So have I ever told you about my high school summer job? No? Yeah, there's a reason for that. However, Kristine's SPF last week (I'm behind - shut up) was partly about secrets and then jessica_deva tagged me with Four Things which is partly about jobs, and so I'm addressing both in one post: the summer job I keep secret because it's hella lame.

You need to know that in addition to this job I'm about to reveal, I also held the noble position of summer school teaching assistant. I was, after all, a motivated young woman determined to have some experience in her chosen field before college. The problem was that summer school was only half-days for 5 weeks. And so I needed another summer job that was flexible and that would fill the rest of my summer.

And so, under these conditions, I accepted employment as a Textbook Protection Technician. Okay fine, I made that title up just now. I was a book wrapper, okay? I put paper covers on textbooks. You remember back in elementary school when on the first day of school you were given your textbooks and also some paper covers (probably brown, most likely advertising whatever local business had donated them) and your teacher then instructed everyone to carefully wrap your textbooks in the paper covers so the books would last longer? You remember, right? And in the first month or so, you filled that paper cover with all sorts of pencil doodles? And then during the second month of school (or maybe the third, if you had been especially careful) the paper cover fell off due to the wear and tear that comes from shoving the book into your backpack (not to mention the holes you poked and tears you tore to encourage the dang thing to fall off because, really, how lame are textbook covers?!)? Yes, well that very textbook wrapping activity - the one you did in about 30 seconds as a first grader - is what I got paid minimum wage to do for three of my high school summers.

EXCEPT that the process I was part of was MUCH improved from the primitive book-wrapping technique you employed. I was part of a book wrapping team of eight, y'all. We had a four-step assembly line. Four people sat on one side of a table, and each book was passed down, first to the Folder, then the Cutter, then the Gluer, and then the Labeler. And this assembly line was mirrored on the other side of the table for a total of two (count 'em - TWO!) assembly lines.

The coolest position to have was Cutter. This person cut off the corner flaps in order to provide a clean fold for the Gluer. Cutting required both accuracy and speed. The flaps needed to be cut at just the right angle or glue would seep out and the book cover would be stuck to the last page of the book. And a fast cutter was highly valued because she could cut (literally - heh) several seconds off the process, meaning minutes saved on a stack of books (and thus more time to goof off during lunch). A truly talented cutter could actually cut for both assembly lines and still keep up. Cutting was also the most exhilarating because there was actual risk involved - scissors moving at that speed are dangerous.

Cutting was my forte; I was fucking fast, y'all. To this day hearing the snip-snip of scissors gets my adrenaline going. I also served as Folder and Gluer from time to time, but I was discouraged from being a Labeler because that task required neat handwriting. (Unfortunately, no one stopped to ask potential Labelers how well they could spell, and so as a result we left one high school with stacks of "Scocial Studies 9" textbooks.)

We wrapped every motherfucking textbook, elementary through high school, in the school division. Every Last One. It took us all fucking summer. But oh, the PRIDE I felt when those carefully wrapped textbooks were handed out the first day of school. The way my fellow students clearly admired the covers' clean lines, sharp corners, and tight fit (right before they dug a fingernail down the front and tore if off - sons of bitches), made it all worthwhile. Truly.

Okay, not really. I mean, come on, I wasn't a total loser. Truth is, the job kicked ass because I had a couple friends who also did it and so we spent all summer gossiping and spending on-the-clock time hanging out at the ice cream shop. Oh, and WE GOT TO DRIVE CAPRICE CLASSICS ALL OVER THE COUNTY. Kick ass. You haven't lived until you have raced a Caprice Classic over twisty, hilly country roads, getting so much air that not only does your ass leave the seat but your head actually hits the roof.

Those were the days.