Carowinds. To a 16-year-old it was the ideal job: I spent a few hours a day serving guests and in exchange I could ride in my offtime all the roller coasters I could stomach. So what if I had to wear a silly-looking uniform, got paid the minimum wage of $3.35 an hour, and had to fill out an income tax return on that measly amount for both North Carolina and South Carolina because the park straddled the state lines, it sounded like a good deal to me!
The year was 1985: the Eighties were in full swing. We had lived in Charlotte for two years. Mom pointed out an ad in the paper for a Carowinds job fair and my brother and I interviewed. He got hired to work in a restaurant and I got hired as a photographer putting people’s pictures in magazine covers. We carpooled the long way out to Carowinds.
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