Summer is the season for first jobs....

 

             Although the first official day of summer has yet to arrive, the heat is here. My thoughts turn back to the year I gained my first job other than babysitting, a summer now in the distant past.

 

                The bright, red-lettered “HELP WANTED” sign in the window of Jerry’s Café on the Neosho Square caught my eye the summer when I was sixteen.  My search for my first job hadn’t turned up anything yet so I persuaded my mother to let me go inside to apply.  In those days, my parents had a post office box checked daily among the other errands so she pulled into a parking slot.  I summoned up all the bravado I had in my teenage body, tried to stand tall in my discount store tennis shoes, and walked inside the restaurant.

                I asked about the notice and within minutes, without a resume or long interview, I was hired as a bus girl (yes, bus girl back in those less enlightened Seventies) and occasional waitress.  I had time to rush out to share the new with my waiting parent before hurrying back into the kitchen to put my purse on a shelf and tying on an apron.

                Now just a memory, the space once claimed by the café now a parking lot, Jerry’s Café was an old school, traditional restaurant.  I believe it had operated under other names prior to and at least one more after my brief time there.  There was a counter with stools and tables along the wall with a few scattered down the middle.  A small additional room held a few more.

                There was no on-the-job training.  I went to work immediately, clearing dishes from empty tables then washing them down.  I put everything back in order for the next customer, trundled the bulky cart back to the dish room to unload, then began all over again.  During the lunch rush, that’s all I did.  In slacker moments, I also carried the coffee pot around and topped up cups. 

                The menu offered a variety of food, from simple sandwiches and burgers to other home style favorites.  Each day, a lunch special or two was offered and as I remember, once I had a bite to eat at the end of my shift, the food tasted delicious.

                I worked from 11 am until 2pm on weekdays, from 7 am until 2pm on Sundays.  I watched the waitresses as they worked and learned so that in a pinch, I could also wait tables. 

                Those days were a learning experience for me in many ways and I still have a photograph taken on my first payday with the money from my check fanned out with pride.  The job lasted until my dad wanted to take the family on a vacation trip.  He suggested I ask for the week off and I did but my boss, considering how brief I had been employed and how soon school loomed straight ahead, let me go instead.

                Fast forward many summers ahead.  I’m no longer a sixteen-year-old girl heady with the wonder and power of my first job. The one constant is now writing.  I will always write, no matter where I work or whether or not I have a vacation period.  So in between it all, I’ll be writing and hoping for one runaway bestseller that could change my status quo again.