In my family, we were required to get a job every summer from age 14 on. Well, technically 15 because no one would hire a 14 year old. Once we started driving the shared '82 Honda Civic hatchback, we had to pay for six months of car insurance. In other words, no job, no money, no car. So yeah, we all got jobs.
The kind of job one can get is rather limited when you're a teenager, or at least, it was back in the 90s. I didn't care where I worked, I just wanted a job. The first day of summer, I would start looking, desperate to find a way to earn at least $600 by the end of August. I didn't mind working all summer; in fact, I think it instilled a stellar work ethic in me. But needless to say, I've had some really stupid, stupid jobs.
Stupid Job #1: McDonalds
Go to McDonalds and check out their uniforms. Cute maroon polos and navy Dockers. Not back in my day. I was issued a button-up maroon and white stripped shirt and horrible polyester navy pants that were too long. Then they informed me I had to buy my visor.
"I have to...pay for it?"
"Yes. But you get to keep it! It's totally yours."
Awesome.
My manager was a horrible bitch. I would ask her questions and she would roll her eyes at me and eat fries out of the bin. Everyone ate fries out of the bin. And ice cream. All the time.
I got a tour on my first day, where I was introduced to a concept that was so amazing, it sticks with me to this day. The assistant manager pointed to a little box mounted on the wall in the break room.
"And this is the McThought Box."
"The what?"
"The McThought Box. That's where you put all your McThoughts."
"My McThoughts about what?"
"You know, how you like working here, what you think needs to change. McThoughts."
Everything, as you might imagine, was Mc-Something. McThoughts. McMeetings. McKill Me Now.
One day a man came in and told me it was he and his wife's anniversary. He gave me a rose and asked me to put it on their tray when they ordered. I thought it was sweet. About ten minutes later, they came back.
His wife was hostile, her amrs folded tightly across her chest, her eyes narrowed at me.
"I want a Chicken Fajita (remember those?) but I don't want anything in it but chicken and cheese."
I stared at her. Obviously this woman didn't understand that our delicious, freshly made Chicken Fajitas came in a giant plastic bag that was poured into a vat and scooped out with a little ice cream scoop. All that shit--the chicken, the cheese, the peppers and the onions--were in that bag.
"Um...well, it's a mix. So, I'm not sure we can--"
I guess that was all it took: the possibility of having to eat peppers and onions or maybe the fact that her husband was taking her to McDonald's for their anniversary. This bitch exploded at me, screaming that "they" always did this for her, what was my problem, was I stupid or something? I just stood there, totally baffled by her rage. Her husband stood there, looking terribly embarassed. I walked back to find my manager, as she requested, my eyes filling with tears. I don't make the rules, you crazy bitch! It's in a bag, what the hell do you want me to do? They don't pay me enough money to stand there and pick all that shit out of your goddamned food.
When I told my manager what the woman wanted, she rolled her eyes and said, "Fine. Tell her it's going to take me a while."
I didn't put the rose on their tray. The husband came up later and quietly asked for the rose. I handed it to him and I hope he kept it for himself. I'm positive they're divorced now. I wonder what poor service worker she's screaming at these days.
"I want a latte with no milk and no espresso."
"Um...."
Stupid Job #2 Blockbuster Video
Best. Job. Ever. Free video rentals, you got to watch movies while you worked and there was a Subway next door. My manager was a cool, laid back guy, although he should have been fired for constantly commenting about the ass of every woman who walked through the door. I worked there two summers and made fake IDs for all my friends. There was a lamination machine and we used to laminate everything. A friend of mine decided that we should make fake IDs but they were horrible and I'm sure they never worked for anyone. I made one for myself but never used it.
"Local celebrites" came into Blockbuster all the time: Don Shelby, Pat Miles (total snatch), Paul Magers (wore a lot of makeup). But the biggest bitch was hands down Diana Pierce from KARE-11. The summer A Few Good Men came out, everyone wanted it. Every single person walked up to the counter and said, "Do you have A Few Good Men?" Because we were bored and making $6 an hour, we started having fun with it.
"No, but we've got a few good women!"
"I wish I had one good man!"
"We sure do! But they're all married."
Most people laughed but not Diana Pierce. She sighed, folded her bony arms and said, "I really don't have time for this."
I'm telling you: the woman never smiled. Not one time in the two summers her ass frequented that place. She was frosty.
The one thing that sucked about working at Blockbuster were all the damn kids and their parents who were ignoring them. All you heard for 8 hours was, "Mom. Mom. Mom. MOM. Mom? Mom! Mom!! MOM!!! MOM!!!!" Also, you'd think telling someone they had a $2 late fee was the worst fucking news they had ever fucking heard. "What???? Two dollars for Poison Ivy? No way. No. Way. I returned that movie at 11:59 on Wednesday night, didn't I, honey? She was with me, she was with me. We got in the car, drove here and returned that video at 11:59. It's not my fault that you didn't check it in until after midnight. I'm not paying it. I'm not paying it. You're just going to have to bill me."
Stupid Job #3 Spinal Screener
The summer between my freshman and sophomore years of college, I inexplicably had three jobs: filing medical records, telemarketing for The Guthrie Theater and doing free spinal screenings in grocery stores. The spinal screening gig was only on the weekends, so after working 12 hours every day Monday through Friday, I would drive my ass to some random gorcery store in Spring Lake Park or Mendota Heights, set up a table in the produce section and offer free spinal screenings to shoppers. At the same time, I was supposed to collect money for The Jacob Wetterling Foundation.
First thing you should know: no one ever showed me how to do a spinal screening. They gave me a fake spine mounted to a long stick and told me to have people stand next to it. Then they told me that every single person should be told that they are in desperate need of chiropractic treatments. No problem. Then the old white woman looked at me and said, "You know, we've never had a black person work here before." I don't know if she was worried that I would steal the fake spine or if she was feeling proud of herself, like she'd hired me in Dr. King's memory. I smiled at her and said, "That's ok, I've been working for white people my whole life."
Guess what? No one wanted a goddamned spinal screening but everyone wanted to talk about Jacob Wetterling.
"They haven't found him yet?"
"No, they haven't."
"Oh my God, that's terrible."
"Yes....it is. Would you like a free spinal screening?"
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