What were your first summer jobs?
My very first paying gig of any kind was being a mother's helper at the swim club. I couldn't comprehend it. Why someone would hand over a dollar or two to play with their kids and then not take off. I get it now. Having a toddler underfoot means you are constantly engaged. Predicting her next move, providing entertainment, warding off meltdowns that always loom. Taking a tiny break to maybe read that article about Kristin Stewart groping her director or just breathe and look up for a minute - the sky is still blue and hey, there's a plane heading somewhere more fabulous than here - recharges the soul.
One step above mother's helper was babysitting with a friend. Because two twelve year-olds are better than one?? Depends on the twelve year-olds. My friend Joby and I would put the kids to bed and then play hours and hours of Hunt the Wumpus, a very early computer game, like Stone Age early. Kids, what kids? Must. Find. Wumpus. And talk about cute boys in our class. And the adorably adorable Chad Lowe, Rob's less famous brother who was on a short-lived sitcom called "Spencer." We obsessed over it. We obsessed over him. I can't explain it.
I had my first real job back at the swim club in the snack bar. Finally, I was an official part of "the staff." But we were inside, which sort of stank, because tan bodies were all the rage. I worked with my friend Betsy. When not "slammed" with hungry, drenched children and families who never seemed to ever leave the premises, we would be silly. Very silly. To pass the hours, we fashioned shoes out of novelty ice cream boxes and attempted to read each other's minds by making aluminum foil hats. We also ate a lot of french fries and wore men's boxer underwear as real shorts. Even with the pee hole! Seriously, so did a lot of teen girls. Again, I can't explain this. Just documenting a fact.
The next summer, when I was 15, Betsy and I worked in the snack bar again, but also took a life saving course with Gail as the instructor. We learned to save lives (I think?) as we continued our silly streak. During one drill, we had to swim out to our "victims" and ask if they were "tired swimmers." This would make me laugh and laugh and choke on water and laugh. Something about all the pretend scenarios like the pretend bonfire we would pretend to have on the pretend beach before someone from our pretend party went missing in the pretend ocean, made me giggle my way through every class. But I was certified nonetheless. Thanks, Gail. I still remember the definition of panic, in case you're interested.
A sudden unreasoning and overwhelming terror that destroys a person's capacity for self help.
So all was not lost. I think when I'm 101 and on my death bed, foggy and frail, I'll be able to recite the definition of panic. Then giggle, which I'm sure will upset my distraught family.
Life guarding certification was the golden ticket to a golden tan. And the respect and adoration of every kid aged 5-11. Truly, it felt like we ruled the pool even while hosing down the locker room toilet stalls, tossing giant bags of hot trash over the barbed wire fence or emptying "butt cans" filled with still smoldering cigarette ashes. (There was one conveniently placed under every umbrella at the pool. Smoke up, sunbathers!)
I think the cool factor had a lot to do with the whistle twirl and the deep talks we shared while on office duty, which officially required guards to sign in members and guests, check out sports equipment and make announcements over the loud speaker. "Mrs. Smith, please come to the office. Mrs. Smith to the office." The key was to be clear and confident. If done right, Mrs. Smith was extinguishing her cigarette before the announcement was complete.
The deep talks almost always had to do with music. Analyzing the politically powerful statements of U2 or the impressive harmonies of Crosby, Stills and Nash. Or how to create a smoother song-to-song transition on your latest mellow mix tape. I vividly remember telling another guard that I would marry a man who wrote a song for me just like Gerry Rafferty's "Right Down the Line" and settle for nothing less.
Well, Jon isn't much for music composition, despite playing the sax until 8th grade. In retrospect, I think an accountant for a partner suits me better. I could never live on a musician's tour bus. Not even for a day.
Besides, I'm over the romantic idea of inspiring lyrics. Sigh.
I love Gerry Rafferty. Although 'Baker Street' is my #1, while the aforementioned 'Right down the line' is a close second ... I think his voice is more hypnotic than his lyrics, however, because I cant imagine you find "You've been as constant as the Northern Star" to be as lyrically enchanting as, say, "Tupelo Honey" by Van Morrison, or "Your Song" by Elton John ... I mean: 'I hope you don't mind that I put down in words how wondeful life is, while you're in world' is pretty strong.
ReplyDeleteI mean if Gerry Rafferty sang some Paul Simon songs, it might create a black hole of wonderful-ness.
By the way, the Foo Fighters do an amazing cover of "Baker Street".
I put Gerry Rafferty in my very important, yet sticky sweet favorites category along with the likes of: Cat Stevens, Jim Croce, John Denver, Dave Mason's "We Just Disagree" and Gordon Lightfoot.
I love Gordon Lightfoot ... In fact if anyone in our house says 'Sundown', I break into "Sundown, you better take care.." or if they say 'it's a Rainy Day' it's "Rainy Day People", same goes for family driving and one utters 'Highway' it's right into "Carefree Highway". They really don't enjoy it as much as I do, frankly.
By the way, I haven't forgotten that this was about first jobs... My teen summer year jobs were working in a factory where if it was 90 degrees outside, it was 115 in the factory, but since it dealt with fiberglass, you had to where old jeans and long sleeves. Fun.
That is until Avalon, as you remember, where it was bouncing at the Princeton and working at "Three Lucky Sister's Pizza Place" at the 29th Street Beach, now THAT was fun.