Summer Slaving – Yvonne’s Resume
June is here and for many, that means finding a summer job. If you’re super-organized, maybe you already have one lined up, but if you’re a procrastinator like me, it’ll be a last minute scramble.
I wouldn’t recommend my approach. It led to career opportunities like selling manure in a garden center and luggage in a mall. I handled a switchboard, did endless real estate title searches and taught kids how to play the organ.
One year, I left it so late that the only one willing to hire me was… my dad. Trust me, getting a ride to work every day wasn’t worth the trade off of spending the best months of the year stuck in a stuffy little office with no one to talk to but my father. The social deprivation was torture for a chatterbox like me and it wasn’t long before the crucial filter that saves us from disclosing too much personal information to our parents malfunctioned. I started blathering on about whatever crossed my mind—including boys. At sixteen, boys crossed my mind a lot.
After a few weeks, I got so comfortable over-sharing with my dad that I didn’t confine my confessions to the office. In fact, I was casually comparing one of my classmates to Hugh Grant when we rounded the corner in a store and found a group guys from school eavesdropping on the entire conversation. Thanks to the insanely long memory guys have for life’s embarrassing moments, I paid for that indiscretion right through senior year. And naturally, the Hugh Grant look-alike ran for the hills after hearing the story.
Fortunately, there were plenty of other crush-worthy guys around, and soon I was back to my old tricks and telling my dad all about “Gavin,” the hottest guy on the football team. I mentioned Gavin’s shady rep and declared myself up for the job of reforming him. (Hey, it can happen—look at Lila and Tim on Friday Night Lights!)
Sounding just like a pal, my father offhandedly asked Gavin’s age. I over-shared that not only was Gavin nearly 19 he was also back for a “victory lap” at school. Like magic, my real dad resurfaced and I suddenly found myself working late and on weekends. It was a total abuse of employer power—and it worked. My quarterback figured out he was never going to score and moved on.
I accused my dad of ruining my life, but looking back it was all for the best. Although Gavin did eventually graduate, his final senior yearbook named him most likely to do jail time.
Besides, my dad made it up to me three years later, when our good relationship landed me my best summer job ever. When I turned nineteen (legal drinking age in Ontario, Canada), my father took me to a fancy hotel bar and bought me my first drink. At the next table was the director of a large social service organization who was so impressed that a teen was hanging out with her dad (not such a stretch when there’s free liquor involved!), that she gave me her business card and offered to get me a job anytime.
True to her word, the next summer she set me up as a camp counselor for single moms on probation. My job was to lead educational programs for the moms and it was tough going at first. I’d led a fairly cushy and protected existence in the suburbs and I couldn’t exactly relate to what the participants had gone through. They knew it, too, and gave me a pretty good hazing. But I stuck it out—and not just because of my empty bank account and my crush on a hot male counselor.
That summer job ended up being the most rewarding of all. Getting to know the women and hearing their stories made me grateful for everything I’d taken for granted in my own life. It also taught me not to judge a book by its cover. By the end of the summer, my “campers” let me know I’d touched their lives, too. I was richer not only for the paychecks, but also for experience.
As icing on the cake, I had a hot new boyfriend I didn’t need to reform at all.
I wouldn’t recommend my approach. It led to career opportunities like selling manure in a garden center and luggage in a mall. I handled a switchboard, did endless real estate title searches and taught kids how to play the organ.
One year, I left it so late that the only one willing to hire me was… my dad. Trust me, getting a ride to work every day wasn’t worth the trade off of spending the best months of the year stuck in a stuffy little office with no one to talk to but my father. The social deprivation was torture for a chatterbox like me and it wasn’t long before the crucial filter that saves us from disclosing too much personal information to our parents malfunctioned. I started blathering on about whatever crossed my mind—including boys. At sixteen, boys crossed my mind a lot.
After a few weeks, I got so comfortable over-sharing with my dad that I didn’t confine my confessions to the office. In fact, I was casually comparing one of my classmates to Hugh Grant when we rounded the corner in a store and found a group guys from school eavesdropping on the entire conversation. Thanks to the insanely long memory guys have for life’s embarrassing moments, I paid for that indiscretion right through senior year. And naturally, the Hugh Grant look-alike ran for the hills after hearing the story.
Fortunately, there were plenty of other crush-worthy guys around, and soon I was back to my old tricks and telling my dad all about “Gavin,” the hottest guy on the football team. I mentioned Gavin’s shady rep and declared myself up for the job of reforming him. (Hey, it can happen—look at Lila and Tim on Friday Night Lights!)
Sounding just like a pal, my father offhandedly asked Gavin’s age. I over-shared that not only was Gavin nearly 19 he was also back for a “victory lap” at school. Like magic, my real dad resurfaced and I suddenly found myself working late and on weekends. It was a total abuse of employer power—and it worked. My quarterback figured out he was never going to score and moved on.
I accused my dad of ruining my life, but looking back it was all for the best. Although Gavin did eventually graduate, his final senior yearbook named him most likely to do jail time.
Besides, my dad made it up to me three years later, when our good relationship landed me my best summer job ever. When I turned nineteen (legal drinking age in Ontario, Canada), my father took me to a fancy hotel bar and bought me my first drink. At the next table was the director of a large social service organization who was so impressed that a teen was hanging out with her dad (not such a stretch when there’s free liquor involved!), that she gave me her business card and offered to get me a job anytime.
True to her word, the next summer she set me up as a camp counselor for single moms on probation. My job was to lead educational programs for the moms and it was tough going at first. I’d led a fairly cushy and protected existence in the suburbs and I couldn’t exactly relate to what the participants had gone through. They knew it, too, and gave me a pretty good hazing. But I stuck it out—and not just because of my empty bank account and my crush on a hot male counselor.
That summer job ended up being the most rewarding of all. Getting to know the women and hearing their stories made me grateful for everything I’d taken for granted in my own life. It also taught me not to judge a book by its cover. By the end of the summer, my “campers” let me know I’d touched their lives, too. I was richer not only for the paychecks, but also for experience.
As icing on the cake, I had a hot new boyfriend I didn’t need to reform at all.
posted by Yvonne and Sandy, loveincbook.com at 5:33 AM
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