7 thoughts on “What young workers need to learn, we learned the hard way.”
Let me add a couple, the first one recently torpedoed a young man I know, and the second one torpedoed his plans to torpedo ME!
1. Never step over dollars to pick up dimes.
2. Always – always, always, always! – be networking.
Spring of 1957 I got a job as prepper at the local drive-in outdoor theater as soon as the weather got nice.
Job was simple:
first . . . about mid-afternoon
hi-pressure hose down both restrooms and spray disinfectant
turn on giant exhaust fans to dry ‘em out
wipe down mirrors with squeegee
fill all TP rollers and sanitary pad dispensers
fill sink soap squirters
blanche a shitload of fries
fill all the soft-drink syrup dispenser cannisters
record CO2 levels on drink dispensers, replace as necessary
fill drink-cup tubes
last thing was to turn on grill and deep-fry heaters at sundown
Job allowed me all the soft drinks, potato chips, and ice cream I wanted, but I was not allowed to cook anything.
Worked for about 5 weeks, seventy-five cents/hour (good pay in those days). Boss/owner came every afternoon about an hour before sunset to set up the registers and make sure everything was ready.
Sonofabitch fired me. Said, “Every goddam time I show up here you’re sittin on your ass with a tall coke cup in your hand.”
Coupla weeks later he showed up at my house at dinnertime. Came in and told my mother and stepfather he’d made a big mistake and had to hire two guys to do what I’d been doin before sittin on my ass, and the job they did wasn’t acceptable.
Apologized, gave them 10 free total-car passes to the place for me to watch movies, patted my mother on the shoulder, and said if I was having trouble finding summer work, give him a call.
I’d already hired out to a local farmer and was makin good money: ten bucks a day 6 days a week. GREAT food, too. Mid 50s? It don’t git no better’n’at. ‘Course they WERE 10-hour days, but I was invulnerable back then.
Did you at least wash your hands between cleaning and blanching those said french fries?
No . . . porque guantes. Dos pares, para los dos trabajos.
“because gloves. Two pairs, for the two jobs.” You couldn’t say that in English? This is an English restricted blog…
Yeah, what’s he think this is, a stuporbowl half time show?
Let me add a couple, the first one recently torpedoed a young man I know, and the second one torpedoed his plans to torpedo ME!
1. Never step over dollars to pick up dimes.
2. Always – always, always, always! – be networking.
Spring of 1957 I got a job as prepper at the local drive-in outdoor theater as soon as the weather got nice.
Job was simple:
first . . . about mid-afternoon
hi-pressure hose down both restrooms and spray disinfectant
turn on giant exhaust fans to dry ‘em out
wipe down mirrors with squeegee
fill all TP rollers and sanitary pad dispensers
fill sink soap squirters
blanche a shitload of fries
fill all the soft-drink syrup dispenser cannisters
record CO2 levels on drink dispensers, replace as necessary
fill drink-cup tubes
last thing was to turn on grill and deep-fry heaters at sundown
Job allowed me all the soft drinks, potato chips, and ice cream I wanted, but I was not allowed to cook anything.
Worked for about 5 weeks, seventy-five cents/hour (good pay in those days). Boss/owner came every afternoon about an hour before sunset to set up the registers and make sure everything was ready.
Sonofabitch fired me. Said, “Every goddam time I show up here you’re sittin on your ass with a tall coke cup in your hand.”
Coupla weeks later he showed up at my house at dinnertime. Came in and told my mother and stepfather he’d made a big mistake and had to hire two guys to do what I’d been doin before sittin on my ass, and the job they did wasn’t acceptable.
Apologized, gave them 10 free total-car passes to the place for me to watch movies, patted my mother on the shoulder, and said if I was having trouble finding summer work, give him a call.
I’d already hired out to a local farmer and was makin good money: ten bucks a day 6 days a week. GREAT food, too. Mid 50s? It don’t git no better’n’at. ‘Course they WERE 10-hour days, but I was invulnerable back then.
Did you at least wash your hands between cleaning and blanching those said french fries?
No . . . porque guantes. Dos pares, para los dos trabajos.
“because gloves. Two pairs, for the two jobs.” You couldn’t say that in English? This is an English restricted blog…
Yeah, what’s he think this is, a stuporbowl half time show?
BAD bunny!!