My mom wouldn't let me get a job in high school because she wanted me to concentrate on school.
Which worked, I suppose, because I had a 4.0 GPA, was my high school valedictorian, and received a full scholarship to college.
(Yes, I told you. I am a total nerd and not ashamed.)
But it also meant that when I did go job-hunting, at my father's insistence, one summer in college, I was terrified, and jumped at the first job I could get.
Considering that I hate talking on the telephone and hate asking people questions or to give me something, it's odd that this was just the first of many jobs that required me to do both: telemarketing, journalism, television production.
But it wasn't such a bad gig. I sold season tickets for South Coast Repertory, and I was actually pretty good at it, so I made a decent commission, the base pay wasn't bad for a college student, and I won a few prizes, like tickets to an Angels game, for selling the most tickets in a given week.
The best part, though, was that I was selling something I wanted myself, for an organization I believed in.
And while not everyone I spoke to was the kindest, friendliest person in the world, only one person was ever outright mean to me. So mean, in fact, that it was impossible to take him seriously. But as a result, I am as polite as can be to people who call my house, because they are, after all, just doing their job.