Summer Jobs

A recent post on Reading Between the Lines got me thinking about summer jobs past. I actually didn’t have many “summer” jobs because once I turned 16 I worked year-round. Most of the jobs I had were awful, but good experiences. If nothing else, they inspired me to work harder in school. One summer I had two jobs that were memorable.

I got a job in an auto warehouse. I was assigned to the receiving team, which put away new parts. The team leader worked with me to make sure I learned the layout. He was a tall, long-legged fellow, a former basketball player—a wrestler’s natural enemy. I quickly realized, from laughter and comments made by the other men, that this guy was used to walking the legs off new recruits. But in this case I was doing that to him (no WAY I was going to be outworked by a basketball player). I said no every time he offered a break and pushed him to keep up his pace. The rest of the guys thought that was hysterical. The work was okay, but boring, just walking back and forth and back and forth. Until the racial tensions surfaced. My team leader (white) and the picker’s team leader (black) didn’t like each other. They jawed at each other during lunch every day. Other guys got caught up in it. One afternoon they pulled knives from their pockets. Fortunately the work bell rang before anyone got hurt. The jawing continued the next day. I thought it over and decided to turn in my hard hat—it just wasn’t for me.

After that, I planned to take the summer off, relaxing and spending time with my friends and my girl. After sleeping late on my first day of freedom, I pulled a lounge chair into the sun to get a little color. Just as I was settling in, the phone rang. It was one of my brothers. His company had just gotten a new contract to maintain a/c units at a huge government housing project—several in fact. He had enough mechanics, but needed helpers to assist the mechanics and allow them to make better use of their time. He sounded desperate, so I accepted and started work the next day. I spent the entire summer going in and out of hot apartments, carrying heavy cans of Freon, compressors and everything else up and down ladders and stairs. What a rotten job. I couldn’t wait for school to start up again. We had two bits of excitement. The daily excitement came in the form of mobs chasing our work van trying to get us to fix their units first—the place was in bad shape. The special excitement came when a mechanic didn’t properly vent Freon from a unit before lighting his torch to disconnect the compressor. He burned the Freon, which produced Phosgene gas (which was used as a weapon during World War I). We both had to crawl out onto the apartment balcony to keep from being killed!!!

Good times.

PS – I had my first encounter with “engrish” that summer. My favorite mechanic was Mr. Kim. He was always happy, always laughing. The engrish? The man called me “Licky”. The weird part of that was no one called me “Ricky” except my grandma. I don’t know why he tried to call me that.

PSS – Since starting my first job the summer I turned 16, I’ve only been unemployed for 7 months—during my first year of college. Depending on how you look at it (and I look at it both ways), I’ve been very lucky to be able to make money when I needed it (which has been always). But at the same time, I really need a vacation! ;P