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In the spring of 1985, at age 16, I got a work permit and landed a job scooping ice cream at $3.60 an hour—slightly more than the state’s $3.35 minimum wage.
Before then, I brought in cash by mowing lawns, cleaning rain gutters, and selling the Sunday papers (yes, Los Angeles had two major dailies back then). But with a car and college on the horizon, I wanted a stable income.
I kept my job search within walking distance of home, submitting two applications to start: one at McDonald’s, the other at a local chain drugstore.
Not hearing anything back from either, my dad and I revisited the drugstore. I talked to Frances, a clerk we’d known for years. Familiar with the inner workings of the store’s talent acquisition process, she led my dad and me to the manager’s podium at the front of the store.
Opening the podium’s lower cabinet, Frances pulled out a clipboard clutching dozens of paper applications. Once we found my application, she gently slid it out and placed it at the very top of the stack. “I’ll tell Mr. Sanchez about you.”
Within days, I was called for an interview, handed an employee handbook and a polyester uniform, and assigned a start date after school let out for the summer.
The summer heat brought long lines and some awkward interactions as I learned the ropes. I also had to build some arm strength: chocolate malted crunch and other popular ice cream flavors were hard as a rock when fresh from the walk-in freezer.
Still, the store became part of my identity. I went on to work at the photo counter, manage the candy inventory, and do other tasks.
Managers sought me out for advice on merchandising the store to local tastes and a customer once shared that she waited all week to ask an inventory question because she knew I would be there Saturday to give her a thoughtful answer.
A couple of years in, I mentioned to the store manager that I wasn’t climbing the union pay scale because I worked only part-time on weekends during the school year. Pay raises were mostly based on cumulative hours worked. She reviewed my file and saw I was making only about 50 cents more per hour than when I’d started.
Next pay cycle, she raised my pay to the top of the scale. I recall my new hourly wage as a “journeyman” clerk was just north of $8 an hour, closer to that of a full-time grocery clerk.
Suddenly, I was making more than I ever would have earned at a fast-food gig or at many mall stores back then.
The extra income boosted my college savings, especially when I worked full-time over summer break. I didn’t have to rely on financial aid and never had to take out a loan for college or graduate school. Upon graduation, I had money in the bank, a healthy emergency fund, and no debt weighing me down.
In all, I worked eight years at that store. Beyond the money and the strong financial starting point it provided, I see several life lessons in the experience, including:
The support of family, plenty of good luck, and the goodwill of others are also evident. Frances didn’t have to put in a good word for me, and management didn’t have to raise my pay.
Shortly after starting at the drugstore, I bought lunch at McDonald’s and was served by the manager I’d met months earlier. He asked why I didn’t submit the application I’d been given. I had.
That lost application ended up having a ripple effect. It led to a better-paying job, years of steady work, and a strong financial head start. Apparently, the inner workings—or shortcomings—of the fast-food talent acquisition process had worked in my favor.
My first “real’ job that wasn’t babysitting was at the local public library in my hometown. It was my senior year of high school, and I worked every day after school and a full day on Saturday. I got whatever minimum wage was in 1978–I want to say $2.50 an hour?
At the time, it seemed like stable income that I needed for spending money when I went to college the next fall. Your “networking” point was relevant in my case—my father was the president of the library board, and our family had made weekly Saturday morning trips as a family to stock up on reading for the week, so I definitely had an “in.” There was no asking for a raise, though—it was a public library and on a tight budget.
I agree with all four points you make in your essay. When my son was 15, he got his first job assembling bikes in a bike shop. That job put money in his pocket that was his own and gave him a skill that he could use at other bike shops until he graduated from college. Even better, it allowed his parents to help fund a Roth Ira that has grown considerably over the years. What it didn’t do was pay for his college education. When I graduated with a masters degree in 1972, the total cost amounted to about $10,000, much of which I paid for myself. Our son’s 4 years of college, on the other hand, cost $150,000 when he graduated in 2001. College today is unfortunately becoming an effort that can only be financed by families with means, or by substantial debt.
In ‘80 I graduated with 10K in loans, of course my first job only paid 13.5 K
Thanks for sharing your story, D.J. Very inspiring!