Summer Job

Summer jobs!! I remember my mom telling me to get a job when I was in High School. For what? I was shocked. You mean, make money? I don’t even know how? After talking to some friends, they were in the same situation I was. Shit, fuck, piss…welcome to the real world. My friends and I applied at a Country Club halfway house in town. At least I am in good company.  

My two High School friends and myself interviewed together around a big table with our boss Juan. I probably just said whatever they said. Fuck I don’t know what I am doing. Just like that, we were hired as a trio on the spot. Wow okay, we were barely trained and were trying to figure out how to serve people. Sometimes adults think younger people have common sense. We don’t, we have no life experience until we are humbled by it.

I was super nervous, so many new responsibilities and making sure to not fuck shit up. My uniform was a non-breathable cotton oversized golf shirt, crammed into my khaki shorts. Welcome to golf clothes in the 90’s. My hair was curled and my bangs were fucking rocking. This is real Christine, you’ve got this. I was on the golfers side, my buddy at the pool window, and my friend at the caddy window (lucky fucker).

Golfers came through every 10 minutes. I had to work fast, so they would stay on time for their back nine. With being super new…serving alcohol was something I have never done before. I was 16 years old. The only alcohol I was sipping on was Jack Daniels coolers and Mikes Hard Lemonade in friend’s basements. Now, to make a legit cocktail or pour a beer, I’m super fucked. Speaking of beer…you should have SEEN the for the first time I ever poured a beer. I’ve watched my mom pour a Becks into a glass many times, she would throw a little salt in it and tilt the glass…Mom, why the salt and how much do I tilt? My dad drank bottled beer. I really had no idea how to serve alcohol. Shiiitt. 

Alright here we go, my first group is walking in. 

Guy: “Can I have a Coors Light?”

Me: “No problem, would you like that in a to-go cup?” I have no idea what I am doing. 

Guy: “Yea.” 

Me: I nodded okay. I grab the beer and it felt amazing opening it up. Easy Christine…When I was done pouring, there was 75% foam in his cup. SO MUCH FUCKING FOAM!! The guy looked at me, nodded and laughed. I was so embarrassed…Damit, you can do better than that. Crap, enjoy that fucking foam that probably took an hour to get down! 

Oh shit, here comes another group. My face is still pink from my last pour. Of course, he orders a beer. I’m ready this time. 

Guy 2: “Can I have a Corona?”

Me: “Would you like a to-go cup?” Trying to sounds more confident.

Guy 2: “Yea and put ice in it.” I never heard of ice in beer. So, I scooped a shit load of ice and tilted the fuck out of the cup. Phew, not so much foam. 

Guy 2: “Can I get a lime?”

Me: “What? Oh yea sure.” I didn’t even know limes were in Coronas. Ugh so much to learn.  

Crap, here comes another group. 

Guy 3: “Hi I would like a Heineken.” 

Me: “Okay, would you like a to-go cup with ice and a lime?” 

Guy 3: “NO! Only yuppie piss ants drink it with ice!!!” Holy fucking shit, he was mean. My face was deep red. There is definitely a place in hell for him. I saw him 3-4 times a week. 

I went home that day and felt defeated. From there on out, when my family was drinking beer, I asked to pour it. I can’t believe the stress I had that day.

The second day of work, I was super honest with anyone that came up and ordered a cocktail. I am not fucking around and wanted to make it right.

Guy 4: “Can I have a vodka and tonic?”

I literally put everything on the counter. So what goes in it? I got a lot of laughs out of golfers teaching a 16 year old how to make drinks. At least I was learning a life skill. Of course, I went home and my parents started showing me how to make cocktails. Now, I knew where the vodka stopped with how much mixer to add with a garnish. You know I enjoyed it and should’ve been a bartender…damit, maybe it’s not too late.  

If I was not serving the golfers window, I was making sandwiches. Constantly making turkey, ham, and chicken salad sandwiches with lettuce, mayo, pickles, and tomatoes. Fucking Deli Lady.  

I was fast at making sandwiches and liked being behind the scenes. My face was less red and I could swear more in the back. There always was this one person who would question all the meats, condiments, extras, and anything else on the sandwich. They needed shit to be fresh…don’t you dare give them “day old shit.”  

