It’s a hot summer day, and I’m balancing precariously on a thirty-foot ladder, trying to finish painting the eave of a giant three-story house. I stretch as far as possible but can’t finish the edge without shifting the ladder over.
“I can’t reach!”, I shout down to Max*, who is the Franchise Manager of the company I’m painting with for the summer.
“You need to lean more!”, he shouts back at me.
I resist the urge to throw my brush at him and look back at the eave. Short of transforming into Inspector Gadget and developing gadget arms, it is physically impossible for me to reach the edge. To prove my point, I shift my body all the way to the right, balancing on one foot with my brush extended as far as it can go. I try to reach the last bit of unpainted wood and nearly slip, grabbing the ladder rung and pulling myself upright. I climb down the ladder shakily, feeling relieved when I finally reach the ground.
“I can’t reach”, I repeat. “We need to move the ladder or someone else needs to do it”.
Max grabs the brush from my hand exasperatedly and climbs to the top of the ladder. Being considerably taller with a much wider arm span, he’s able to lean over and reach the edge of the eave without issue.
“See, you just needed to lean over more”, he shouts down to me.
I ignore him and move on to another section of the house, fighting back tears of frustration. It’s only been a month, and I am developing a deep, passionate hatred for this job.
A couple months before the end of my junior year in college, I came across a flyer touting entrepreneurship opportunities with a painting company over the summer. The basic idea was that students make money by running their own small painting business. They hire other students, make use of the company’s brand name, resources, and training, and then: profits. I hadn’t found a summer job yet and was starting to feel a little anxious. I called the number on the flyer and spoke to a representative who recommended that I try applying for a role as Job Site Manager to gain some experience. If I was serious about entrepreneurship, I could try running my own franchise next summer.
I know this already sounds like one of those sketchy multi-level marketing schemes where you go door-to-door selling knives on commission. But I convinced myself otherwise after looking at some reviews online. The one consistent comment that I read of the company is that if you wanted to make any money at all, you had to be very dedicated and hard-working. It certainly wouldn’t be easy money, but then again, few of my summer jobs had been what I would consider plush. (I wrote about my hotel job at the age of 15 in Lessons from Mr. Potato Head previously.)
I was also starting to get nervous about what my plans would be after college. As a Communications major, the options were broad, and I had yet to narrow my focus. Many of my classmates were already lining up internships and even jobs for after graduation. In my naivete (combined with a little bit of desperation), entrepreneurship-as-painter was starting to feel like some kind of answer.
I met Max, the Franchise Manager, at a local coffee shop for an interview. I touted my share of jobs growing up – housekeeping, cashiering, newspaper routes, summer labor for the city – and how I wasn’t afraid of a little hard work. He didn’t seem particularly impressed with my lack of painting experience, so I was surprised when he called a few hours later to offer me the Job Site Manager position, pending that I was able to complete a successful trial run as a regular painter for the first couple weeks. I went out the next day and bought a pair of painter’s pants, brushes, and steel-toed boots, eagerly anticipating my start date.
I showed up on my first day on the job with a handful of other college students who also had little to no experience with painting. We were told to start prepping the house based on a handful of training videos we were required to watch on our own time in the weeks before starting. Max and his second-in-command, Barry*, gave us a basic run-down on how to operate the ladders, mix paint, and then assigned each of us to a section of the house. They spent most of the day criticizing our work telling us we were going to have to be a lot faster if we were going to make any money that summer. One girl quit after the first day.
The next few weeks were more of the same. We’d be given a few short minutes of training at the beginning of a shift but were roundly criticized for errors and repeatedly told to pick up the pace. We were put on ladders we were uncomfortable working on, even when we’d explicitly express discomfort with the task. Our safety seemed of little concern, and some weeks we would receive less than full paychecks, which was blamed on our slowness causing us to be behind on budget.
Not surprisingly, paying a bunch of 18–20-year-olds minimum wage to paint houses doesn’t result in the highest quality of work. The homeowners were ultimately the parties suffering the most from this terrible business model. Much of the work was rushed and sloppy, resulting in damaged windows and roofs. It was unclear if they were aware that they had entrusted their homes to a bunch of kids with no experience and minimal training.
After about a month of receiving less than full paychecks, risking life and limb on questionable ladders, and dealing with (rightfully) angry homeowners, I’d had enough. Despite the fact that I couldn’t really afford to quit, I called Marcus and told him I wouldn’t be returning to work. I spent the next three weeks desperately applying for jobs.
Feeling trapped in a bad job is not great for anyone, and many – especially with bills to pay and families to support – cannot leave without a backup plan. In my case, I got lucky. I found a job as a part-time teller at a credit union – a job that I really enjoyed and ultimately became a starting point for a viable career path. And I had enough of a support network where I knew I had at least some options.
For me, the summer job was like a rite of passage, one in which I learned the proverbial lessons of responsibility, the value of money, and hard work. But it’s not just the big life lessons that last. I wonder also about the larger forces at play, the underbelly of an economic system that is built to exploit. A system that limits benefits to the few and harms many. A system in which many of us are just doing what we can to get by.
Maybe that’s a lot to draw from a month painting houses, I don’t know. But I do know that if you want to save yourself some trouble, be wary of booking a bunch of inexperienced college kids to paint your house.
*Name has been changed
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