Who remembers their very first job?

Mine was a Saturday morning job at a fruit shop. I think I was probably 14. I was mostly used to bag bananas. In season they used to be sold at a shilling for dozen ripe Queensland bananas. Quite a bargain and they sold like hot cakes which is why I had the job of bagging them in advance. At other times I weighed up potatoes and carrots.

I was too slow to work on the cash register except during moments of slow trade, but I remember it well. It was necessary to add up all the items in your head as well as writing each one down on paper in case there was a dispute with the customer. As soon as the customer was finished you had to have the total ready, take the offered cash and work out the change ASAP. Not so easy in the days of pounds, shillings and pence.

I also remember that out in the back yard there was a kelpie bitch that was always tied up. She had puppies so I approached her gently, gave her a few pats and she allowed me to handle her babies. The Italian couple who owned the shop were amazed. They thought she was a guard dog.
 

Mine was on a general labor crew at about age 15 one Summer. We got put to work assembling scaffolding and painting office buildings. The crew was mostly kids who'd been in trouble, probably directed there by the courts. In my case I was just poor, and a friend got me into the program. Major culture shock, these were not my people. Plenty of bad shit went down out of sight but I gave as good as I got.

Only lasted so long though. One was bragging about ripping off car stereos from the parking lot. One younger man (victim) who had his stereo stolen and car messed up was in tears not able to afford it. I snitched on the SOB, and there was no going back to that job. The rest of the scumbags would probably try to knife me. Bad enough they knew where I lived.

But as it turned out decades later, at least I got a few weeks of pension credit out of that job. (y)
 
It depends because I worked long before I left school... I used to get up age 12 to 14 at 3-4 am .. to deliver milk to 6 blocks of multi-storey flats and several roads. My father made both my brother and I do it.. my brother got paid a little wage .. i didn't... I wasn't even allowed to keep my tips.. I got a share of them , which was always very much smaller than everyone elses''. despite having earned more

if you're talking about the first proper paying job..?

I was forced to leave school the second I turned 15.. my father found em a job in an underwear factory before I;d even finished school on the Friday.. he had it prepared for me to start on the Monday. I went because I wouldn't dare not to.. but it was horrible.. I lasted 4 weeks.. and during that time managed to find myself a job as an office junior in a Punch tape operating office.. . less money because Factories in those days paid much higher wages for unskilled people than office work... so as I had to hand over my wages unopened to my father he wasn't pleased to say the least that he was getting a 3rd less money ..

When I look back.. I was just a child. I see 15 year olds today, and think they're just kids.. and there was I.. and many others my age, working hard at Industrial machinery.. and offices etc.. when we should have still been at school and having fun.
 
First paying job was a mink ranch at ten years old. My dad was in a very bad car accident that year and could no longer work so sent me to work at a neighbors since we needed money, I never saw any of my wages.

I actually worked on and off at the mink ranch until I graduated highschool. The guy that owned it was kind of a nasty eccentric that most people hated but in many ways he was very good to me and I always liked him.
 
I bussed and cleaned the snack bar at one of the local country clubs during the summer of 1969 for .50 an hour. My stepfather serviced the icee machine there and the manager was complaining about how he couldn't find any help. So I got my first job I was 11 turning 12 during the summer, I worked for him again the next summer.
 
fuzzybuddy said:
The day I turned 16, I got a part time job for Ames Discount Dept. Stores. I made the sales signs for the shelves, "McGregor Shirts, $3.87". At that time the chain only had 8 stores, and I made the signs for all of them. Once I forgot the "R" in shirts.
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I'm curious, how were the signs made? Were you put on the task because you had some artistic talent?
 
JBR said:
I'm curious, how were the signs made? Were you put on the task because you had some artistic talent?
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It was a printing press. It was a newer version of the printing press Ben Franklin used. I'd assemble are the letters, lock them in place, ink them and roll a blank cardboard over them. The thing is I had to spell everything in reverse.
Nope, no art work.
 
