What was your first job? and ....


Gaer said:
Penny's shoe clerk $50.00 a week net but my apartment rent was only $50.00 a month. I left home to start my life right away!
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Was that at Winrock? I worked at Sears (hardware and later auto) in Winrock back in the early 1970s.
 

I was a field hand working the cotton fields of West Texas in the 1950's during the Summer and after school. I chopped cotton during the in 105F heat, and picked cotton by hand during the late Fall and Winter months. I was a lousy cotton picker, but I was good on the end of a hoe.

When I was 17 and graduated from High School, I joined the Navy and to me that was a really good deal.
 

What was your first job? and ....​


I've posted this too many times

But

In honor of applecruncher (I miss her), I'll post it again;

First Job

My very first ‘job’ was hoeing roses for an ol’ guy at the end of the mountain road up from our place.
He was a prize winning grower, lots of entries and ribbons and medals and plaques from all over and of course Portland, the City of Roses.

As a teacher, the crotchety ol’ fart was not the gracious diplomat he was when accepting an award.

‘Quit pickin’ at it like a goddamm woman, goddammit.’
‘Gimme that hook.’
He’d jerk the ‘hook’ outta my hand and commence to beat the holy crap outta those roses.
Apparently the ones that survived became resilient and hardy....and beautiful.

The 'hook' was not much more than a smallish three prong pitchfork bent 90°.

‘You don’t stop till it’s rainin’ like a cow peein’ on a flat rock.’

That was the work schedule.

And off he’d go in his dilapidated ’49 ford sedan.
The engine sounded like it would blow apart any minute, pistons rattling around, tappets tapping a beat, zero oil.
Only drove it a few hundred yards, just to harass us.

One of the old hands said, ‘just hoe like mad until you get over the hill, then you can take a little break’.
The old gent seemed to know what he was talkin’ about, he’d been there a long time.
Back permanently stuck at 45°.
Kinda bugged me...cause when it was rainin’ like a cow peein’ on a flat rock, we’d all beat feet over to the walnut tree....here he’d trudge...and there he’d stand....bent.
His hands were stuck in a hoe holding position.
Not big on talkin’.

‘How long you been doin’ this?’

‘Some time now.’

‘Huh.’


It was $.60 an hour...10 hours a day.

I’d been there just a few days, and hoein’ like mad.
The hill just a half hour of back breaking hacks away.
Once over the hill, outta view from the ol’ guy’s shack, I straightened up and leaned on my hook.
Just stared into the sun.
Rolled a smoke.
A smoke never tasted so good.
I was just getting’ into a mind filled tryst with Sophia Loren when I heard, ‘That’s enough of that, git offa my property.’

I turned around and there he was, leanin’ on them crutches.
How in hell had he snuck up on me?
Had he crutched his way up the hill, knowing full well what I was doin’?
At first I was startled, and maybe a bit scared.
Then I got mad, and with the knowledge that several fields of hay bales were just waiting for me, I headed right for him.
His expression changed from sneering disgust to alarm.
‘Don’t worry ol’ man. I’m not gonna beatcha.
You’ve done enough of that yerself.
Here’s yer hook.’

So, yeah, I got fired from my first real job.
 
During the summer of 1968 between my junior and senior year of high school I worked at a Big Thompson Smorgasbord that was about five miles down the canion from Estes Park, Colorado a popular tourist spot. I believe I earned about $1.10 a hour but also included room and board there so I lived there for about six weeks. We would get one day a week off. I started as dishwasher and ended up assistant chef. The chef/manager was a verry picky and would fire people for the slightest infractions so there was a high turnover rate. The chef liked that I was able to skin beef livers with a minimal loss of the liver so I was the liver skinner there. Freshly butchered chicken would come in first thing in the morning and some would still have some blood in it. The chef would have us deep fry it with some bood in it and it was so interesting about how many complements we got about our tasty chicken.The potatos were really good also for he would put some spices in them. Then about a week before school was to start I was fired also. One of the waitresses mother complaind to the chef that I had become to friendly with her daughter and scared her, Which I did but I thought I was being a nice guy at the time.
 
Verisure said:
You may not be older than me. I worked for Sears when I was in my 20's.
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Well, I'm not putting my age on here! You can if you want.
Elderly people don't seem to have names anymore. If you meet them and shake hands, they will introduce themselves as ""I'm 83" or "I'm 70!"
I've heard women go up to cashiers and say, "I'm 67!" The clerk looks at them and you can hear her thinking, "Yeah, So what?" but they say, "Oh, You don't look it!" It's silly!
Wait a minute Verisure, I have no idea where Winrock is or where you are, for that matter. Are you in the U.S?
 
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My first real job in 1974 was as an accounting clerk for $3.60/hour.

That job was important for two reasons.

It was the beginning of a thirty one year career. I was transferred and acquired by other companies over the years but I never went looking for a position with another company.

I enrolled in the payroll savings program on the day I started and continued for over thirty years

“Do not save what is left after spending, but spend what is left after saving.” - Warren Buffet
 
My first real job was as a dishwasher at a Perkins Pancake House for like $2.00/hour while I was still in high school. It might have been even less than $2.00/hour since I was only 16 and from what I remember, they could pay kids who were under 18 less than the regular minimum wage. Worst job I ever had. That was the only job I've ever had where I didn't learn any valuable skills and had to bust my ass from the time I got there 'till the time I left, washing dishes! :ROFLMAO: And the owners of the restaurant were real pricks. I think I lasted about six months... maybe less. That was around 1974 or 1975.
 
1st. job that I paid state & federal taxes on was as an apprentice butcher. I don't remember the wage but I do remember making more than my father. I remember in 1957 paying cash for a Ford convertible.
 
At about fourteen I worked at a precast concrete yard for $1.60 an hour. I believe I had to get a work permit to get the job. I remember at the time some employees rolled an older gentleman over inside a porto pottie. He emerged quite blue green in color.. I thought it was funny at the time. Not so much now. Poor fellow.
 
I got my 1st job while hitch-hiking across America. I was 17. A man picked me up and after talking awhile he asked if I wanted a job ? He took me to a "Rod and Gun" club/hotel in the Everglades and I was hired as a busboy with room and board as part of my salary. That was the start of a life-long career in restaurants/hotel kitchens.
I remember that Angelo Dundee, Cassius Clay's manager, was a guest at that Rod and Gun club and I was told to keep a sharp eye on that table in case Mr Dundee wanted anything.
 
Gaer said:
Elderly people don't seem to have names anymore. If you meet them and shake hands, they will introduce themselves as ""I'm 83" or "I'm 70!"
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Verisure said:
Hi! I'm 74.
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This so reminds me of a taproom scene

hbu3LEy.jpg
 
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