My very first job was my summer job at age 15. I count this as my first job because a) taxes were taken out of my paycheck, and b) the tasks for which I was held responsible included more than say, weeding, watering plants, doing dishes, dusting, arranging the curtains in the living room (it was a bigger task than you would think), and washing the cars. The tasks for which my 15 year old self was held responsible included inserting several different types of paper into the folding machine, then stuffing them into envelopes. And what was the result? Was I doing this to help some worthy company work toward some lofty goal? Was this mail serving a good purpose, assuming it had a purpose at all? The answer, sadly, is no. The result was heaping stacks of junk mail. Mail so worthless that its inevitable destiny is to be ripped in half on sight and immediately thrown away.
It was hard to get into this job. My other 15 and 16 year old friends (the latter having their licenses) worked at places like the Gap or Johnny's (ice cream and burgers and such) or at a summer camp. They didn't understand how I got stuck stuffing junk mail, and I didn't either. Their jobs provided friends with discounts, free food, or at least some outdoor fun. My job provided nothing to my friends. For me, it provided an intense dislike for "Light 100.5 WRCH New Britain - Hartford!" and required that I wear pants and a sweater to the office, where it was kept at approximately 58 degrees at all times.
My one silver lining? I got to look at several people's last names, and, making my own fun, I would always pick out the weirdest of the bunch. I wish I could remember some! All I can tell you is that the ultimate winner's last name was a complete mouthful and likely did not fit on standardized government forms. I think they made it up.
On a totally different note, this just proves the whole thing about archaeology being a cool job. Discovery even copied my "cool jobs" idea.
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For some reason, your first job reminded me a bit of my first "job" (that wasn't babysitting or helping out in my dad's office): Telemarketing for the Muscular Dystrophy Association's "Jail and Bail" charity event. Sounds like a good cause, right? Well, my phone calls were treated like the voice equivalent of the immediate tearing-and-discarding of your junk mail. I got hung up on a lot, and sent to a lot of voicemails that I knew would never be returned. Oh, and I was fired after 4 days - they apparently hired a new set of temps for this operation every week. Really a great introduction to professional life, I'd say.
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