I was 17, a freshman in college, and my first job was the Toy Department of a former NYC Department Store, Alexander's, on the upper east side. It was nights as I was a day student. It was Xmas season, and here I was, in charge of toys. I did more playing than helping, I think. Although it was a seasonal job, they told me if I wanted to stay on, I could. So, what happened Xmas Eve? They fired me! I was so upset I took the wrong train and wound up somewhere in Queens. Bunch of Scrooges.
 
People never forget their first jobs. I was 16 and worked the counter in a small bakery - it was a great job that I kept for a year and a half. It taught me a lot about working.

Like @Warrigal, we had to add the order prices in our heads. For bigger orders, we'd write them on one of the customers' bags and tally them up there because the register took the totals only. Does anyone else remember the days of bakery & deli "receipts" being what was written on the side of the bag?

DH & I were privileged to give first jobs to a few dozen high schoolers and still hear from many of them. ❤️
 
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I was in high school. I had been all over town asking about work with no luck. Finally, a small carpet store said I could come in after school and do janitorial work. I don't remember how much I was paid, but they were good people and I enjoyed working there. Eventually I helped deliver and install and clean carpeting. The smell of a carpet store still brings back memories.
 
My first "real" job (that didn't involve babysitting a little hellion who locked me in a closet and is now a decorated Air Force pilot :giggle:) was in a sewing factory. There was no air conditioning and I still feel that oppressive heat in the summer months. We could open the windows, and the few times there was actually a breeze coming in, it was a great gift.
 
CallMeKate said:
My first "real" job (that didn't involve babysitting a little hellion who locked me in a closet and is now a decorated Air Force pilot :giggle:) was in a sewing factory. There was no air conditioning and I still feel that oppressive heat in the summer months. We could open the windows, and the few times there was actually a breeze coming in, it was a great gift.
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sewing factory ?...like my Underwear factory ?.. We made bras.. nothing else.. Just Bras... hundreds of sewing machines and Bar-tacking machines going at once... You can still buy those today even tho' that particular factory is long gone..
 
StarSong said:
People never forget their first jobs.
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True

This subject keeps coming up
So, I keep posting this;

First Jobs

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 damn woman.’
‘Gimme that hook.’
He’d jerk the ‘hook’ outta my hand and commence to beat the holy krap 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.



When we moved closer to town, I got an evening job at a rather posh restaurant.
The Hillvilla.
It worked well with my junior year schedule.
Work till 11pm…sleep through class..if I went.

Washing pots and pans.
My first day, I ran a sink full of water, hot and cold.
The owner, Ed Palaske, reminded me of Mr McGoo, kindly, gently turned off the cold water.
Hot water and steam came outta the tap.
‘We don’t use cold water. It’s not so sanitary.’
His hands and forearms looked like lobsters...no hair, red, much like a burn victim.
Lou, the cook, doing a great impression of Ed Asner, just leaned on the counter and grinned.
Damn, I’d never known hot water up till then.
The crab pots and pans, from making crab louie, did loosen up better.

Then I graduated to the salad bar.
Much like a bar tender.
The waitresses would come up, order, and I’d prep, sip a coke and munch on crackers.

This one waitress, guess she was in her late thirties, would tell me dirty jokes and chit chat when ordering.
She had blonde hair, all pulled back, like Kim Novak in Vertigo....rather buxom...like my dad’s Police gazette gals.
I had fantasies about her while I was sleeping in class.

Sometimes a dignitary would call me over,
‘Hey sport, here’s a buck, get me a pack of Winstons outta the machine...keep the change.’

If a patron didn’t like their meal, one of us would get it.
it was good.

After my shift, and the upstairs was closing, I’d head downstairs and get another coke from the bar, and if lucky, I’d chat more with Kim Novak, and watch her sit there, undulating.

I think that was my best high school job.

I know it was.
 
It's odd really because, I can remember the people I worked with in my first job, their names and conversations we had, I can remember the office and exactly how it was laid out and the musty smell of the files, as if it was yesterday. I was very fortunate with my first job as they were all older than me and very caring towards me. I have often thought of them all over the years and I hope they knew I appreciated their kindness, even though I left after a couple of years because I wanted to work in a younger, more exciting environment :)
 

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