The first article from a forthcoming series about my job experiences, as much as I can remember from them that is. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the events that unfold and turn me into who I am today.
For someone who is only 19, I’ve done my fair share of job searching. I started my first job when I was 15. I was bored and wanted something to do — and I wanted some cash. I didn’t know where to start but didn’t have many options anyway. My hometown was small (there is only one stoplight “downtown”), I couldn’t drive, and I had no idea what type of job I’d like to do. I put an application in at three places.
Our local grocery market was the first. The application was extensive, very cleanly put together, and detailed. It was obviously the production of an experienced HR representative. The grocery does after all have stores in a number of the small farm towns in South Central Pennsylvania.
The second was the local butcher shop. The clean up work I applied to do there was leaps and bounds different than the standing in a checkout line I’d be doing in the grocery. The application was very simple and generic. It was stapled together at the top corner and the quality of the printing was nonexistent. They need a new printer is what I’m saying. It even asked how many words per minute I could type. Words per minute had nothing to do with the work required but I filled in the space anyway. A measly 35 WPM at the time. Although there hasn’t been all that much improvement. Don’t judge me though. It’s not about how fast you type, it’s about the content.
I also applied to the town’s “pharmacy”. It was more of a general store, but to each his own. I don’t have much to say about this place. I didn’t know much about it. That’s probably why I didn’t get the job. I didn’t pursue it much anyways because one of the other two called me rather quickly.
The day after I had turned in the application to Wayne Nell and Son’s Meats, I received a phone call from, let’s call her, Barbara. She wanted to bring me in for “questions”; she didn’t even call it an interview. I went the next Monday for my questions. As it turned out, the questions were more of an orientation, showing me where things were, introducing me to other employees, and handing me my first W-4. The only question asked was, “When can you start?”
As she showed me around, I remember seeing the guys on the floor processing the animals. It was always under 50 degrees in the building, which I came to enjoy. Never broke a sweat. They didn’t show me the “kill floor” until about a week after I started, and I’m okay with that. I steered clear of there. It really wasn’t that bad; don’t get me wrong. Things in a butcher shop are done way more humanely than you’d probably imagine.
“We’re gonna start you at $7.35 an hour,” Barbara informed.
Read Job Search, II next!