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When my dad said that I had to get a summer job, I immediately thought of something like flipping burgers at McDonald’s and did not warm up to that image. Thankfully, he suggested applying for a job at the parks department lining baseball fields. I exhaled, thankful that I was not stuck with the alternative. Turns out, I was in for a bit of a surprise.
First off, I had to apply and go to an interview. It was the normal stuff like “why should we hire you” and “tell us about yourself.” A couple weeks later, my mom got a phone call informing her that I was hired. I then had to fill out a bunch of paperwork, which I characteristically left until 9 o’clock the night before it was due. Then I had to take a drug test, which I passed, but not before making the rookie mistake of showing up without a drop to spare. Fortunately, I was able to squeeze out enough lemonade to fill the cup.
When school let out, I went to the compound for my first day. I had no idea what to expect. I waited for what felt like an eternity while the rest of the summer help were given their marching orders. At last, it was down to the two new hires—a kid who just graduated high school and me—waiting to find out what the head honcho wanted us to do. I was put on trash detail. I was a little disappointed because I was hoping to do something like mow or take care of the ball fields. I soon discovered that trash is one of the least desirable jobs to have. After a day-long shift of emptying trash cans, I returned home smelling like pure dog feces.