The summer of the Democratic Convention in Chicago 1966 I got a job for NBC. It was a crazy time when our newsmen would come back bloody from being in the parks near the convention center. It was wild out there and I was witness to the chaos. And we never knew what shape any of our news people would come back having been in the melee. Now that was a good summer gig I'd say. Eye witness to history!
Summer jobs were the best. Ah, the taste of financial freedom! My first summer job, which I rode my bike to because I was not yet old enough to drive, was working as a page at the local library—my job was mostly to re-shelve books. My best one was working at Contempo Casuals at the mall, once I could drive. I loved that job so much, I worked there every summer though college!
Love it! I’ve had quite a range of jobs over the years, from mowing lawns and working at a movie theater to serving as a flight attendant. My sister had her eclectic resume, including a stint at a factory that made sanitary pads for dogs and a seasonal job at a Fire Island restaurant that came with “staff housing.” But our most unforgettable gig? The summer we spent selling clothing to nursing home and assisted living residents across the tri-state area.
We’d travel to different facilities, meet with family members, and help them pick out adaptive clothing—mostly muumuus and other easy-to-wear garments. Once the selections were made, we’d sit for hours creating and affixing name labels to each item so they wouldn’t get lost in the laundry shuffle. It was equal parts meaningful, chaotic, and exhausting… and totally unforgettable.
I was scooping ice cream at 15 but abruptly fired before turning 16, as they’d have to begin paying me minimum wage. Worked out great for me because it allowed me to work at my swim club snack bar, handing out frozen milky ways and resolving bee stings with the first aid kit. I was happy, ridiculously tan and ate my weight (all 90 pounds) in hot pretzels for free.
I worked a season at Zellers as a checkout girl. We had to memorize all the SKU categories (shoes were dept 9), and it was hours of standing. However, the life training! Learning how to talk to strangers, how to get people to do what you want (buy things), and generally, just realizing how weird, shitty and amazing humans can be. I thinking every person needs to work a few summer jobs in customer service, if only to be better customers themselves!
My first job was in 2015, I was 13. Although I was brought up in the age of technology, this placed lacked it in all areas. Our register was one of those chunky, unbelievably heavy, hurt-your-fingers-to-push-the-keys ancient machines. If you're a Gilmore Girls fan, it was a lot like the one in Luke’s Diner. The place was hot, smelled like anchovies from the Caesar salad dressing, and had an owner who was usually passed out upstairs from his (questionable?) drinking habit. It was horrible—but I look back on it fondly.
My first summer job? I was sixteen. The job itself is a blur. Some sort of clerical work under fluorescent lighting. But what really mattered was taking The Long Island Railroad into Manhattan. I was smitten by my gay 40 something co-worker who was impossibly cool in his Carnaby Street suits. At the end of the day I would meet up with my friends who also had summer jobs in the city. We would smoke pot, ride the Staten Island Ferry back and forth for hours. I remember one day in particular when I was wearing my favorite 60's mod red gingham puff sleeved babydoll mini. I thought I looked like Twiggy. It was a hellava ride in a hellava time.
I was only "allowed" to work in my own row home in Philly, aka my mother's small fashion boutique - first in one of the bedrooms and then an expansion to the basement. I was in charge of hanging the beautiful clothing on special hangers, and along with my Dad, to entertain the women in the "waiting room", which was our living room. An unusual way to grow up , always jealous of friends who had "Real jobs".
The summer of the Democratic Convention in Chicago 1966 I got a job for NBC. It was a crazy time when our newsmen would come back bloody from being in the parks near the convention center. It was wild out there and I was witness to the chaos. And we never knew what shape any of our news people would come back having been in the melee. Now that was a good summer gig I'd say. Eye witness to history!
Happening all over again.
more frightening
Summer jobs were the best. Ah, the taste of financial freedom! My first summer job, which I rode my bike to because I was not yet old enough to drive, was working as a page at the local library—my job was mostly to re-shelve books. My best one was working at Contempo Casuals at the mall, once I could drive. I loved that job so much, I worked there every summer though college!
Long live Contempo Casuals!
Love it! I’ve had quite a range of jobs over the years, from mowing lawns and working at a movie theater to serving as a flight attendant. My sister had her eclectic resume, including a stint at a factory that made sanitary pads for dogs and a seasonal job at a Fire Island restaurant that came with “staff housing.” But our most unforgettable gig? The summer we spent selling clothing to nursing home and assisted living residents across the tri-state area.
We’d travel to different facilities, meet with family members, and help them pick out adaptive clothing—mostly muumuus and other easy-to-wear garments. Once the selections were made, we’d sit for hours creating and affixing name labels to each item so they wouldn’t get lost in the laundry shuffle. It was equal parts meaningful, chaotic, and exhausting… and totally unforgettable.
Epic!!!
I was scooping ice cream at 15 but abruptly fired before turning 16, as they’d have to begin paying me minimum wage. Worked out great for me because it allowed me to work at my swim club snack bar, handing out frozen milky ways and resolving bee stings with the first aid kit. I was happy, ridiculously tan and ate my weight (all 90 pounds) in hot pretzels for free.
Dream job.
I have the sun spots to remember it by but I would never go back and do it differently. Viva la summer!
I worked a season at Zellers as a checkout girl. We had to memorize all the SKU categories (shoes were dept 9), and it was hours of standing. However, the life training! Learning how to talk to strangers, how to get people to do what you want (buy things), and generally, just realizing how weird, shitty and amazing humans can be. I thinking every person needs to work a few summer jobs in customer service, if only to be better customers themselves!
Great article!💕
Thanks my friend!
My first job was in 2015, I was 13. Although I was brought up in the age of technology, this placed lacked it in all areas. Our register was one of those chunky, unbelievably heavy, hurt-your-fingers-to-push-the-keys ancient machines. If you're a Gilmore Girls fan, it was a lot like the one in Luke’s Diner. The place was hot, smelled like anchovies from the Caesar salad dressing, and had an owner who was usually passed out upstairs from his (questionable?) drinking habit. It was horrible—but I look back on it fondly.
As one does!
Love this!!
Top 3: Camp counselor (best job ever); ticket girl at the beach club parking lot (close 2nd); commercial PA (see my last newsletter) ; )
Amazing!!
My first summer job? I was sixteen. The job itself is a blur. Some sort of clerical work under fluorescent lighting. But what really mattered was taking The Long Island Railroad into Manhattan. I was smitten by my gay 40 something co-worker who was impossibly cool in his Carnaby Street suits. At the end of the day I would meet up with my friends who also had summer jobs in the city. We would smoke pot, ride the Staten Island Ferry back and forth for hours. I remember one day in particular when I was wearing my favorite 60's mod red gingham puff sleeved babydoll mini. I thought I looked like Twiggy. It was a hellava ride in a hellava time.
That sounds epic!!!
I was only "allowed" to work in my own row home in Philly, aka my mother's small fashion boutique - first in one of the bedrooms and then an expansion to the basement. I was in charge of hanging the beautiful clothing on special hangers, and along with my Dad, to entertain the women in the "waiting room", which was our living room. An unusual way to grow up , always jealous of friends who had "Real jobs".