Coleslaw maker, pizza box assembler. $20 per week.
My first job, the summer before I started high school, at Chicken Delight.
I learned a lot that summer; unfortunately, the 2 ‘Cougars’ who worked there were warned to “keep their hands off me”, or I might have learned a lot more. Apparently the walk-in coolers were for more than walking-in…
And is ‘Cougar’ still OK – or is it birthing people with a thing for young he/hims?
Looking back, I’m amazed at what I learned from summer jobs.
The first thing I learned – too late – was to buy a bike lock, because my cool bike with the ‘banana seat’ was stolen one day.
Summer jobs are a rite of passage, allowing us to experience worlds outside our own. To see how – and who – the world really is.
And any spending money was gravy, because we had no choice -my Dad made us find jobs and “get the hell out of bed”.
So many summers, so many jobs.
I was a ‘Wall Washer’ at a hospital, 45 cents/hour. My Hispanic coworkers shared their muy caliente lunches, finding it hilarious when I tried my first tamale – but I could never hit the high notes in choir again.
By summer’s end I was a ‘Senior Wall Washer’, making a cool 50 cents/hour: an 11% raise! – learning me to not trust statistics.
One summer I was a painter, and also read the paper to a blind man, a past editor of the Omaha World-Herald. I would clip ‘family items of interest’ and make a newsletter to send to his family out of state. I learned I didn’t want to go blind – a quandary for a teenage boy.
I was a ‘taco bender’ at a Mexican restaurant. Being a skill position, I made 60 cents per hour. The position was eliminated however, over fear of cultural appropriation.
I worked in the college cafeteria. My splint from a broken finger in a regrettable ‘door closing incident’ was my excuse if I got Happy Hour sidetracked and missed work. Another life lesson: Sound sick when you’re calling in sick.
But I hit the summer job jackpot at the Kellogg’s Factory. I made $6.35/hour (it was a good paying union job!), and when I worked Memorial Day I earned triple-time.
A trite but true summer lesson learned was “Thank God, a college degree will give me options and get me out of here”, but I learned the full-timers resented the ‘summer kids’ because we ‘had options’ and were getting out of there.
I was multi-talented, though. I watched a machine: put comics in a cereal box, put baseball cards in a cereal box, and put raisins in a cereal box.
But I must have been a fine worker, as my factory nickname was “Lightning”.
There were a lot of jobs that didn’t work out, though.
Working for tips as a male stripper, not so lucrative.
Lawn care company, spraying Agent Orange.
Navigator for a blind race car driver.
This is top of mind as I read about unfilled lifeguarding jobs – I fear that “kids today” (shakes fist angrily) are being spared the horrible work experiences we learned from.
Students have lofty sounding ‘summer internships’, but where do today’s kids get their beer money?
The most important thing learned from summer jobs is I want a real job – please let me go back to school!
Thank you Dad, for getting me the hell out of bed!
The unfortunate punch line? Learning that work never ends.
As I tell recent college grads: “I hope you enjoyed college, because the rest of your life is going to suck”.
For 111 more posts like this –each with a temporary job – go to beersatthenifty.com
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TO ENHANCE YOUR ENJOYMENT OF THIS POST, PAIR IT WITH THE FOLLOWING SONGS:
Welcome to the working week Elvis Costello
Now that your picture’s in the paper being rhythmically admired
And you can have anyone that you have ever desired
All you gotta tell me now is why, why, why, why?
Oh, I know it don’t thrill you, I hope it don’t kill you
You gotta do it till you’re through, so you better get to it
All of your family had to kill to survive
And they’re still waitin’ for their big day to arrive
But if they knew how I felt, they’d bury me alive
Oh, I know it don’t thrill you, I hope it don’t kill you
You gotta do it till you’re through, so you better get to it
I hear you sayin’, “Hey, the city’s alright”
When you only read about it in books
Spend all your money gettin’ so convinced
That you never even bother to look
Sometimes I wonder if we’re livin’ in the same land
Why d’you wanna be my friend
When I feel like a juggler running out of hands?
Oh, welcome to the working week
Working Man’s Blues Merle Haggard
It’s a big job gettin’ by with nine kids and a wife
Even I’ve been workin’ man, dang near all my life but I’ll keep workin’
As long as my two hands are fit to use
I’ll drink my beer in a tavern
And sing a little bit of these working man blues
But I keep my nose on the grindstone, I work hard every day
Get tired on the weekend, after I draw my pay
But I’ll go back workin’, come Monday morning I’m right back with the crew
I’ll drink a little beer that evening
Sing a little bit of these working man blues
Sometimes I think about leaving, do a little bummin’ around
Throw my bills out the window, catch me a train to another town
But I go back working, I gotta buy my kids a brand new pair of shoes
I’ll drink a little beer that evening
Cry a little bit of these working man blues, here comes workin’ man
Well, hey, hey, the working man, the working man like me
Never been on welfare, and that’s one place I will not be
Keep me working, you have long two hands are fit to use
My little beer in a tavern
Sing a little bit of these working man blues, this song for the workin’ man
Cleaning Windows Van Morrison
Oh, the smell of the bakery from across the street
Got in my nose
As we carried our ladders down the street
With the wrought-iron gate rows
I went home and listened to Jimmie Rodgers
In my lunch-break
Bought five Woodbines at the shop on the corner
And went straight back to work
Oh, Sam was up on top
And I was on the bottom with the V
We went for lemonade and Paris buns
At the shop and broke for tea
I collected from the lady and I cleaned the fanlight
Inside-out
I was blowing saxophone on the weekend
In that down joint
What’s my line?
