Savoring memories of summer jobs

For high-schoolers, summer jobs are right around the corner.

If you're that age and anything like I was, you're probably already picking out the perfect job. It's fun to imagine. There you are bronzed and lifeguarding at the local pool. Adoring girls track your every move. Or maybe you're waiting tables at that restaurant where the jet set dines and leaves nothing but fat tips.

It's important to dream. But trust me when I say no summer job ever ends up quite like you plan.

Because when you're young, to paraphrase Groucho Marx, you don't want to work for any place that would have you as a member.

I know this because when it comes to summer jobs, I've had 'em all. Close to 10 in total. And one thing always rings true: The sweeter the job sounds on paper, the more vicious the surprise lying in wait.

For instance, one summer I landed what I thought was a cherry job at a local car wash. It seemed great. I was picturing myself surrounded by aspiring bikini models beating the heat by spraying each other with suds.

What I found when I showed up was tattooed guys on a prison work-release program. Surprise! Thankfully, bikinis never came into play.

A couple of years later I got a different job loading and unloading marble slabs from flatbed trucks. Sounded pretty good at the time. It wasn't until I started working that I discovered my co-workers were all Bosnian immigrants.

I had no problem with their nationality. In fact, I love learning about different cultures. But when work involves lifting and moving 800-pound slabs of rock, communication and teamwork are essential. And I never knew what the heck these guys were saying.

After dodging a couple falling slabs and seeing one of my co-workers break his collarbone and lose most of his ear in an unloading mishap, I started to re-evaluate my summer job decision.

I guess I didn't learn from my mistakes.

My biggest summer job flub was when I signed on to wait tables at the only four-star retirement community in Missouri. It's where St. Louis' aristocracy go to be crabby up until the bitter end. Good times all around.

The surprises at this job were plentiful. But probably the biggest revelation was about myself. Turned out I wasn't much of a waiter, and the snooty set didn't have much patience for my incompetence -- a bad combination.

During my first couple of weeks, I bumbled through orders and dealt with the incredulity of old-timers when I didn't know how to prepare their war-era favorites like Waldorf salad.

Things soon got worse.

Flustered and unsure of myself, I was at wit's end one night when a birthday party of nine sat down in my section. They ordered a special vintage of red wine for starters. So I had the bartender uncork some bottles and pour the drinks.

Coming back to the table tray in hand, I first went to serve the grand dame who also happened to be the birthday girl. She sat at the head of the table in her nicest cream-colored outfit surrounded by loved ones. It was clear she had had her hair done. This was a special day.

So what did I do? Well, of course, I leaned down to serve the grand dame and inadvertently dumped the tray of eight glasses of wine all over her. Her hair, her dress -- everything was drenched in sticky red Bordeaux.

Never before or since have I seen people so horrified. But after the dust cleared and the meals were comped, I kept my job waiting tables. Even did it again the following summer.

I learned a lot about myself from these jobs. I'm glad I had them. So to all you high school kids, I hope someday you'll feel the same about the jobs you take this summer.

At the very least, you'll learn staying in school might not be so bad.

TJ Greaney is a reporter for the Southeast Missourian.