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cleaning the tanning beds
Crouched on the cold floor of a salon in Culver City, I grunted as I heaved the heavy Plexiglass underside of a tanning bed, swiping at the surface with a dirty cloth smeared in deep-cleaning solution and sweating profusely. It was nearly two a.m. by the time my sister and I finished all the beds, and a quick stop at Jack in the Box proved that cold orange juice from concentrate never tasted so good in my life. We laughed a lot, despite our feeble enterprise or perhaps because of it.
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