What was your first real job?

With the changing of the seasons, so go the great interns at PUNCH, Cesley and Gail. Soon they will be back at school, but before leaving, they were given the equivalent of the “How I Spent My Summer Vacation” assignment. In response, they sent all of us PUNCHers a thought-provoking questionnaire. One of the questions was, “What was your first real job?” 

My answer was: “at six years old, I handed (not handed out, ‘handed’) leaves at my grandmother’s tobacco farm.” Without having to consult Mr. Peabody and the WABAC machine, how many of you out there reading this blog know what that even means? If you think it sounds as antiquated as making gin in the still behind the outhouse during Prohibition, you would be correct!

Ironically, there WAS an outhouse at the farm, but that will be saved for a later, much less humorous blog. My reward was maybe 50 cents an hour and was held “for safe keeping” by grandma. Never saw a nickel, and unlike Gary Coleman and Leighton Meester, I was totally non-litigious at the time, unaware one could sue their own relatives for embezzled wages. The good news is I did end up making and keeping my own money.

Never did become a ballerina, but came close to realizing my dream job working in the toy department of Rose’s Dime Store…made money taking turns sleeping in line for Grateful Dead tickets…did a stint as a waitress at the local seafood joint. My sister would pick me up at the end of my shift and swear all the stray cats were chasing our car. 

Who was she to talk? She sold cheap shoes, which she hated, that were made in China and Korea, and probably were hated much more by the factory workers who made them. A true captain of industry, our college roommate sold hot dogs out of a cooler at the Iranian Revolution protests of ’79. We helped cook them in our tiny kitchen for a cut of the profits. 

To get an interesting conversation going, ask someone that question. You may be surprised by their answer. Are we better bosses, designers, project managers, and admins for the funky jobs we have endured? How could we not be? I now nominate our next PUNCH event to not be the “airing of grievances,” but the sharing of all of our funny and ignominious ways of making money while growing up.