I miss being a kid. Well, not really. But I definitely miss summer vacation.
Yeah, now that I’m in university I still get summer vacation. But it’s not the same at all. No, now that I’m older and more responsible (and a big idiot who decided to attend the most expensive university in the province with the most expensive universities), I have to work during the summer and earn some money.
I didn’t get a job right away this summer, probably because I refused to work in fast food or retail or at any job that paid minimum wage. I worked for one month at the Summerside Tax Center ripping open envelopes and removing staples from tax returns (fun, fun), but that job ended once the returns stopped coming in. I started my “real” job a few weeks later.
I got a job as a “CAP Site Student Coordinator.” That’s Community Access Program, if you didn’t know. Sounds good, doesn’t it? Ha. My job description? I had to sit around in a
library
for half the week and a
youth centre
for the other half, assisting anyone who needed help with the Internet.
I shouldn’t complain about the library half. I liked working there - I didn’t have a real “boss.” There were a few people my own age that I went out to lunch with every day and became friends with, and the job was far from difficult. I sat around on my ass most of the time writing email to Elinor in Toronto and waiting for someone to ask me how to set up an email account or download a file to disk. I took hour long lunch breaks instead of my allotted half-hour ones. I made fun of the creepy library “regulars” (and oh, were they creepy). I ate popsicles in the back room. I listened to Beth bitch about her love life. I made fun of the head librarian with the other workers. I had a pretty good time.
I wish I could say the same for the youth centre job. You see, unlike the library, which had a large group of workers and was housed in a big building, the centre was small and confined, with a staff of 6 people (all of whom were over 25). I had a boss, too. His name was Ken. Ken liked to keep an eye on me and make sure I was doing my work. Ken liked to make sure I was busy all the time. Ken did not like it when he snuck up behind me one day and caught me playing solitaire instead of doing actual work. Ken really did not like it when he asked me (quite sarcastically) if I was winning and I replied, “yeah, I’m doing okay.” Ken did not like that at all.
Okay, I’d like to defend myself here and say that, while I can sometimes be lazy, I don’t really have an aversion to work. If I have a project to do, I’ll do it. I’ll do it well, because I’m too proud to do a half-assed job.
The problem is, I’m fast. And, at this time, when Ken was breathing down my neck and my solitaire timer was ticking away, I had actually finished all my assigned work, and I’d done a damn good job of it, too. And that’s why I replied so nonchalantly to his sarcasm. Okay, that and I have a problem with authority figures (and being told what to do in general, but that’s a whole other topic). Anyway. The centre was new, and no one ever came in for help with the ‘net, and Ken hadn’t assigned me any new projects even though he knew I’d finished the old ones, and the last time I’d offered to help one of the other workers there, she’d given me about a thousand pieces of paper to shred (one at a time). And this is why I wasn’t working. But I can understand Ken’s point of view. He kind of had it in his head that I was anti-work.
See, a while before that he had given me this "very important project" to do. Actually, it was just an old project from 1998 that he dug out of a box and told me to look over so I'd have something to do one day, but what can you do. Anyway, he wanted me to look it over and copy down what the project was, who funded it, who worked on it, how much it cost, etc., so I did, even though we both knew it was useless busy work.
The project was really confusing. First of all, it was titled "A model for social service guidelines for special needs learners" or something long like that. I found out who funded it and how much it cost and all that, but I couldn't find a finished report on its successes - you know, if the centre had actually helped any special needs learners. So I told Ken that there was no final report and gave him my assignment.
So, the next Monday I came into work and he called me into his office.
Ken: Amy, are you happy working here? Me: (surprised) Yeah, why wouldn't I be? Ken: You just seem like you aren't having much fun. Me: Well, I don't have a lot to do, so a lot of the time I am a little bored. Ken: I know, but you need to take initiative and ask me or one of the others if we need help if you have nothing else to do. Me: (thinking - "yeah, you'll probably just give me paper to shred again") I guess so. Ken: Also, I hate to say this, especially first thing Monday morning, but...
[here I cut out 5 minutes of him basically saying "I hate to say this," while I'm sitting there thinking, "spit it out already, I can take it..."] Ken: You don't seem to be pulling your weight around here. You haven't gone above and beyond, that's for sure. Me: I did everything in my job description. It's just that no one has come in for help on the Internet. My guides are all done... Ken: Yes... but with this project, for example (he pulls out the special needs one). Did you even read this? Me: Yes, and I showed you my write up. Ken: Yes, but you told me there was no final report, and look what I saw first thing when I opened this folder! (he pulls out what I thought was the project proposal). Me: That's a final report? I thought that was the proposal. Ken: No, that is the proposal (he points to another sheet of paper). THIS is the final report. Me: But I didn't see anything in there about the project's successes. Ken: That's because this is the success. This wasn't a practical project. The aim of this project was to develop a service model for special needs learners, and look, here on the cover, this says "A model for service..." Me: Oh... I didn't understand that at all. Ken: If you had actually read this, you would have known beyond the shadow of a doubt that this is the final report. Me: I read it, I just didn't understand it! Ken: You didn't want to do it in the first place. Me: I assumed it was busy work, something for me to do while everyone else was moving boxes.
(I could tell from the look on his face that I hit it right on the head) Ken: No. This project was very important. Me: Well, I'm sorry, but I just didn't understand it. Ken: You don't have to get defensive! It's just that... well, if someone were to ask me for a job reference at this time, I couldn't give you a good one. Me: (thinking again, "Big fucking deal, neither can any of my other bosses.")
[now I sit silently for 5 more minutes while he goes on and on about improving my attitude and doing more work] Ken: so, do you think that's fair? Me: (thinking "hell, no") Sure. Ken: Good. So, I guess if that's something you'd like to work on, you will, and if it isn't, you won't. Me: (thinking "You can say that again") Um, yeah. Ken: okay, have a good day, then. Me: yep.
And that was the end of that. But, to Ken’s credit, he did eventually come up with a project for me - I had to write a searchable HTML database of centre library books (all 600 of them), and then I had to make labels for each and every book and organize them on the shelves. This took until the end of my work term, and kept me very busy, and Ken wrote me a nice letter of reference. It was boring, but it was work, and it was easy, and I got paid very handsomely for it.
Maybe I really shouldn’t complain about my job at all. It was much better than my ex-boyfriend Sam’s (he worked the night shift at a grocery store) and Elinor’s (bitch worker at a Cotton Ginny). It paid better than both those jobs, and it was easy. But hey, I like to complain. And, now that I’m all grown up and faced with the undeniable truth that I will have to work every summer for the rest of my life, I think I’m entitled.
