I know what you did last summer

Worked at a law firm
by Sara Gates

It's the typical question you're asked at the beginning of every school year: What did you do this summer?

Most will answer with a quirky story about their family vacation, good memories of nights spent out with friends or what they saw when they went abroad.

But not everyone went to the beach or a foreign country. Some stayed home and chose to work over the summer to save some extra money for college.

That is where my story begins.

Instead of jetting off to Europe like I'd dreamed, I chose to join the business industry and work as a legal assistant in a law office for the summer.

So how did I get this job? Hard work and dedication. I started as an intern in the fall of my senior year of high school at a boutique law firm in Rockville, Md. Patrick Hoover Law Offices, named after its solo practitioner Patrick Hoover, hosts a variety of cases from education matters to juvenile delinquency.

During my internship, I quickly excelled at administrative and research tasks and was offered a position on the staff, which I kept throughout my senior year and over the summer. My job entailed the usual administrative tasks such as answering the phones, responding to e-mails, filing documents, auditing the calendar, scanning and copying. But I also got a chance to conduct case research on specific topics and sit in on court hearings.

Although I did not have the chance to go to the beach every other weekend like a few of my friends, I received firsthand experience in the inner workings of a small law firm. For an attorney-to-be like myself, that alone was priceless.

Sara Gates is a contributing writer. E-mail her at features@nyunews.com.

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On the dark side: Retail
by Nicolas Borenstein

I have realized two important principles in my young life. First, money is very important. Second, if I want to live comfortably, I must have a job and not depend on my parents. So for my most recent summer at home, I applied for jobs at a local art studio and a few restaurants.

I got no responses.

These failed efforts led me to the dark side: the horrifying world of retail.

Let me say that I am a man who enjoys the occasional pair of Nike Dunks and a flannel shirt or two. But I don't particularly care about the clothes I wear. Moving to retail meant my career was now based on what clothes were on my body.

A few applications and a daunting job fair (where I accidentally used the wrong name of my employer) later, I landed my first official job: sales associate at Urban Outfitters.

My three-week stint at Urban started with an orientation that thrust me into my new world of evil-eyed hipsters. I was hoping my new job would be filled with excitement, new challenges and new friends. But I was completely wrong.

Retail is a hard place. High-strung shoppers demand attention and get very angry when you can't find the right size, pattern or style, no matter how nice you may be. I was slowly learning the ropes of Urban, but I was still having a hard time managing in one of the largest stores in Southern California.

Still, despite the job's stressful nature and feeling like an idiot at the exact moment any attractive girl or manager walked past me, I was thoroughly enjoying my paycheck and the 40 percent employee discount.

But it wasn't enough to make me stay. I gave my two weeks notice the same week I started work. On a joyful note, I gained something from the experience: Not only did I purchase my new favorite pair of shoes, I also learned the ways of retail. And I concluded that I will never again work a day in the field of fashion - at least, not for less than $10 an hour.

Nicolas Borenstein is a contributing writer. E-mail him at features@nyunews.com.

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Working with crazy first-graders
by Noor Zafar

Everywhere I looked, I was bombarded by full-toothed grins and ecstatic cheers. The Hebron High School commencement ceremony had just ended, and my classmates were eager to kick off three months of endless parties and steady summer jobs. As I glanced from one overjoyed face to another, I was struck with the realization that I was headed off to college in one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the world but had little spending money to sustain me. How was I going to be a trendsetter with an empty bank account? Surely a brand-new winter wardrobe wouldn't finance itself.

I quickly reasoned that the best way to get some extra cash in my hands was a summer job. Hence, my quest began. My grail: to find the highest starting salary ever. But the journey was cut short by a series of rejections from employers at the local mall. Desolate and already envisioning myself sitting in class wearing last year's Uggs among this year's more aesthetically appealing styles, I gave up my reluctance to work with kids and put in a r'eacute;sum'eacute; to work at a local summer school for young children. A week later, I was surrounded by 10 first-graders bouncing off the walls (literally) and playing hide-and-seek underneath desks.

It's not that I don't like working with kids; it's simply that when I envisioned myself as an employed teenager I expected to be working in a more 'serious' position. However, as I reluctantly pulled myself out of bed - '10 dollars per hour, 10 dollars per hour,' was my can-do mantra - I realized that each day, it got a bit easier to go to work. The children seemed to like me, and they were actually showing interest in the material I was teaching them. It was gratifying to know that I was having an impact - and gaining respect as I did.

As we held a mock graduation on the last day of school, I looked down at the row of children and said to myself, 'Wow, I am really glad that I decided to take this job.' I enjoyed my experience teaching summer school. Because I enjoyed my experience, it proved meaningful to me in a larger sense. It taught me I could try new things - something I have been reluctant to do - and benefit from them. And if I'm ever home for the summer, I can drive back to the summer school - in a brand new outfit, no less - and put in another application to be a teacher.

Noor Zafar is a contributing writer. E-mail her at' features@nyunews.com.

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The first with real responsibility
by Mary Jane Weedman

The summer before my freshman year at NYU, I was talking to Jeff, the father of one of my friends. He managed a local pool and paid his lifeguards well - I wanted to be one of them. Yes, it was going to be my last summer at home and my last real chance to hang out with my friends, but I was going to school in New York. So I thought I needed the money.

But then Jeff told me something I didn't expect to hear: He didn't want to give me a job. It wasn't that he thought I would be a bad employee, but, he said, 'You have the rest of your life to be a slave to the dollar.'

He told me to enjoy my summer because life was going to 'get real' very soon.

I'd always had a lot of respect for Jeff and his advice, so I ended up spending my last summer in Missouri enjoying and exploring my hometown. I swam constantly and hung out with friends and family.

There were days I regretted not having a job that summer. When all of my friends were at work and I was sitting at home watching reruns of 'SpongeBob SquarePants' because I had no gas money, I wished I had a steady paycheck. But most days, I was finding something fun and exciting to do: interviewing ice cream shop owners for a story in my hometown newspaper, soaping the fountains of downtown Kansas City, a day trip to St. Louis to visit the art museum.

I survived mostly on the funds I had left from graduation parties and previous jobs. I asked my parents for money when I really needed it; it felt slightly childish, but it was better than sitting on a lifeguard chair for $6 an hour.

Now, after a summer in New York trying to make rent payments while balancing an internship and a job, I now realize that my summer with no job was my last summer of virtually no responsibility. I woke up every day, went to swim practice and then spent that day exactly as I wanted to spend it. It was exciting and fun. I enjoyed it.

Now, I am a slave to the dollar, as Jeff predicted. And while it's also liberating to write a rent check and know that I'm paying to live in a New York City apartment, I occasionally long for the days of that summer, when I felt like the world was mine for the taking.

Mary Jane Weedman is features editor. E-mail her at mweedman@nyunews.com.