First jobs can be a labor of love

As I shaved recently, the voices on National Public Radio were discussing listeners who had responded to a story about a new book of quotations. The quote that caught my ear had been submitted by a man named Sam Hamburg, who was quoting himself:

"Everyone is entitled to a bad first job and a bad first marriage."

Everyone but me, I lamented over my sink, because my first job was the best one I ever had. As we observe Labor Day, read on to see whether your first job mirrored my happy experiences or was like a bad first marriage.

I had just turned 17 and completed my junior year of high school. I walked into the largest grocery store in town (it was a small town, you understand) and asked for a job. Two days later I started working for $1.19 an hour, the minimum wage at the time.

I was ecstatic when I tied my laundered white apron, bagged that first paper sack of groceries and carried them to a customer's car. Though it was hard work, I look back on that part-time job with nothing but good memories. That first job taught me about people, money and life.

I saw how the job I did could help or hurt those around me. I learned to get along with co-workers -- something that had never occurred growing up in a houseful of siblings. I knew I represented the store even when I wasn't on the clock.

If the First Law of Bagboys was that the customer is always right (we knew better, which made obeying that law even more important), the Second Law was: Accept no tips unless it would anger or insult the shopper.

As summer progressed, so did my career. I learned to stock shelves, which meant two tools were added to my apron: a box cutter and a chrome price stamper. I had arrived.

I unloaded tractor-trailers, stacked boxes of pickles and dog food in the storeroom, kept the produce section fresh and dealt with farmers and vendors.

When I began filling in as a cashier, I had to learn the price of every item in the store in case some stockboy had abused his stamper. Our cash registers didn't calculate sales tax, so I learned to do that in my head.

I learned to take and carry out my boss's orders, to sweep and mop at the end of a shift, to keep a time card, to be a security guard when shoplifters struck and to help conduct inventory after the store had closed at night.

I learned the value in extending common courtesy; maybe it was the Third Law. It just made sense, though, to always speak to a pretty girl, always smile at a child, always listen to senior citizens as I toted their groceries out.

I say that was my first job, but it was actually my 40th or 50th. The previous ones were all on the farm, where my wonder years had been spent orchestrating the life and death of agricultural flora and fauna.

At the supermarket, I handled beef, pork and chicken in a package instead of on the animal; I dealt with co-workers who were not related to me; I collected a check at the end of the week instead of: "Don't stop now; there's still work to be done."

I never really clocked out of the supermarket when I moved on to other jobs. Other work was easier because of what I had learned early on. Being in a grocery store today still makes me feel good. Sometimes I even bag my own groceries, just for old times.

The eggs still go on top.

Reach Glynn Moore at (706) 823-3419 or glynn.moore@augustachronicle.com.