Get Out And Don't Come Back Until You Get A Job

As a kid, summer vacation was anticipated with mixed emotion. On one hand: no school, sleeping in, T.V., swimming and general laziness. On the other hand: my parents commitment to prevent all of the previous activities from occurring. They thought summer meant you should have plans and activities to keep you busy. Early on it was Vacation Bible School and then summer day camps that took place at the Community Colleges in the area. I'll admit, they were fun. I don't know if you can compare it to sleeping in and watching a Brady Bunch Marathon then laying out on my silver floatie in our pool, but it was as much fun as day camp at a college can be. I learned calligraphy, tennis, swimming, art, drama, astronomy etc. It was for geeky kids who's parents wanted to give them intellectual stimulation. I guess it was good for me and exposed me to a group of kids that I would not normally have hung around. I ended up marrying a man very much like those summer day camp kids. So all in all it was a good thing for me. But that's not what this post is about.

As time went on, I approached the summer in which I would be 15 1/2 and it would be legal in the State of California for me to get an actual job. I had to have a social security card so my Mom made sure I took care of that before school got out. My parents warned me to get out there and get a jump on finding a summer job. Once summer vacation started, I was expected to go to work, at least part time. I did not pay attention. So Monday morning, the first real day of summer vacation dawned and my Mom woke me up at 7 a.m. just like normal. She told me to get up. I was very confused. Did she not know it was SUMMER? She explained that because I didn't have a job yet, I would be leaving the house with her and Dad that morning and "pounding the pavement" until I found one. I would do this each day, all day until I found someone who would agree to hire me. I could not believe my ears. I didn't even know what "pounding the pavement" meant. Realize I was only 15 1/2 and didn't even have my learner's permit so I would literally be walking the streets of my small town to hunt for a job. ugh.


Because I was 15 and had not realized that they could not actually kill me or harm me in any way, I got up and left the house armed with copies of my resume' printed on light pink paper. My resume included my name, telephone number and all the extra curricular activities I had participated in. It also included three personal references; a family friend and two ladies I had babysat for. It was not impressive.


I knew I just couldn't work in fast food. It's a great avenue for teenagers and the kids at McDonald's looked like they were having fun but I knew I just couldn't put on that hat and ask people if they wanted "fries with that". I went to Bel Air first, the grocery store in our town that was known to pay top dollar to teenage baggers. They explained I had to apply at their main office in Sacramento. I went to various stores, Paper Place, Corner Closet, MsFits etc. All places I liked to shop and did more of that really than look for work. I think I hit Round Table for lunch who explained I had to be 16 to work there. I went to a friend's house and wasted the rest of the afternoon drinking sun tea and complaining about my plight.


I knew the next morning would find me back out on the street. My Dad must have felt sort of sorry for me because he came home with the name of a man named Doug, who owned the Pizza Barn, a long time (now gone) pizza establishment in Elk Grove. He explained that this man also operated the snack bar at the softball complex at Elk Grove park and needed part time help whenever the softball complex was open. This would be most weeknights and all day Saturday and Sunday. I called Doug that evening and we arranged to meet at the Pizza Barn the next day. I totally dressed up and arrived 10 minutes early. I sold the crap out of myself to the point that Doug (a nice crusty old bald man) laughed right at me in the interview. He actually held up his hand to tell me to stop talking already and that I was hired. I would start off working at the softball complex snack bar the next day for a four hour shift. Woohoo! I'd hang out at the park, serve some nachos and flirt with cute boys all summer. I saw myself hand delivering sunflower seeds and Gatorade to dugouts of college aged boys who would worship me for quenching their thirst.

It didn't turn out that way. I swear that snack bar was the busiest snack bar in America. We sold way too many choices; nachos, hot dogs, polish hot dogs, popcorn, sodas, icees, candy, pizza and the list went on and on. There was always a line. Always. And there was a cash register in which the change was not calculated. That's right people. I might be the youngest person alive that had to make change out of my brain. Seriously difficult for this math impaired girl. In any case, it was hot, sticky, cheesy but very fun. The softball players were more lesbian than hot guys but the players and families were both friendly and my co-workers were nice. I remember this guy I worked with that I really liked got fired for stealing money from the register. How old Doug knew it was him is still a mystery. It's not like the register kept count of the money in any accurate way.

I lived on cherry/blue raspberry icees that summer. Just the other day I took the girls to Burger King and they got to have an icee. They had cherry and blue raspberry. I told the girls to get them mixed and to just trust me, they'd like it. They did and they loved it and have been begging for an icee everyday since.

I think this was a perfect first summer job. It taught me to be on time, to be part of a team, to work quickly, to deal with customers and to make change!

I want the girls to know about all the jobs I've ever had so this is the first post in a series about my jobs. Jessica told me the other day that she didn't believe that I had ever had a real job. So it inspired me to write about the many and varied jobs I have had so she can know her Mom did something besides make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and clip toenails. Seriously, I clip 40 finger and toe nails each week besides my own. Figure that out over five years. That is a lot of clipping. Gross.