her first real job, she turned to
the eighties. Teenage Mecca.
Speaker 2 (23:53):
I went to basically all the stores that I thought
were were the coolest stores at the West Covina Mall,
or the stores that I would like to work from,
or all the stores that I would want to work
at because and I would get some sort of a
discount the clothes.
Speaker 1 (24:03):
She applied at Contempo Casuals, Judies and windsor fashions, and
all of the jobs were paying minimum wage at the
time three dollars and thirty five cents an hour.
Speaker 2 (24:12):
Contempo passed on me, and so did Judies, and Windsor
Fashions was probably my last choice, and that's where I
got the job. That's where I ended up getting hired.
Windsors Fashions was not the epitome of cool. It was
the bottom of the barrel. It was the ugly chick location.
(24:32):
You know, I wanted to work at one of the
cool stores, but you know, I thought, I'm going to
make the best of this. I'm going to kill it.
I think they initially hired me to work in the
back and clean out the dressing rooms when people would
try things on and I had to put things back
on the hangar and put them back on the floor,
and also work in the stock room and then keep
(24:53):
everything nice and organized. But I think that they realized
very very quickly that they had a gold mine on
their hands in the form of me, and so they
put me on the floor to be a sales girl.
Speaker 1 (25:15):
Now, Adriana was brought on for the Christmas season rush,
but it was also another time of the year high
school winter formals, and that brought Windsor Fashion's biggest clientele.
Speaker 2 (25:24):
They had a lot of formal wear that was kind
of their thing. So when there was a winter formal,
or a prom or any type of a school dance,
a lot of people would go to Windsors to buy
a formal dress.
Speaker 1 (25:40):
At first, the retailer probably didn't know who they'd just hired.
Speaker 2 (25:45):
You know, I think that I probably presented chubby because
I was very busty, and so I would wear things
that were very very loose fitting, so it kind of
gave the appearance of a tent. But underneath, I was
definitely very very shapely. I had a very small so
I you know, it's cute. I was a cute fifteen
(26:06):
year old.
Speaker 1 (26:07):
As Winter formal arrived, the manager must have realized that
Adriana's shape could help with sales.
Speaker 2 (26:12):
So one day I went to work and I was
informed that I was going to be modeling the formal wear,
the dresses for winter formal, and I was all in.
I thought, yes, I've arrived, this is the moment that
I've been waiting for. But then they stepped it up
a notch and they said, you're going to be standing
in the window as a mannequin, as a live mannequin.
(26:37):
But when you're in there, don't move, Okay, you just
have to stay perfectly still, just like a mannequin. Can
you do that? And I said, yeah, I can totally
do that. I was so excited about it. I thought
it was great because I was the chosen one, you know,
of all of the ugly girls, they chose me, which
meant I was the least ugly of the uglies.
Speaker 1 (26:57):
So with her new directive, Adriana put on a Windsor
fashion formal dress and stepped into the window to perform
as a mannequin.
Speaker 2 (27:04):
People were walking by and like, oh, look, God, there's
a person in there. How cool and stuff. And I
didn't make any eye contact. I didn't smile. I just
I stayed in full mannequin character. I never broke character.
I probably stood there for thirty minutes at a time.
You know, I probably wore six dresses. I remember some
(27:25):
of the other girls wanted to do it, and I
was just like grabbing dresses and getting dressed and just
getting back in the window. I didn't want to share
the spotlight. And I'm up there and I'm slaying and
I'm killing it. I thought, Wow, I'm doing a fantastic job.
But then my best friend Lisa and my two other
(27:46):
girlfriends walk by. They came to see me, and I
hadn't told them like I'm going to be in the
window at windsor Fashions or anything like that. You know,
it just so happened that they went to the mall.
They probably went to get a dress for winter formal,
and there I am in the window as a mannequin,
and they start hysterically laughing that I just ignored them
(28:11):
because I'm in character. I'm working and to no means
to know that I take my work very, very seriously,
and I've always been that way. I don't care what
job I'm doing. I'm gonna do that job to the
best of my ability. So I wasn't gonna break They
were laughing, but they couldn't believe that I wasn't laughing
and I wasn't acknowledging them that I was still basically
in characters. But then they basically went on a mission
(28:33):
to try and make me laugh, and they were trying
to make me laugh, but I never broke character. I
was like one of the Queen's soldiers. But then that night,
I was having some regrets because I was a little
embarrassed and my friends were making fun of me. I
think I may have even cried.
Speaker 1 (28:48):
Then when payday arrived, she probably learned her biggest lesson yet.
Speaker 2 (28:52):
Yeah. I remember my first paycheck. It might have been
eighty six dollars for two weeks of work, and I
remember just being absolutely just floored by what a small
dollar mount it was. I couldn't believe it, but you know,
that's the way it was.
Speaker 1 (29:07):
I had a similar lesson at El Poyle Loco. After
three months, the momentous day of my big pay raise arrived.
The manager handed me the memo, and just like that,
the carrot they'd been dangling since I started was finally
in my hand. It read, Patrick CARELCI, your new salary
is three dollars and fifty cents per hour. I got
(29:27):
a fifteen cent per hour raise. I quit immediately, Which
leads us back to the question should employers be forced
to pay a living wage? The answer is no. Anyone
(29:47):
could be taught to flip tortilla's chopouted chicken and stand
like a mannequin. These minimum wage jobs were never meant
to be careers. They were for young people to learn
the basics of what it meant to work. They were
considered stepping stones to the next thing. After Adriana's first
job at Winter Fashion, she reapproached the same stores that
initially turned her down.
Speaker 2 (30:08):
Now I could apply at the cool stores because now
I actually had some work experience under my belt. Now
I was like, yes, I have worked retail. In fact,
I've also been a mannequin. But I definitely got the
retail fever. I worked at Contempo, I worked at the Limited,
I worked at Nordstrom, I worked at Macy's. I worked
at this place called Devin Beck. Then I went to college,
(30:31):
and in college, I interned at Diesel. We used to
style Jennifer Lopez. And then I worked at BCBG. That
was my first real job out of college, my first
corporate job. I worked there for five years.
Speaker 1 (30:43):
She'd go on to start a business with me, writing
stories and yes coming up with ideas for our own
retail store. As for me, those early minimum wage jobs
provided me my first red pill moment, and the dominoes
had been falling ever since. I exited the food industry forever,
but I never lost my love for that chip dip
I ended up finding a local girl that makes the
(31:05):
best damn salsa I've ever tasted, but you can't buy
it in stores. It's a homemade blend that I call
fifteen percent because it's fifteen percent of the reason why
I'm married her.
Speaker 2 (31:15):
Red Pilled America is an iHeartRadio original podcast. It's owned
and produced by Patrick Carrelci and me Adriana Cortez of
Informed Ventures. Now. You can get ad free access to
our entire archive of episodes by becoming a backstage subscriber.
To subscribe, visit Redpilled America dot com and click join
in the top menu. Thanks for listening.
Hosts And Creators
Adryana Cortez
Patrick Courrielche
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