The day I turned 15 I spent the afternoon trying to persuade the owner of the local bowling alley cafeteria to hire me as a casual milkshake maker. I had been counting down the weeks until I reached the sunlit lands: the open sky of legal employment and the financial freedom and independence it promised me. Fifteen was the threshold, and I wasn't waiting a day longer. Birthday cake was not on my mind.
The guy who owned the place was a creep. I was the most naïve teenager but even I could see that he wasn't talking to me so much as leering at me. All that mattered was that he eventually said yes. The other girls there welcomed me with smiles and low voices: whatever you do, don't go out the back with him. No matter what he says.
It didn't take long before he made the suggestion. I was pulling two shifts a week making Blue Heaven milkshakes for Sharpies. (One of them, a dead ringer for Bon Scott, slyly pulled aside his tight denim vest to show me his nipple ring and I almost threw his drink across the room in shock. I mentioned I was naïve, yes?)
The owner said he wanted to teach me how to make hamburgers, something that would never be part of my job. As I fumbled with the patty on the grill, he slipped his arms around me from behind and asked for a kiss. I pushed him off, told him to stop and went back to the counter. He never tried it again. I never told my parents. The usual code of silence. The usual secret kept. I imagine there was another victim instead.
I lost count of the times I was taken advantage of
One year later I was tying on my brown-on-brown apron to become a check-out chick at Woolworths. Paid employment was now self-definition: I could not imagine not working.
I signed on at the main office, and was immediately asked to sit down and sign another set of forms by a square-jawed woman called Pam. She explained how much money was going to be taken in union dues from my salary each week (paid in dollars and cents in a small yellow envelope from the cashier's window every Thursday).
I was crestfallen. My pay was going to be docked? What if I didn't want to, I asked her? I'm pretty sure I saw pity in her eyes: if decades of Labor leaders hadn't managed to stand up to the formidable and conservative Shop Distributive and Allied Employees Association (Shoppies, for short) then what chance me?
The laws around the minimum age that Australian kids can work are notoriously rubbery and inconsistent across state lines, and as any young worker, my young self included, will tell you, inconsistent or thoughtless laws leave young people vulnerable and open to exploitation.
Kids as young as 13 can work in some parts of Australia, with parental approval, and you have to wonder at the dangers inherent in that for so many young people with busy parents.
I lost count of the times I was taken advantage of or mistreated or made to feel unsafe as a young casual worker. To be fair, the majority of that disappeared once I was inside a large organisation like a supermarket (and that might be the only nice thing you read about a big food retailer this week) but even there I had close calls.
Finding self-worth and strength
After a cursory introduction to the butcher section, I was left to feed trays of mince into the automatic cling-wrap machine. One tray wobbled and tipped over, and before I understood what I was doing, I shot my hand in between the blades that sliced the plastic film to steady the meat. Sense kicked in a moment later and I grabbed my hand back just before the blade came down.
The feeling of self-worth and strength that came from getting a regular wage even while I was still at school is something I remember still; equally I loved the collegiality and fun of finding like minds at work, and I'm sure that played a big part in the collaborative work I went on to do as an adult.
As the prospect of a uniform working age is considered in Australia, it might be useful to include young working Australians: to ask them what they seek from their employment and what they need to do it well. Let's not lose another opportunity to understand, secure and support the next workforce of the future.
This weekend you can read about the power of a sacred track, the strength of an unexpected queen and the benefits of great fiction: forces of nature, all.
Have a safe and happy weekend and in the hope that you're still managing to steal time for yourselves before the year hits take-off, I know you'll love this debut from the Glasgow based "spiritual jazz" outfit, Azamiah, featuring singer Indigo Blue.
If you're not wearing a kaftan by a pool as the sun sets in Ibiza, you'll at least get all the feelings from this. Go well.