Many people have summer jobs, generally when there in school and/or trying to earn money for necessary things, tuition for college being a good example. I’ve never had one of those strictly per say,  but when you’re hired in May and you only last two months, it’s pretty darn close.

My family moved back to Texas in the middle of the summer which was a problem for me. School was out, which meant no daily interactions and we lived outside of town. I could’ve walked the two or three miles to get there, except that said location had a library and a courthouse, and that was pretty much it. I’m an active person and need things to do lest I get bored. But when you live in a humid house with no t.v., have only six books because the others are being shipped and you’ve read them all, and new to town and have no one to hang out with–you’d be shocked if you didn’t go completely bonkers.

It was an utter relief when I got a job at a local fast food restaurant. Never mind that the pay was crap and it was only a couple days a week–it helped me stay sane. That is, right until in nearly drove me off a cliff.

The issues started after I’d been there about two weeks. When business was slow the manager liked to send someone home. And who was this most fortunate individual you may ask? That’s right, me. Every single time. In truth, it was a minor irritant, and could probably have been tolerated if they didn’t stick me with other stuff. If the lot needed to be swept, trash cans emptied, or the bathroom cleaned and I was there, I got the undesirable pleasure of performing the task. And usually, it was either after I had finished, or during the task that someone would come up to me and say that I could go home when I was done.


It all came to a boil toward the end of my two month mark. My employer said that there was an issue with my pants. The problem? Allegedly, they were jeans and company policy prohibited them. I don’t know what the pants were made of, but they were a cloth-like material and defiantly not jeans. You’d think if they’d been such an issue someone would’ve pointed them out in the first few days of my employment. Apparently not.

They wanted me to buy a completely new pair. Never forget the fact that this town had a thrift store as my only option and that they’d been cutting back my hours to the point that I was lucky to work two hours a week. I wasn’t going to buy a pair of pants from a thrift store–that may or may not have a return policy–and hope that someone wasn’t going to take issue with it. Not going to happen.

I gave this rant–in a condensed and much harsher form–to a manager one day after the initial announcement. You can imagine how it went. Out the door they sent me and I never went back. In some ways, I was fortunate. I lost the job only a couple of days before school, so it wasn’t that long before I had things to keep myself busy with. Still, I do have a piece of advice for all those firecrackers out there.

Keep your cool and if you must leave your job, do it on your terms, not their’s.


Disclaimer: I do not own the imagery used in this blog post and I have no artistic claim to it.


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