Finals are over, empty kegs line the front porches , commercial size trash bags sit outside the dorms—the campus is a veritable ghost town. With the exception of grad students and the football team, most students have left for the summer. Many depart for Europe to enjoy the history, culture, and, more beer, of course , while others have entrained for the beach, picking up where they left off at the last kegger. Most, however, face the gloomy prospect of finding a summer job in their hometown.
There’s nothing like the shell-shocked feeling of that first day home, when your old man—wasting no time—barks, “So, boy, what are you going to do for a job this summer?” What am I going to do? Hmm . . . haven’t really thought about it.
As you languish on the couch watching Springer, delaying the inevitable, you know full well that whatever job you get will be drudgery of the lowest kind. If you’re lucky, you’ll land a sweet gig as lifeguard at the community pool, or, perhaps, driving a Mr. Frosty truck. But those jobs are few and far between and have a long waiting list.
You more than likely will get to earn your stripes as one of the following : manure shoveler and spreader (landscaper); tar hauler and layer (roofer); deep fryer master and mop specialist (fast food employee); nuclear family dinner interrupter (telemarketer); pack-mule imitator (bar back); or masochistic food deliverer (Waiter).
The upshot of all this is, we, who now make six figures a year as lawyers, doctors, accounts, etc., all cut are teeth as manual laborers in some form or another. Some of us are now the diabolical task master that you curse at under your breath. So, remember that this is temporary and that you’ll look back one day and laugh.
With that in mind, it’s time turn off Springer, ease your aching bed sores, and find that dream job. When you’re knee deep in manure and it’s 100 degrees out, remember, collegians, it builds character.
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