I’m happy cleaning windows
Take my time
I’ll see you when my love grows
Baby don’t let it slide
I’m a working man in my prime
Cleanin’ windows
(number thirty-six)
I heard Leadbelly and Blind Lemon
On the street where I was born, yeah
Sonny Terry, Brownie McGhee and Muddy Waters singin’
“I’m A Rolling Stone”
I went home
And read my Christmas Humphreys’ book on Zen
Curiosity killed the cat
Kerouac’s “Dharma Bums” and “On The Road”
What’s my line?
I’m happy cleaning windows, hey
Take my time
I’ll see you when my love grows
Baby, don’t let it slide
I’m a working man in my prime
Cleanin’ windows
Blue Monday New Order
How does it feel
When you treat me like you do
And you’ve laid your hands upon me
And told me who you are?
I thought I was mistaken
And I thought I heard your words
Tell me, how do I feel?
Tell me now, how do I feel?
Those who came before me
Lived through their vocations
From the past until completion
They will turn away no more
And I still find it so hard
To say what I need to say
But I’m quite sure that you’ll tell me
Just how I should feel today
I see a ship in the harbor
I can and shall obey
But if it wasn’t for your misfortunes
I’d be a heavenly person today
And I thought I was mistaken
And I thought I heard you speak
Tell me how do I feel?
Tell me now, how should I feel?
Now I stand here waiting
I thought I told you to leave me
While I walked down to the beach
Tell me, how does it feel
When your heart grows cold?
How does it feel?
And I thought I told you to leave me
While I walked down to the beach
Tell me, how does it feel
When your heart grows cold?
Maggie’s Farm Bob Dylan
I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s Farm, no more
No, I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s Farm, no more
Well, I wake up in the morning, fold my hands, and pray for rain
I got a head full of ideas, that are drivin’ me insane
It’s a shame… the way she makes me
Scrub the floor
I ain’t gonna work on, nah
I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s Farm, no more
I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s brother, no more
Nah, I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s brother, no more
Well, he hands you a nickel, and he hands you a dime
And he asks you with a grin, if you’re havin’ a good time
Then he fines you every time
You slam the door
I ain’t gonna work for, nah
I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s brother, no more
I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s pa, no more
No, I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s pa, no more
Well, he puts his cigar out in your face just for kicks
His bedroom window it is made out of bricks
The National Guard
Stands around his door
I ain’t gonna work for, nah
I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s pa, no more
I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s ma, no more
No, I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s ma, no more
Well, she talks to all the servants about man and God and law
And everybody says, shes the “brains” behind pa
She’s sixty-eight
But she says she’s twenty-four
I ain’t gonna work for, nah
I ain’t gonna work for Maggie’s ma, no more
I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm, no more
No, I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm, no more
Well, I try my best to be just like I am
But everybody wants you to be just like them
They sing while they slave
And they just get bored
I ain’t gonna work on, nah
I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm, no more
I Can’t Wait to get off work (and see my baby on Montgomery Ave) Tom Waits
I don’t mind working,
‘Cause I used to be jerking off most of my time in bars,
I’ve been a cabbie and a stock clerk and a soda-fountain jock-jerk
And a manic mechanic on cars.
It’s nice work if you can get it, now who the hell said it?
I got money to spend on my gal
But the work never stops
And I’ll be busting my chops
Working for Joe and Sal
And I can’t wait to get off work and see my baby
She said she’d leave the porch light on for me
I’m disheveled and I’m disdainful and I’m distracted and it’s painful
But this job sweeping up here is gainfully
Employing me tonight
Well Tom, do this and Tom, do that, and Tom, don’t do that,
Count the cash, clean the oven, dump the trash,
Oh your loving is a rare and a copacetic gift
And I’m a moonlight watch manic
It’s hard to be romantic
Sweeping up over by the cigarette machine
Sweeping up over by the cigarette machine
I can’t wait to get off work and see my baby
She’ll be waiting up with a magazine for me
Clean the bathrooms and clean ’em good
Oh your loving I wish you would
Come down here and sweep a-me off my feet
This broom’ll have to be my baby
If I hurry, I just might get off before the dawn’s early light