Making My Dream Job My First Job
Greavu 1
John Greavu
WRIT 1301
Mr. Anderson
13 DEC 2011
Waking Up The consensus around school was that working at the local Gertens was a “dream job.” Often, while sitting in class, my attention would shift from the teacher to my older classmates as I would constantly overhear them talking about the ludicrous amounts of money they made at the local garden goods store. Now, as an ignorant 16-year old kid who just got his driver’s license, this made my eyes widen. For the first time in my life, the quest to acquire money was skyrocketing to the top of my priority list. My parents were slowly beginning to cut me off with the free hand-outs and now with the concept of gasoline in my life, I realized that to comfortably enjoy life you are going to need at least some financial support. Desperately, I committed to doing anything to get cash in my hands. I set my eyes on making the dream job my first job. As I continue to find out in life, personal connections can sometimes help more than anything you can put on an application. My dad just so happened to know one of the primary co-owners of Gertens, Gino: a tall, Italian man who bared a strange resemblance to Barbie’s Ken. One evening, while at the annual Father-Son banquet at my high school (Gino had sons who were a couple grades older than me) my discussed pulled Gino aside to talk with him about job openings. “Yes, we’re actually going to need a few more hands over the summer. Go pick up an application and I’ll make sure that I go over it myself.” I remembered the carrying, Italian voice saying. Of course, with dollar signs in my eyes, I brought up the pay rate in my informal meeting with Gino that night. “For you pay will
Greavu 2 start at $11 an hour” Gino declared. I asked myself “Is this too good to be true?” At that age, I would take the most disgusting custodial positions for 11 dollars an hour. I took him for his word and got an application and shortly after that an interview. I got the job, all easier
John Greavu
WRIT 1301
Mr. Anderson
13 DEC 2011
Waking Up The consensus around school was that working at the local Gertens was a “dream job.” Often, while sitting in class, my attention would shift from the teacher to my older classmates as I would constantly overhear them talking about the ludicrous amounts of money they made at the local garden goods store. Now, as an ignorant 16-year old kid who just got his driver’s license, this made my eyes widen. For the first time in my life, the quest to acquire money was skyrocketing to the top of my priority list. My parents were slowly beginning to cut me off with the free hand-outs and now with the concept of gasoline in my life, I realized that to comfortably enjoy life you are going to need at least some financial support. Desperately, I committed to doing anything to get cash in my hands. I set my eyes on making the dream job my first job. As I continue to find out in life, personal connections can sometimes help more than anything you can put on an application. My dad just so happened to know one of the primary co-owners of Gertens, Gino: a tall, Italian man who bared a strange resemblance to Barbie’s Ken. One evening, while at the annual Father-Son banquet at my high school (Gino had sons who were a couple grades older than me) my discussed pulled Gino aside to talk with him about job openings. “Yes, we’re actually going to need a few more hands over the summer. Go pick up an application and I’ll make sure that I go over it myself.” I remembered the carrying, Italian voice saying. Of course, with dollar signs in my eyes, I brought up the pay rate in my informal meeting with Gino that night. “For you pay will
Greavu 2 start at $11 an hour” Gino declared. I asked myself “Is this too good to be true?” At that age, I would take the most disgusting custodial positions for 11 dollars an hour. I took him for his word and got an application and shortly after that an interview. I got the job, all easier