Teasing my granddaughter Nellie the other day as she crash landed a tray with coffee and biscuits in front of me, I said she would need more practice if she ever intended being a waitress. The instant rather characteristic reply was, ”why, you said I was cut out to be a lawyer,” rather underlining the case for that statement if quick responses are anything to go by. Realizing the importance of a credible answer in order to immediately divert any rising suspicion that grandad garbles a lot of rubbish whenever it suits him, I found my safe harbour in, ” you´re going to need a summer job, aren´t you? The logic of that raised a slight smile and an acknowledging if somewhat reluctant nod and we both went on with our day.
That little conversation brought to mind my own experience of summer jobs and in a rear mirror perspective their effect on me. With few exceptions the two common denominators were boredom and cash. Not really a bad starting point in life becoming aware that any future sustainable existence could result in sacrificing one´s soul on the alter of boredom. There were of course exceptions and not all boring jobs were without their highlights.
As I am not counting doing a paper round as a boy or selling ice cream in my parent´s business, my first real summer job ever was as a Horsham council refuse collector generally referred to as a dustman. I have few negative memories of this job although I understand if people wonder about that when I describe carrying heavy dustbins from their location at the back of the house to the dustcart and then having to manually empty them. Maybe I didn`t have time to ponder over this as we had specific rounds that meant once completed our work would be done for the day which could be early afternoon.
The year after saw me driving a lorry for the council´s parks department. That was the good part sitting behind the wheel depositing lawn mowers and council workers to ”grass needs cutting” locations. That and picking them up at the end of the working day was the interesting parenthesis where wielding a hand scythe was the dominating flavour for the rest of the day. On occasion a sorry looking pile of grass at the back of the lorry would induce me to convince my co-workers it was time for me to take a trip to the tip. On Fridays we collected our pay, standing in line to receive a small brown envelope with holes in it. I was paid £10 a week with no tax deduction as I was a student, resulting in me earning more money than the men I worked together with and had families to support. The holes in the envelope were there to check that the amount of pay was correct, as once opening the envelope there would be no recourse for complaint.
Learning is like oxygen, an unseen pre-requisite for life. Perhaps the most mind bogglingly boring job I have ever come across has stuck in my mind as vividly as when I was a boy once attempting to join two electric cables together without turning the power off. Every morning I was picked up outside my home by a landrover complete with a tractor on a trailer and as one of a team of four driven to any one of the many chicken farms within a radius of maybe 20 or 30 miles. The tractor was used to clean out enormous chicken sheds and was driven exclusively by the driver of the landrover. There was a definite pecking order and man number two was responsible for moving things that needed to be moved and replacing them afterwards. My immediate superior was man number three, a man of few words I might add, whose soul task in working life was to point a steam gun at a chicken feeding receptacle and once satisfied it was clean enough wait for man number three, your´s truly, to turn it round for further attention on the reverse side. Eight hours a day minus travelling time and that for several weeks. Best lesson ever.
My first experience with cruise ships including the Queen Mary was a summer job working for a carpet cleaning company. This mostly involved driving round to various locations with large areas of wall to wall carpeting and steam cleaning them. The mobility and frequent changes of location not to mention the odd celebrity made for rather a good fun job. The prize however was a trip to Southampton and spending a few days cleaning cruise ship carpets, hotel and expenses all included. One of the perks for my QPR supporter workmates was filling the Dalek look alike vacuum cleaners with duty free cigarettes purchased from the crew way down in the holds of the ship. I have to readily admit I profited from this contraband as at the time I smoked although considering the quantities involved I suspect there existed further motivation for these guys than just dying for a fag. Her Majesty´s Customs and Excise were apparently not fussy about the whys and wherefores and each of them ended up being fined £80 which is more than a £1000 in today´s money. Me? I overslept that morning and was initially very upset that I had missed out on cheap smokes. Lady Luck wags finger.
Perhaps the most useful if not the most exciting summer job I had was as an odd job assistant doing anything from mixing plaster or cement to fixing leaking pipes thus paving the way for my later D.I.Y. home owner career.
Writing editorials for conservative Svenska Dagbladet, one of Sweden´s leading national newspapers was definitely not boring and had little to do with cash, as I was already earning a living as a teacher and not caring much about the extra income. A love of writing, an interest in politics, writing in Swedish, writing for a newspaper with a circulation of well over 100 000 readers was about as tantalizing as it gets. In fact I could hardly sleep, waiting for the distinct sound of next day`s newspaper complete with my very first editorial make it`s way through the letterbox to land with a gentle thud on the floor of my borrowed one room flat. As summer jobs go undoubtedly the best.