My first job, as a 15-year-old girl, was working for a construction company, called—wait for it—ABC Construction. I went to ABC Construction a couple of days a week after school for two hours, filing papers and hole-punching carbon copies of checks to put in a special two-ring binder. Then one day I went to work and the secretary had been replaced. In her seat, a younger model sat. Someone who could, apparently, do all the work herself. I came in a few more times, but there never seemed to be anything left for me to do, and soon, I was let go. Which was a shame, only because I really enjoyed the looks I'd get when I'd tell people that I worked for a construction company.
This summer, my two oldest boys got their first jobs. Given the age I got my first job, I’m a little embarrassed my eldest didn’t get his first job until 19. We made the mistake of not forcing him to get a real job (meaning more than mowing lawns) in the summers of high school, which he could have then come back to in the summers of college. This didn’t serve him well; he had a difficult time finding a job this summer. Turns out, most people don’t want to hire you in May if you’re leaving in August. But finally, in late June, someone was desperate enough: a new fast food restaurant hired him to work in the kitchen.
He learned to marinate and deep fry chicken strips, cook fries, mix up sauce and squeeze lemons for lemonade. On the days he was “bird man,” he came home with his jeans and black non-slip shoes covered in flour. On “toast” days, he came home smiling, since it was the easiest task.
He met a cast of characters that had come to fast-food work from various backgrounds. One manager had a bachelors in neuroscience. Another co-worker said he'd worked a lot of restaurant jobs but sold weed on the side. When my son asked what he did in his spare time, the co-worker gave us one of our favorite quotes of the summer: “Nothing. If I ain’t smoking weed and playing video games, I ain’t doing nothin’.”
Since the chain was brand new, it was visited quite a bit by corporate. Corporate pointed out all of the scheduling problems (my son confirmed that scheduling was a total mess), and told the staff how to waste less chicken. Even my rule-following first-born was happy when corporate stopped putting their noses into the store's systems.
Predictably for a music snob, he had strong opinions about the restaurant's music choices. He tried to get a manager to play jazz, but she said her only three station options were pop, top 40 and country. “But that can’t be right,” he said, “because when the Black managers work, we get gospel,” which he much preferred over the other selections.
One highlight was the day the “Cupid Shuffle” came on and everyone in the store took a dance break, pausing their bird and toast and fryers to shuffle to the left, to the left, to the left, to the left and to the right, to the right, to the right, to the right.
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Having learned from our error with the first, we encouraged our middle son to get a real job this summer, when he turned 15. In fact, there was a bit of good-natured ribbing going on in the house when the 15 year old started his job weeks before his older brother.
However, his job did not include any dancing. In fact, he rarely saw any co-workers since only one worked at a time. He was hired to be a pool attendant at the apartment complex where my in-laws live. Their reference was helpful for his application. When he was interviewed for the job, he was asked only one question: “Are you willing to yell at someone if they’re breaking the rules?” “Sure,” he said. Done.
It was a great first job—it was close enough that he could walk, the hours were consistent, and it entailed some but not too much responsibility. He checked the pH of the pool water and skimmed the top, made sure people signed in, and at the end of the day tidied up and threw the robot vacuum in. Mostly, he sat alone at a table under an umbrella while people in their 60s and 70s lounged in the pool. He wore his trunks and sometimes jumped in if the pool was empty.
Every once in a while there’d be some stir, such as the time a rabid raccoon was trying to make its way into the pool area and my son had to go tell the office manager to call 911. Animal control came and shot it with a pistol. “Some people had to be wondering what happened when they heard that,” he said.
Though the job lacked excitement, he still found the joy in having money appear magically in his bank account every two weeks and the freedom that comes with being able to buy things on his own.
But of course, he was gaining more than just material benefits. He had to communicate with his boss about scheduling, take his work into account when planning his time, and now he has that very important thing to put on his applications for future jobs—experience.
Having the boys working definitely contributed to an extra-busy summer, but I was proud of them, and it was sort of a milestone moment in this season of parenting. Another step toward their independence, another reminder that our days with them at home are numbered.