Buddy: “Hey, Christine how’s the bread today?” Wtf? looking puzzled as my friend was asking me. I walked up to the window. Awe of course it’s you. 

Picky: “How is the bread today, is it fresh?” 

Me: “Yes.” They never believed me.

Picky: “Can I see them all?”

Me: I nodded, “Of course.” I grabbed all the breads and put them on the counter. I would stand there and watch them pinch each loaf. Hmmm which bread was the softest today?

Picky: “I will take the whole wheat.” Great choice, now that you have destroyed a few slices of bread. “How is the Chicken Salad?” 

Me: “It’s good.” Nodding my fucking head harder and making my eyes even super big to show her that I meant it was good.

Picky: “Can you bring it to me?

Me: “Yes, it was made today.” They then, would literally sniff the Chicken Salad in the metal container…stare at it…and think. 

Picky: “Okay, fine I will have the chicken salad.” 

Me: “Toasted?” 

Picky: “Yea that sounds nice.” Now, I am not sure what the fucking point was after all that pinching of the bread, when you get it toasted. BUT I would always aim to please this one person after all this shit. I would make their a sandwich with a lot of love. The first sandwich I made them, they sent it back. That feeling is the worst, when people would complain. We did this same routine once a week.

This one time, I made that grouchy mother fucker “Guy 3” a frozen pizza and it was still frozen!! I never made a pizza before! I can only blame Juan or myself…I blame Juan.  

Guy 3: “How’s the pizza?”

Me: I shrug. “Good.” I actually have no idea if it’s good or not. Pizza is Pizza.

I popped it into the microwave, trying to read the instructions. It’s been a few minutes.

Guy 3: “Where’s my pizza?” 

Me: “It’s coming.” I don’t know if it’s coming. Wtf, I’ll check on it.

Guy 3: “When?” He’s starting to get pisst.

Me: “Maybe 5 more minutes.” Damit, his group is pretty much finished eating. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.  

Guy 3: “I need my pizza.” I literally plopped the microwave pizza on a plate and gave it to him. He took one bite and yelled at me. He left so mad. Again, tell Satan hello for me when you get there. I told my boss to take these fucking frozen pizza’s off the menu. They were to time consuming and we honestly didn’t know how to make them. He finally took them off the menu. That saved me a lot of shit.

Kids serving adults is fucking brutal!! I wish I saw all the caddies. I only got to work the caddy window maybe once or twice. I was getting so used to knowing the golfers, their normal orders, and pouring drinks. So it only made sense for me to stay at my normal window. 

My friend was living a wet dream seeing boys all day. Caddy’s orders were always the same, gatorade and hot dog. I wish I could serve a wiener!!! I would try to make myself noticeable in the background while serving the other window. There was this one guy I had a crush on and would die to see. His name was Mason. My friend would yell to me “Pope, Mason is coming up” and she would duck out and cover the golfers window for me, while I served him. I was grinning like an ape serving a hot dog. Damit, don’t look so desperate Christine. My face would be red of course. We all had crushes on the caddies, it was the best part of our day. After they left the window, we would talk about them.

After a long day in the halfway house, it was time to go home. Our legs were tired and we were sweaty messes. We had little jobs that we needed to do to before we went home. My buddy was good at the computer. She would take all the chits, go to the clubhouse, and manually put everything in ordered that day…pop, beer, sandwich, popsicle in the computer system. Computer was so archaic…we have it so easy today. She was the fastest at it. Back in the halfway house, there was cleaning, wiping, and mopping to do. My friend and I would be blasting 90’s music in the background. So fucking good. Ask Alexa to play “I miss the 90’s” it’s a good mix. There was one song in particular that would come on and we would sing it so loud…“Closing Time” by Semisonic. You should see how fucking fast we would worked with “Closing Time” playing. Kids would try to come up to order last minute shit and we would just shake our heads “nooooooo”. My friend would be vacuuming and wiping off tables. I would be mopping the floor. Love me some dirty soap water and a disgusting mop.

I learned a lot that summer…Cheers…what was your first job?

Whose ready for a beer?

One thought on “Summer Job

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  1. My first job was sorting microfiche in the basement of an insurance company. On the one hand it was a good little introduction to corporate drudgery, preparing me for the world to come, but when you’re 14 it’s pretty dispiriting.


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