A group of us were chit-chatting (as we often do), and a friend of mine called our attention to an article, Seven Signs You’re Too Smart For Your Job.
She said she noticed it because it was linked to by a former employee of hers. This person (who apparently thinks that he/she is too smart for the job) failed to exhibit proficiency at either of the two jobs that were assigned, and refused to come to work if it snowed.
We all said that we have had entry-level – even menial – jobs during our working careers, but that we still learned something from each of them, and that there was satisfaction in a job well done, no matter how menial. Why is it that some individuals don’t know the meaning of the words “work ethic”?
I got to thinking this morning that it would be fun to share some of the entry-level/funniest/most mundane/first/strangest jobs that we have had.
My very first summer job was as a “swatcher.” What is a swatcher, you might wonder. I’ll explain.
The company I worked for, Beeline Fashions, sold clothing through home parties (think Tupperware). The actual clothing was exhibited at these parties, but many styles were available in a variety of colors, so a catalog was also provided to the sales associates. On these catalog pages were small samples – or swatches – of the fabric used for the clothing items.
A “swatcher” (there were many of us) was the person who glued the pieces of fabric on the catalog pages. We sat at long tables, and each person had a pile of catalog pages, and a pile of fabric swatches, a glue pot and a sponge held in a Boston BullDog clip.
Most of the day was spent gluing the fabric swatches on the catalog pages. Eight hours a day, five days a week. All summer. Occasionally, we had a change of task – collating the catalog pages into books. Pages were stacked in order on a table, and we walked around the table, picking the pages, then depositing the completed page bundles at the end of the line.
Fortunately, this job did not require silence, so we spent much of our time singing as we swatched (like “whistle while you work”?) Singing prevented insanity. And the money was okay for a high school girl – $1.25 an hour. I cleared $40.00 a week, and half of it went into savings.
Beeline was a good local employer; they hired housewives with children during the school year, adjusting their hours to accommodate school hours. In the summer, they hired high school students, who were happy to earn spending money and save a little for school. The jobs, however, were boring and repetitious.
Now it’s your turn. What job – first or otherwise – stands out in your mind? What is the worst/funniest/dirtiest/most boring job you have ever had?
First published in 2015.
Stella's Place 
My first job, outside of babysitting for family friends, was in 1960 as a theater usherette. I was provided a uniform of gray slacks and red zippered top. We were responsible for purchasing any shoe style as long as it was black. In California at that time the minimum wage was $1.00 per hour and that’s what we were paid as a beginning salary. Other women who worked there made $1.25 after several years employment.
An usherette’s job was to walk patrons to their seats, and to generally keep order if anyone turned unruly. If teenagers got a little too romantic in the loge seating, you got to shine your flashlight in their faces. LOL! On weekends when the theater would be packed from 11:00 AM to closing at around midnight, the usherettes had to give breaks to the refreshment stand personnel after they worked hard during the intermissions…I could have done without that assignment, for sure.
The job paid for my college books, pencils, pens, notebooks and the $12 per semester student pass, plus whatever snacks I wanted.
One of the perks was receiving a theater pass which enabled me to see movies for free at any of the other theaters in the city, including drive-ins. And for a film-crazed teenager, that was worth its weight in gold.
What did I learn? That it was fun interacting with the public. But you definitely wanted to keep in mind at all times, that the patrons were the boss and you were there to serve them.
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In1955, my first summer job was minding a flock of ducks and geese and cutting the grass with a push mower on a large estate near Lambertville, NJ. I was 13. The geese were unruly and required me to chase them back home all day. They kept wanting to be like the Canada geese that stopped by to feed in the cornfield. I chased those birds for two summers, for $0.25 per hour. IIRC, I earned around $100 for two summers work.
Then I worked at Langrocks Men’s Shop, after school for a year. I swept the floors and generally straightened the racks and shelves. I earned $0.75 per hour; enough to buy my first sport coat and pair of slacks (with a belt-in-the-back). I was 15 and pretty snooty.
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Great story! Sorry you were stuck in the spam bucket for so long today. I apologize.
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My first job was for Southern Bell as a cord board operator. I was the person you talked to when you dialed “0” and I dialed the long distance phone number you wanted. We worked in long rows facing the boards, no time for much conversation, and we were monitored by the supervisors.
Made $2.00 an hour in 1969, as negotiated by the union and well over the minimum wage. Worked for two summers while in college. The only drawback was I worked for four hours in the morning, was off for four hours, and went back for four hours in the afternoon-evening.
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I learned to run a cord board (PBX) at Illinois Bell training. I only worked for private companies and was a relief operator at two of them. I have used several different models of PBX over the years. The cord board was the most simple, I think.
