My first jobs were working in retail stores. Photo: @reinasmyth, Envato.
Back in 1993, there was no greater thrill than being able to buy the cassette single of Take That’s Relight My Fire with my own hard-earned money. (Don’t laugh. My musical taste got better, I promise.)
That was the year I landed my first weekend job, a shy 16-year-old ready to conquer the world of minimum wage and learn a few life lessons I’d carry forever – along with a permanent dislike of Ace of Bases’s hit All That She Wants after being on repeat over the store’s PA system.
Fast forward, and now my eldest is in the third year of her own summer job, which she enjoyed so much after one season that she decided to go out and secure an after-school and weekend job at a restaurant on top of it.
Now, she manages both jobs and school like it’s nothing.
Meanwhile, my youngest has decided it’s her turn to join the summertime workforce, opening up all kinds of conversations like, “What’s super and why does it not sound super exciting?”
A quick explanation about how $1000 today might mean $100,000 or more later in life seemed to convince her it’s worth it.
Future billionaire, she’s thinking.
But the professionalism around how my girls carry out their jobs seems a world away from when I started out.
My first job was in a $2 shop, and they wisely shoved me down the back of the store where I spent most of my time selling watch batteries to old men who ironically didn’t like to be kept waiting.
The boss lady was frightening, and you wouldn’t dare look her in the eye in fear you’d be extinguished by her firey gaze.
I survived that job about a year before moving to clothing store Best & Less, where the hottest items were handkerchiefs (does anyone even know what those are anymore?) and the lay-by line stretched to the horizon.
Or to haberdashery, at least.
Best & Less was basically college with a paycheck back then.
Sure, we sold things, but mostly it was about co-workers who made going to work feel like a party.
Although, true party night fell on stocktake, where we’d shut the doors at 6 pm, start counting socks and undies until midnight, eat pizza and blast out Top 40 hits.
And yes, we got paid for this.
We loved our job, with the only real downside being the annoying kid who would come along and push all the clothes to one end of the rack – right after you’d spent ages spacing each piece just so.
I must have done something right in that job, because when they decided to launch a store four hours away, I was asked to go along and help with opening weekend.
As a teenager, being valued enough to be put in a position to help train and nurture staff at other stores was a great boost to the confidence.
As I neared the end of college, I was offered a traineeship to become a Best & Less manager.
I could have said yes and allowed the party to continue for ever more.
But somehow the lure of a journalism cadetship two hours away from home in a region where it rains nine months of the year and drips off the trees the other three sounded more appealing.
Hence where I’ve ended up today.
But those early jobs gave me skills and lessons for life.
I gained confidence in talking to strangers, learned how to be a good leader, how to count back change, and how to prioritise between spending my money on an oversized Mambo jumper or petrol for my fuel-siphoning 1979 Holden Commodore.
Now, as I watch my daughters navigate retail and hospitality, I know it will give them lessons that will help shape who they are, give them a great work ethic and understand the value of a dollar.
If only those skills extended to cleaning their rooms.
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