Do you remember your first job? The job where you went to work and worked for someone other than a family member? A job where you were given a regular schedule to work – you know – Monday, Wednes-day, and Saturdays from 5:00 p.m. until 11 p.m.? A job where you got a paycheck, with taxes withheld every two weeks?
I was thinking about my first job the other day. I landed my first job the summer between 8th grade and 9th grade. I know. How could I have worked so young? What can I say, I lived in North Dakota.
My first job was as a carhop at an A & W Drive Inn. No, I didn’t wear roller skates or wear a short skirt. The drive inn had a 25-car gravel lot. It was located between 10th street and University Drive in Fargo along 1st Avenue North. I lived at 1525 North 10th Street.
My transportation to work were my feet or the city bus.
The drive inn was the quintessential 50s drive inn. A single low, long diner shaped like a train car sitting parallel to the concrete sidewalk along 1st Avenue, diner in the front and drive inn in the back. The A & W orange building drew hungry folks into the diner early in the morning. By noon the 25-car lot would turn 3 times between noon and 1:00 p.m. A lull in the afternoon gave way to a busy supper rush with orders for Mama Burgers, Papa Burgers and Baby Burgers. Throughout the evening hours cars full of teens and families came and went. Every order included at least one A & W Root Beer in a frosty mug.
I never had a single mug stolen. Once the order was taken, I would place a small orange card under the window wiper with a big black number on it. The number corresponded with the number of those heavy glass root beer mugs included in the order. When the car was ready to leave, the driver would flash the headlights or honk the horn. I’d take the card off the windshield, count the mugs on the tray and when they matched, I’d place the card between the mugs and remove the tray and thank the customer. If the number did not match, I would say, “There is a mug missing,” and stand next to the car and wait without removing the tray until the mug was handed out. If I had a mug stolen I would have to pay for it out of my salary.
My salary was 50 cents per hour and tips, of course. I don’t remember the customers being big tippers but I know I got them. As part of my work outfit – no uniform – I wore one of those coin changers that would dispense dimes, nickels and quarters around my waist. I also wore a small apron with two pockets; one for the order book and those important orange cards and one for loose change – tips. If I worked all summer until the drive inn closed in late October I would get a bonus, 25 cents per hour for every hour I had worked the entire summer.
My transportation home was squeezed in between two other carhops in the back seat of Bert Hill’s Cadillac. Bert was the owner and never ever allowed one of the carhops to go home after work with anyone but him or the carhop’s parents.
I remember the very first night that Bert drove me home at 11:30 p.m. When he pulled up in front of my house, my mom was sitting on the front step. As I ap-proached the steps, she held out her arms and I nestled in next to her. She asked, “How did it go?”
I cried and said, “I’m never going back.”
In the summer of my sophomore year, I finally left the drive inn to take a “better paying” job at the Fargo Theatre
I wonder what “first job” memories our youth are creating today?
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Do you remember your first job? The job where you went to work and worked for someone other than a family member? A job where you were given a regular schedule to work – you know – Monday, Wednes-day, and Saturdays from 5:00 p.m. until 11 p.m.? A job where you got a paycheck, with taxes withheld every two weeks?
I was thinking about my first job the other day. I landed my first job the summer between 8th grade and 9th grade. I know. How could I have worked so young? What can I say, I lived in North Dakota.
My first job was as a carhop at an A & W Drive Inn. No, I didn’t wear roller skates or wear a short skirt. The drive inn had a 25-car gravel lot. It was located between 10th street and University Drive in Fargo along 1st Avenue North. I lived at 1525 North 10th Street.
My transportation to work were my feet or the city bus.
The drive inn was the quintessential 50s drive inn. A single low, long diner shaped like a train car sitting parallel to the concrete sidewalk along 1st Avenue, diner in the front and drive inn in the back. The A & W orange building drew hungry folks into the diner early in the morning. By noon the 25-car lot would turn 3 times between noon and 1:00 p.m. A lull in the afternoon gave way to a busy supper rush with orders for Mama Burgers, Papa Burgers and Baby Burgers. Throughout the evening hours cars full of teens and families came and went. Every order included at least one A & W Root Beer in a frosty mug.
I never had a single mug stolen. Once the order was taken, I would place a small orange card under the window wiper with a big black number on it. The number corresponded with the number of those heavy glass root beer mugs included in the order. When the car was ready to leave, the driver would flash the headlights or honk the horn. I’d take the card off the windshield, count the mugs on the tray and when they matched, I’d place the card between the mugs and remove the tray and thank the customer. If the number did not match, I would say, “There is a mug missing,” and stand next to the car and wait without removing the tray until the mug was handed out. If I had a mug stolen I would have to pay for it out of my salary.
My salary was 50 cents per hour and tips, of course. I don’t remember the customers being big tippers but I know I got them. As part of my work outfit – no uniform – I wore one of those coin changers that would dispense dimes, nickels and quarters around my waist. I also wore a small apron with two pockets; one for the order book and those important orange cards and one for loose change – tips. If I worked all summer until the drive inn closed in late October I would get a bonus, 25 cents per hour for every hour I had worked the entire summer.
My transportation home was squeezed in between two other carhops in the back seat of Bert Hill’s Cadillac. Bert was the owner and never ever allowed one of the carhops to go home after work with anyone but him or the carhop’s parents.
I remember the very first night that Bert drove me home at 11:30 p.m. When he pulled up in front of my house, my mom was sitting on the front step. As I ap-proached the steps, she held out her arms and I nestled in next to her. She asked, “How did it go?”
I cried and said, “I’m never going back.”
In the summer of my sophomore year, I finally left the drive inn to take a “better paying” job at the Fargo Theatre
I wonder what “first job” memories our youth are creating today?