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I started out with a PBX as a volunteer in high school during my study hall. That experience got me a couple of jobs later, which let the employers see I had the brains for better jobs in the company. Funny thing is, one of the things I did just before I retired was to handle the switchboard (of course, much updated over the 40 years).
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When I was growing up I worked at my dad’s wholesale tomato business. Tomatoes are priced according to their grade, which is entirely based on the beauty of the tomato. Back then you could have gone to a ‘mater house, as they were called, and bought a big box of culls for not much more than you’d pay for six or eight individual tomatoes in the grocery store.
My dad had a friend who could build almost anything, and kept all the mechanics of the various produce houses going all over the Farmer’s Market. He built a grading machine. On one end you gently poured the tomatoes into a hopper and they fell onto a roller system. If it was a busy time, there would be several of us behind the rollers tossing the tomatoes in three bins in front, based on their flaws. Those not chosen rolled off the end into thirty pound boxes where another worker would quickly lid the box and put another in place as they filled. These were the culls.
In front of each of the bins would be workers who packed the tomatoes, emptying the bins as this was a continual process, more boxes being dumped the whole time. The highest grade, IIRC it was called #1 select, was in a 20 pound box, a layer of tomatoes on the bottom, a piece of thin cardboard, and the top layer was hand wrapped in tissue with the name of our business on them. One or two of the prettiest tomatoes left unwrapped to show the grade to the buyer.
There was a kind of hierarchy in the tomato houses. The most unskilled workers, poor, alcoholic, homeless, usually older black men were the ones on either end, emptying the tomatoes or catching the culls. The faster workers, including me (standing on a tomato box because I was so young) stood behind, working as graders.
The most skilled and fastest workers with good, quick eyes were the packers, and they usually got paid by the box. I still remember learning to scoop the tomato with the left hand and swipe the tissue paper off the stack and wrap/twist movement with the right. It was important to be very fast, but also to have perfect rows with the logo right on top when the tomato was placed.
My dad declared me too slow to ever allow me to have a permanent packer job. I was often relegated to wrapping the little tubs of tomatoes in shrink wrap. Consequently, I had burned fingers a lot.
When I was in high school, a senior, I took a job at the drive in theater. It paid $5 per shift weeknights and $6 on weekends. That was where I met my husband, although we went to the same high school. He worked in the box office and I was in the concession stand.
This caused a rift with my dad, who had made all of us, my mother included, work for little to nothing in wages for years. I hated the tomato house and how my father ran it, and the horrible way he treated the poor people who eked out a starvation subsistence living. When I was old enough to refuse, I quit and got a job at the drive in. He told people his daughter worked at the out door cat house, but he used a much uglier name. And now that I think about it, I realize he never gave details about my job, just that description!
Anyhow, the drive in was a way out of an ugly world for me, and it brought me into the orbit of a special young man and his family, people who brought me into a completely new and wonderful world.
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Good story!
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My first job was washing dishes for my neighbor for 10 Cents load. I was 11. But the next year she had a baby and I became the babysitter at 50 cents an hour. I managed to save up $500.
My first job working for a business was at Sears in the credit department. I wasn’t quite 18 and had just graduated from high school. Since you couldn’t work until you were 18, the only reason they hired me was that my mother, who worked at the college had found a lot of students to fill their need at the time. This was a new store and so they had to hire a lot of people. So, the credit manager did it as a favor to her because she had helped so much. So, I worked all summer and until Christmas.
All through college I had temporary jobs,, but nothing dirty, unless you count changing diapers. LOL
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Hi all, lurking still. One of the jobs I had early on was cold calling people to ask for donations of “unused clothes, books, tools, or toys” to be left on the front porch in a paper bag marked for pickup by a truck that would slowly drive down their street looking for said bags.
We would sit at a small table for 8 hours with a rotary phone and a special phone directory that was indexed by street and house number. I don’t recall if we got lunch or smoke breaks. I do, however, remember some little girl answering the phone and I mindlessly recited the spiel, then asked if I could speak to the lady of the house. The girl put the receiver down and started yelling, ‘Daddy! Daddy! There’s some man on the phone for mommy!’ There was suddenly a lot of angry shouting. I panicked and hung up.
What I learned at that job was to not lean on the table with my elbow while on the phone for that long, day after day. It compressed a nerve and I’d loose feelings in my little and ring finger for week or two.
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Hi nyet!
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Hi nyet! Sounds like a job I would hate, but we all have had them. I’m glad you are still around.
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Hi, Nyet. I was just wondering about you the other day. Glad to hear from you.
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