Loving Your Job—Hey Bosses, Listen Up.

Remember when you were little, and the dreams you had of where you’d work one day? 

There was always excitement in my voice when I’d answer the question on what I’d be.  Never once did I dream of working for a tyrant, a micromanager, or ever hating my job.  That being said, if I had a dollar for every time I heard a friend or family member tell me how much they hated where they worked, I’d be one rich woman. 

I remember how I hated some of mine too, but there were some jobs, regardless how horrific they were in content, that I absolutely loved. For instance, my very first job of all time was absolutely atrocious.  I’m talking child labor laws were broken; I made barely $1.00/hour when all was said and done; and it took up six of my seven days every week of the summer.  I was a detassler, in good ole’ Wisconsin the summers of ’84, ’85, and ’86.  And it was awful.  For those of you that don’t know, a detassler literally pulls down the huge stalks of corn and yanks out the tassles up on top. 

Row after row, field after field.  And if I had to pee, I made my sister stand guard as I found a good spot in the field—hoping that no boys would try to steal a glance at the moon I was about to expose.  There were no other jobs to be had in my town of 864, and I needed the money. 

Even though the job itself was awful—especially when we got stuck in a downpour, having to wake up at 5 a.m. to catch the bus that took us from field to field, and the combination of heat and humidity with no cold, clean drinking water—there were parts of it I loved.  I loved the friends I made on that bus from all the other small towns nearby.  I loved being around others that were as desperate as I was to have money.  I loved the camaraderie among all of the working kids—on this mission to safe keep the corn. 

Ridiculous, but true.

And there was the time I spent working at Burger King—while I’d love to say I hated that job, I’d be lying.  See I had this amazing boss, who always made the shifts as fun as possible.  From making up stories of the bathroom ghost, to keep us girls out of there and on the cash register, to allowing me to take home food for my family whenever I worked a shift—the atmosphere of the place rocked. 

I had fun at work. 

It’s where I learned how to do the moonwalk, the cabbage patch, and kid-n-play—and yes all three dance moves are perfected.  It’s where my manager touched my shoulder and gave me a look of understanding when the cool, rich kids would zoom into the drive-thru in their Irocs and make fun of me working, looking like an idiot in that god-forsaken blue visor and polyester ensemble. 

Ridiculous, but true.

There was the insurance company—oh good god!  The paper pushing and filing and everything else that could possibly numb the brain, but to say I hated it I’d once again be lying.  Because I had this boss, who was more like a friend.  She made me laugh on a daily basis, pushed for my promotion, and was a strong woman that I really liked. 

I worked with a group of girls—about 10 of us—who all went out at least twice a week, gossiped like none other, and did whatever necessary to make work fun.  We pulled practical jokes on each other, always ate our lunches together, and would create these games to help the time pass by as we scanned the policies from desk to desk. 

It’s where I made my boom box costume for Halloween one year; it’s where I won the dancing competition at the Christmas party; it’s where I learned to love sliced tomatoes on an English muffin with cream cheese. 

Ridiculous, but true.

And I’ll never forget working at the bank.  The customers were not fun to deal with, nor were the endless hours of typing on the new electric typewriter—where I consistently made mistakes, had to backspace, correct, and start again.  But the working atmosphere was sublime. 

My boss was the coolest guy you’d ever meet.  He was fun, energetic, and loved to joke around with all of us.  He bought us lunch, would tease me about my RI accent (I never knew I even talked funny), and always had a compliment on hand.   The nine of us were more like a family—and although it’s been 20 years since I worked there, I still remember everyone’s name.  It’s where I learned to pronounce my “Rs”; it’s where I learned the art of having a VIP card to all the local clubs; it’s where I learned the importance of not climbing on filing cabinets when in a skirt—nothing needs putting away that badly. 

Ridiculous, but true.

Four awful jobs—I’ve had many more throughout my stint in the workforce thus far.  These are the places that stick out to me because of the type of culture my bosses were able to create.  Even though what the actual job entailed sucked, I loved going.

See I don’t think anyone has to hate his or her job. 

I’ve had some doozies, but lucky for me, had some really amazing bosses that wanted their employees to want to come to work.  To actually enjoy waking up every morning to detassle the field, flip the burger, file the insurance policy, or open a new account.  It’s not an easy venture—it’s also not impossible.

I was reminded how lucky I am today to work where I do.  Not only do I love my profession, I love the building I work in.  I’ve been there for seven years, and still adore going to work every day.  I get there early each morning, not because I have to, but because I like to.  I know.  I’m one of the lucky ones. This is our testing week at my school.  For most in the education field (whether a teacher or a student), it’s a painful, boring, gut-wrenching experience.  You won’t hear me say that.  At our school, it’s a fun week.  The kids enjoy it—and teachers do too.  It’s five days of crazy assemblies, laughing, and camaraderie (there’s that word again). 

At the end of the day today, as I was filing out of the gym, one little 7th grader grabbed my arm and with excitement in her voice and a smile on her face she told me, “I want to work here someday!”  And I know exactly what she means.

Meredith is a mom, sister, wife, friend, teacher, critic, Starbucks junkie, writer, coach, and a million other things. She enjoys writing about the good, scary, funny, sad, exciting and all those other truths that too many people are afraid to write about. You can find her blog at http://merelovesthepack.blogspot.com or on Twitter: @FmTheSidelines.