That First Summer Job

By Jim Sollecito

Summer jobs. Establishing a work ethic. Career exploration. Finding out what you like and don’t ever want to do again.

As I am currently on the hiring end of that journey, I reminisce: How did we get here?

By the time I was in ninth grade, I knew I wanted things that cost money. My 50 cents a week allowance wouldn’t cut it, so I mowed lawns, shoveled snow, babysat, pulled weeds, flung hay bales, sold greeting cards door to door, wheeled masonry concrete, picked bait worms in Burnett Park at night, shoveled horse manure and eventually decided I needed a job with regular hours for a steady weekly paycheck.

I read an ad in the Herald Journal, so I rode my bike to Fairmount Fair, crossed West Genesee Street and secured a job at Carrol’s Drive In. Remember them? For $2.65 an hour I labored making milkshakes with a product containing no milk; graduated to frying, salting and scooping fries into waxed sleeves without getting burned; with the benefit during my breaks of eating past-shelf-life soggy fried food. All while sporting a clip-on tie and shoes I did not want to see or smell when I got off my shift.

Promoted to making “delicious Big R sandwiches” I recall handling tubes of “roast beef product” that was touted as something akin to a “celebration inside your mouth.” What could possibly be better?

At that time, I was unaware that the managers, three of them at various levels and shifts, made bonus money by increasing sales or limiting paid labor. That meant when business was slow they might assign me to go outside and clean windshields, which I loved. They hoped customers dining in their cars might be so impressed as to return again soon. Or more often the managers prevented staff from punching the time clock until eight minutes past the hour or sometimes until the customer count required our service. In this way they saved a quarter hour of payroll while the employee got squeezed like one of those roast beast sauce packets.

I did as I was told until I finally couldn’t take it anymore.

Near the end of the summer, while I was held off once again from punching in, I snuck outside and let the air out of the manager’s tires. All four of them. I went back inside feeling much better. Nobody was hurt. I was confident he’d learn the value of time later when he had to pump them up in the dark.

But, of course, I was ratted out. Millie, the cashier, must have noticed me during her outdoor smoke break, went in and told manager Dave. He was very happy with her, not so much with me. I was demoted and spent the rest of my days there with a mop or broom in hand cleaning floors and the employee bathroom. That was my last experience with an indoor job. It would be fresh air, sunshine and real food for me going forward. And it has been ever since.

Oh, manager Dave and cashier Millie continued to serve fast food and during slow times found they had more in common than they realized. They eventually married and lived happy-meal ever after.

As part of our life’s education, I believe every capable human should work a variety of jobs. This helps us choose and appreciate our eventual situation. Trust me on that.