It's in those thankless jobs that you must find gratitude within.
-Denise Schutte, Pub employee By the time I'd arrived in Athens, I'd had my share of crappy jobs.
You know what I mean: the long hours with low pay, the stupid uniforms with plastic nametags and haughty bosses with how-to tapes. These jobs were thankless, and many times they were also humiliating and degrading. Yet those were the jobs that got me here, and hopefully they were also the jobs I'll never have to go back to once I get out of here.
Until I'd arrived in Athens, I'd never known that a sort of independent freedom could exist in a thankless, minimum-wage job that suddenly seemed strangely... fun.
As a teenager growing up in the restaurant business, I never seemed to be fully trusted by my supervisors. I was told where to go and what to do. I was reprimanded for sitting, for standing, for eating, for talking -for dozens of little things that only seemed to contradict themselves and trivialize my experiences in four minimum-wage jobs. I never got to choose my uniform, my hours or even my music. I was never able to just work. There was always something or someone directing my attention somewhere else.
Then I landed my first job in Athens. After responding to an ad in the newspaper, I was soon employed at a bakery where I was planted in front of a wooden table and directed to bag breads, ice cakes and grease pans. It was boring, slow and simple, but it was there I was allowed to bring in my own music, and with that choice an enormous sense of independence was unleashed.
It was a choice -not a request, an order or a command, but an independent decision to listen to whatever I wanted to hear. Yeah, I was bored most of the time, but as long as I had The Commercials or 311 or Saves the Day pumping into my ears, I could stand there and work like an automaton for hours.
That was my first experience with what I'll call workplace freedom. And while I've lived in Athens, I've only found more.
From the moment I walked into The Pub and met the manager, Tom, I've enjoyed almost every moment I've spent at The Pub. In that dark little bar I discovered that the minimum-wage experience could be helpful, entertaining and empowering.
At The Pub resides a working community of students and residents that are not only co-workers, but also friends. Through the hours and hangovers, we can keep each other going, laughing and joking. It lacks both drama and dullness. It holds the most fun with the least authority.
In my two years at The Pub, I've found that I can easily balance both responsibility and independence. Tom didn't hesitate to let me open the kitchen by myself or attempt to prepare chili. He's let me learn from my mistakes while still maintaining my dignity. And I can still listen to my own music.
I realize that not everyone is as lucky as me when it comes to holding a job in Athens. Not everyone has a job they love. Some of us still have to endure the stupid uniforms, the tacky nametags and the boss with a chip on his shoulder. But we do what we have to do to bring in the dough, and I respect those that can stick with a job they hate.
As more resumes and networking e-mails begin to fill my days, I can't help but look back on all of my crappy, thankless minimum-wage jobs that I'll somehow and somewhat miss. Maybe it's the fact that it's in those jobs that we learn what having a job really means. It means long hours, criticism and perseverance. Looking back, I see how these jobs contributed to my gradual change from a kid and into an adult.
So thank you Tom. Thanks Pub, and every other minimum-wage gig I've ever had. It's in those memories I'm sure I'll find escape from whatever's next. Because here exists a world alone: where there are safety meetings instead of board meetings, where there are tax returns as opposed to tax audits, where there are Levi 501's in lieu of 401K's.
It's the world of minimum wage.
-Liza Martin is a senior journalism major. Send her an e-mail at lm258701@ohiou.edu.
17 Archives
Letter to the Editor
