What a horrible way to barely make a living...

I was 14 years old.

In the state of Virginia you have to be 14 to be able to get a workers permit.  With a workers permit, you can get a job, assuming someone will give you one, but there are heavy restrictions of how long, when, and what you can do.  I wasn't getting an allowance, like other kids my age.  There were things I wanted. Namely, games for my Nintendo.  My Nintendo was a gift from my grandfather, one of the few things I ever got as a gift.  When it came to presents from my Mom and Stepdad, they mostly consisted of cheap clothes. I wasn't gonna get Nintendo games for a birthday, or Christmas, or any other day.  If I wanted them I had to get a job and make enough money to buy them.  This seems quite fair now that I am an adult, but as a kid, not so much so.  I learned the value of a dollar quickly back in those days, especially when I bought my first car, paid for my car insurance, and provided myself with just about every other essential except the roof over my head and the occasional meal from the kitchen.  They gave me the basic necessities to live, I bought the rest with my own money.

I walked into the guidance counselors office at the school and asked for a workers permit.  The process was quite simple.  Fill out a postcard sized form, have your parents sign it, have your prospective employer sign it, turn it back in, and BANG, you join the ranks of the working world.

My first (W-2 producing, not paid under the table) job was with a company that I will leave nameless.  It was a RESEARCH FARM in the SOUTHERN STATES of the country.  I actually held two jobs with this company. The first was feeding chickens and gathering eggs.  Sounds simple enough, right?  Well, it was, but it was also slightly more involved than what you think.  There were several chicken houses, with several hundred chickens in each (maybe in the thousand range, its been a while, cut me some slack).  Each house had a special feed and the research farm wanted to test if certain feeds helped the chickens produce more eggs.  So you had to measure out a very specific amount of feed per cage, and count the eggs that were produced.  All of this had to be documented on a clipboard.  My job was to do the Sunday shift.  The research farm was about 9 miles from my house, and all I had was my trusty bike.  So I would shoot off, pedal to the farm, feed chickens, gather and document the number of eggs, and pedal back.  All for a whopping $4.25/hour.

If you have never been in a chicken house, count yourself lucky.  The chicken houses were cinder block buildings that echoed badly.  With several hundred chickens all making the most ungodly racket you ever heard, it was piercing.  If you made a loud noise, like slamming the door, they would all hush, but that only lasted 5 seconds or so before the roar of the chickens reached deafening tones again.  In addition, chickens do NOT like it when you take their eggs.  The wire cages were just large enough for a chicken to fit its head through the wire mesh and peck your hand as you reached for the eggs.  Now I am a huge animal lover. Ask anyone who knows me, I have a zoo at my house.  Birds, dogs, lizards, rabbits, you name it, I love it.  I would NEVER condone the abuse of an animal, ever.  However, the person who trained me showed me a trick to getting the eggs from a cage where the chicken wouldn't let you in.  You open the door, grab the chicken around the neck, and shake it head back at forth a couple of times.  This causes the chicken to get dizzy and gives you enough time to grab the eggs.  Picture a dizzy chicken.  Yep, its exactly what you see in your head.

My other job at the research farm was pollinating corn.

Yes, pollinating corn.

I thought it didn't require human intervention either, but at the research farm, it does.  They wanted to test different strains of pollen to see which created the largest ears of corn, I think.  The details are a bit fuzzy as I didn't exactly pay attention back then to the why, and it was a very long time ago.  Picture this, its 95 degrees Fahrenheit (35 degrees Celcius for my International readers).  You have to wear long pants and long sleeved shirts or be horribly itchy all day, and you are in the middle of a corn field, pollinating corn.

The process was simple enough.  Little while sleeves over the ears of corn to cover the fibers where the pollen would go.  Brown paper bags go over the top of the stalk, stapled shut so nothing could get in.  Ear after ear, stalk after stalk, row after row, acre after acre.  Sounds exciting right?  Riiiiight.

And yes, all for $4.25/hour.

I have been a dishwasher, a busboy, bailed hay, and done countless other jobs for little to no pay.  I think that's why I worked so hard when I got better paying jobs.  I wanted more and was willing to work for it, because I knew what was worse.  And welfare wasn't an option.

My daughter got her first job recently.  She works at an unnamed restaurant.  They serve seafood. LOBSTERS, ones that are RED.  She buses tables, and after she gets her cut of the tips, makes between $11-$12/hour.  She likes her job and more importantly, she likes earning her own money.  She is starting to learn the value of a dollar as well.  We make her save half, and usually she saves more than that on her own. I wont go into the politics on this blog post, but imagine how much better off our country would be if everyone worked hard, learned the value of a dollar and was more concerned with earning it, rather than having it given to them.

What was your first job?  Was it terrible?  Leave comments and thoughts below.  Also, please share with others!