Working for a Living

I have read that our earliest memory, or even what we believe to be our earliest memory, carries a lot of information about how we see the world. If it's a dark thought, we are pessimistic and fearful as adults; if it's happy, we've turned out to be cheery and optimistic, blah blah blah. I am beginning to think that the same thing applies to our first job--an experience that imprints us with a lasting impression of the work world.

In my 15th summer, my father, a salesman for a dry cleaning equipment and supply company, "pulled some strings" and got me a job at Busy Bee Cleaners in Baldwin, New York. He warned me that the only way he would "use his connections" was if I promised to work there for the whole summer. Eager for a taste of freedom, I agreed.

My job at Busy Bee, from 9 in the morning until 5 in the evening, was stamping each customer's name onto the inside of each collar of every shirt brought in for cleaning. I did this in a room located at the bottom of a laundry chute, into which the delivery trucks emptied their daily haul. The shirts cascaded down into a big pile. I took each one, one by one, placed it into the label machine, spelled out the name and pushed the stamping mechanism forward. Had I lasted more than three days at this task, I would have had some mighty toned upper arms. Alas, not.

The cleaning establishment had no air conditioning. The room was in the basement. Just writing this is making me anxious. I am going out for a walk.