When I first moved to LA, I found an apartment right off of the Sunset Strip and a job at an upscale-ish pizza place called Cheebo (the phonetic spelling of the Italian word for "food"). It wasn't too bad of a job - the food was pretty reasonably priced and lunchtime-focused, which meant that tips were only okay, but I liked my coworkers and really liked the staff meal that we got at the end of every shift. The part of it that I hated was when my manager asked me to work the brunch shift, because the brunch shift involved fresh-squeezed orange juice…and you know what's a major pain to make?
Fresh-squeezed orange juice. If you have never done this, let me tell you: you have no idea how many pieces of fruit it takes to make your teeny, tiny four-dollar glass of Vitamin C.
I think working at Cheebo gave me a bit of juice-making PTSD, because never since have I been enamored of the idea of fresh-squeezing my own anythings…but pregnancy does weird stuff, like make you all of a sudden need fresh lemonade RIGHT NOW.
