Family Friday
My kids aren't teenagers yet, but I'm already fantasizing about their first paying jobs, especially the delicious image of them following someone else's orders. This person, the first boss, will likely not care a whit about them, either on an emotional level (like a parent) or from a professional investment perspective (like a teacher). Somehow, I just can't imagine how this scenario might play out, except for a vague image of my oldest telling someone to stick it. I'm certain, however, that my kids will develop a new appreciation for their parents and teachers.
Maybe I'm just projecting from my own experience, and my kids may end up relishing their adolescent and college-years employment. But when I look back at my illustrious pre-graduate school existence, the first phrase that pops to mind is "bad jobs." From a developmental, parental perspective, however, there really is no such thing as a bad job. In other words, my kids will likely hate these jobs, but nothing will make them grow and mature quite like gritty, real-world experience.
Let's see...my early resume included stints with fast food (sub-minimum wage - $2.85 in 1985), a health food store run by the meanest hippie ever, and a post-college boss with active psychosis (including paranoid delusions). All of this, plus a string of college and graduate school temp jobs too numerous to delineate here, except for two highlights:
- Summer job at a company straight out of Mad Men – older white men occupied virtually every position of power or authority, and the few women or people of color were relegated to minor support positions. This company violated every HR regulation imaginable - for instance, all of the men, who occupied offices draped with posters of naked women, used the terms "honey," "babe," or "sweetie" when addressing any female. (Sometimes I look back and can't believe this place really existed. Perhaps it was a little time warp from the fifties that blew into 1991 like a scene from Brigadoon, then disappeared in a waft of smoke, never to return).
- A three-day assignment at an auto loan collections center. These were my responsibilities:
Step 1: Press button that starts the computer auto-dialing the telephone, in search of live people answering.
Step 2: When a live person answers, ascertain whether the name of the person answering matches the name of the person on your screen. If no, hang up. If yes, say "please hold for an important message from [Bank]."
Step 3: Press button that launches recorded deadbeat-aimed message, then try to hang up before the person launches his or her first f-you bomb.
Then, repeat. Repeat again. All day long. Performance goal: as many "live hits" as possible. The nice lady I worked with said that she'd been in this position, doing this exact work, for fifteen years.
Together, all of these jobs taught me what I do and don't want out of life - how I expect to be treated, what I will and won't tolerate, what I'm naturally good at and what I'm not. The bad jobs in particular fueled a strong desire to actively shape my own destiny - partially out of fear of how I'd end up if I simply let life happen to me.
So naturally, I just can't wait for my kids to have all of these formative experiences. One caveat though: safety first. No late night convenience stores, no pizza delivery. Period. Not negotiable.
And by the way, despite what some might have predicted at the time, I never got fired from anything. I must have developed some self-discipline along the way, as I never did tell anyone to stick it. So maybe my kids, including my oldest, will surprise me too.
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