First job

Zoë Pollock has been posting emails from her readers about their "Lessons Learned On The Job":

This week readers remembered some of their first jobs and how it changed them.

Some of my favorites:

[M]y first job during high school was working at the Burger King near where I lived... It was the 1970's, also known as the age of total ugliness, and I wore a paper hat and a brown and orange striped polyester short sleeved tunic (with a plastic name tag, of course.) It was hot, greasy work but I loved that job.

It was a fresh start with people my age but not with all the baggage from my own school - no more outcast, as long as I worked hard I got respect and I got paid. And when you are young and feel trapped, money is freedom. OK I couldn't permanently flee the Island on the wages of a part-time job at Burger King but in a way my job at Burger King was my sanctuary from the turmoil in my teenage life...and I got paid!
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After leaving college with a History degree and an overall lack of motivation I found myself working as a beer deliveryman for six years in Buffalo, NY. I had to lug cases and kegs of beer into some of the nastiest bars, restaurants and convenience stores around (try doing that in four feet of snow when it's two degrees outside). I was robbed more than once, my back ached daily and I spent hour after hour listening to people ask for "free samples." I hated every single day of my life during that time but look back on it now and really appreciate what that job did for me. The thought of spending the next 30 years on a beer truck made me get off my ass and go back to school to earn my teacher certification certificate. Whenever I hear a fellow teacher complain about how hard teaching is I just have to laugh. Compared to delivering 100 cases of 40 oz. malt liquor into the basement of a filthy neighborhood convenience store, teaching high school students in an air-conditioned room is a snap.
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My first job was at McDonald's. My boss was a former drill sergeant, and he had some strong ideas about how things would be done. Every surface had to shine. No fingerprints anywhere. Everyone shared the jobs no one wanted: cleaning the bathrooms and picking up the trash on the lot. And women were not allowed to cook the burgers; grilling was a man's job. Other than that last nonsense, he gave me a great work ethic, and I never forgot what he taught me about self-respect: "You don't have to be proud of your job, but you must always be proud of your work."
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Ten days before Christmas, I had the flu. I called my assistant manager only to learn that she also had the flu and therefore I was trumped on calling out sick. I got to the store and learned that the two clerks scheduled to work with me were also sick. I called around frantically and got one replacement to come in a couple of hours after we opened. By ten in the morning the small store was overflowing with people, the phone was ringing off the hook and I was alone. And that was when the people of Roxborough taught me a thing or two about decency and community.

First a woman that wanted her books gift-wrapped asked if she could just come behind the counter and do it herself rather than trouble me. Of course, I said. She was there for thirty minutes as she wrapped books for other customers, too. Other customers started helping each other find books they were looking for. The retired guys that always browsed the magazine rack while their wives ran errands elsewhere in the shopping center started joking around with customers to lighten the mood. One of them brought me a coffee. Around one in the afternoon one of my sick clerks stopped in after picking up antibiotics for his pneumonia at the pharmacy next door, looked around, and just put on his apron and started working. That whole day, no one complained, ever. It really might have been the best day I’ve had at any job in my life.
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Back in college, I worked as a coat-man in a four-star restaurant in Washington, DC. The most interesting thing I learned is that I could predict - with a fair degree of accuracy - how much of a tip I would get, based on a person's coat. If the person had a regular jacket, they would always give a $1-2 dollar tip, without fail. But, if the woman had on a fur coat, one of two things would happen. About four out of every five of them would give no tip at all, regardless of the level of service. But the fifth one would give not only a $10 tip, but a big smile and a short conversation. A good chunk of those people would comment on how they remember working a similar job back when they were younger or in college.

So, lesson learned: If I ever make enough money to get my wife a fur coat, I'm also going to make sure my daughter works a customer service job to start. And I'll always tip the coat-guy.
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But when I grew up and read biographies of successful people, they all said the same thing. Each one worked a different job -- waiter, car repairman, short order cook, paper delivery, day laborer, whatever. And each of these guys insisted that this is really the best education a young person could have and recommends that for everyone.

That's when it hit me -- it isn't the job that teaches you anything. After all, there are plenty of people who are or were waiters who never learned a damn thing from their job. It's whether you bothered to learn from whatever job you might have: Successful people learn lessons where ever they are. That's the difference.

Sadly most teens can't get these kinds of minimum-wage jobs anymore. Savvy businessmen are hiring seniors instead.

My first job, at the age of nine, was stamping envelopes in the local post office during the Christmas holidays. No, there were no machines to cancel stamps in those days. My palm ached constantly during the first week.

"I'm so sorry," said my mom.

"Grow up," said my dad.

I plodded on and was surprised that the pain went away.

On Christmas Eve I got my first paycheck which my dad asked to borrow - no doubt to pay off his gambling debts - and never repaid.

But it set me up for life.