Dear 100 Hour Board,
What was your first ever job? Do you have any funny stories from it?
Dear fast "food",
My first ever job was working as a scout camp councilor. It was pretty fun even though it hardly payed at all. I got go camping all the time and I have a bunch of great stories. I don't know if this is my funniest story, but it's my personal favorite.
The scout camp I worked at was off the East Fork of the Bear River. The Bear River was obviously named "Bear River" because bears live in the area. There had been several bear warnings, so we were required to keep all food items in bear-proof containers that lock and prevent bears from smelling the food. Now I didn't have one of these fancy bear-proof containers, but my tentmate did. So we had an agreement that if I ever had any snacks that he would let me store them in his bear-proof cooler.
One week I brought up some of my dad's amazing homemade deer jerky. When I asked my tentmate for the key to his cooler to store my jerky he said "I'll let you use it, but you've got to give me some of your jerky". I figured that was fair, so I gave him a piece of jerky and he kept my jerky safe. Our agreement worked at first, but things started to escalate. Every time I asked him to unlock the stupid box he'd demand a piece of jerky. I started off with one, but slowly his demands grew from one, to two, to three pieces of jerky. I felt like he was being unfair so I called him on it and told him he was being unfair.
Realizing the error of his ways, he made the decision to just keep all of my jerky and keep the key to his bear-cooler with so I couldn't take it back. I was pretty mad that he hijacked my jerky, so I did the logical thing and tackled him to the ground and wrestled his key away from him. I went back to the tent, unlocked the cooler, took the jerky out, and hid it under my sleeping bag. When he made it back to the tent I gave him back his key and said "I don't need your stupid bear-proof box! My jerky is perfectly safe where I hid it.
So I went to sleep that night with a large bag of dried meat underneath my sleeping bag. I went to sleep, but in the middle of the night I'm woken up by a growling sound. It was quiet at first, but then it got louder. Pretty soon I realized that the snorting, growling and heavy breathing was coming from inside the tent! That's when I remembered the bear warnings, and that I was literally sleeping on a bag of meat.
I felt pretty stupid that I was about to eaten by a bear because I was stupid enough to put jerky under my sleeping bag. The worst part is that I was in a sleeping bag on top of a cot and that I wouldn't even be able to run. The bear would eat me up like a boy scout burrito with a side of jerky. I waited for my vicious and gruesome demise when I realized that it wasn't a bear making those noises; it was my tentmate snoring so loud that he sounded like a bear.
That's how I nearly had a heart attack. I learned two things that night: the first was that my tentmate snored like a bear, the second was that it's probably not a good idea to sleep with jerky under your sleeping bag. Good times. Good times.
Due to my parents' insistence that I focus on my grades during the school year and my skills at avoiding summer jobs (just have terrible interviews on purpose (to be honest I really was trying to get those jobs but no one would hire me, and telling yourself you intentionally sabotaged yourself is much easier than recognizing even McDonalds didn't want you)), I got my first job while a freshman at BYU as a research assistant. The funniest thing that ever happened was when the professor I worked for gave me a book titled my first name. It's a rather rare name (I've met maybe 2 people with it my whole life) so I was impressed he found it. But it was about this girl trying to find out about my namesake who had been killed before the book started, and my namesake liked to dance naked at the beach or something...let's just say my namesake was a very interesting character. I figured pretty early on that the professor hadn't read the book before he gave it to me. But the gesture was sweet, even if I didn't keep the book for very long.
-guppy of doom
My first job was in the receiving department at Macy's.
I was young and intimidated to be in the work force, so unfortunately I don't have any interesting stories, but even 5 years later I sometimes get nostalgic and wish I could pick up the occasional shift, so it definitely wasn't all bad.
Dear Fast Food,
My first job was as a cashier at Chick-Fil-A. I was also the cow whenever they needed someone to put on the cow suit for promotional purposes, because I was the only one tall enough to fit in it. Being the cow led to some interesting experiences, like doing the funky chicken while dressed as a cow during the halftime show for Utah's indoor football team, meeting the Jazz bear, and generally making a fool of myself because you can do whatever you want when you're dressed up as a mascot.
But let me tell you, that cow suit was terrible. It was SO HOT inside it, so I had to wear a canvas vest that had huge chunks of ice sewn into the lining, and it weighed about 20 pounds. The ice vest did help keep me cool, but once the ice started melting it would get all sloshy (the ice must have been wrapped in plastic or something, though, because at least it never soaked through the vest). The head of the suit also had a little fan inside it to help keep me cool, but it didn't work. I don't know if it was supposed to be part of the suit, or if someone had just jerry rigged it in there, but it was just a tiny little fan with a long cord, and it was supposed to be glued to the top of the head. However, it had come undone so it dangled down in front of my face from its cord, and every time I took a step, or even shifted my weight, it would swing and smack me in the face. As you may be able to imagine, this got pretty old pretty fast.
Because I was technically an international mascot, lots of people would ask for my signature, so I had to get good at grasping a pencil in the giant unwieldy gloves that were slipping off my hands and scrawling out, "COW" on a piece of paper. Also, whenever someone would ask for a picture, I had to make sure my hands were clearly visible and not touching them, presumably so nobody could say the cow touched them inappropriately and sue the company. Unfortunately, this did not prevent people from accidentally touching me inappropriately during pictures. Because nobody had any idea where my body actually was inside the cow suit, a lot of people ended up grabbing my butt when they wrapped their arms around the cow's waist for a picture.
Whenever it was time to take the suit off, my boss had to come unzip me, and out I would tumble, a sweaty mess with sore shoulders from the combined weight of the ice vest and the giant head. I would then go hang out in the walk-in freezer for the next half hour or so, which served the dual purpose of both cooling me down and getting me out of work for a while.
For your viewing pleasure, I dredged up a picture of me in the cow suit, looking sort of listless because it was right before I was about to take it off.
-Alta, cow woman extraordinaire