Published: June 22, 2008 10:06 pm      

MICHELE MIKESIC BENDER | No cure for the summer job blues

My first summer job lasted exactly 21/2 hours. I was hired at a soft-serve ice cream stand at Roxbury Park. In 1964, cones with curls on top ruled.

You could only practice when you had a customer.

The product couldn’t be dumped back into the machine.

I couldn’t twirl that stuff to save my life. I disgraced my paper hat – started at noon, fired at 2:30.

Back then, everyone sought summer jobs.

My friend Becky already had her license. She drove her mom’s car to Idlewild Park’s Storybook Forest on Thursdays through Sundays to enchant children as Little Miss Muffet. On sizzling days she nearly melted into a puddle of storybook ooze wearing her heavy costume.

But the job had perks. That summer, she dated the dashing captain of the Good Ship Lollipop.

Cincinnati Cathy (Hornerstown Cathy then) took a waitressing job at a family-owned restaurant. Her supervisor was the owner’s grouchy daughter.

One night, Cathy put the giant vat of Hershey Syrup on a shelf without tightening the lid. The next morning “Grouchette,” reaching for it, became a human fudgesicle.

Luckily, Cathy didn’t get fired.

Scrambling to find other employment after Roxbury, I landed at Fun City. Located along Somerset Pike, it featured a huge swimming pool and six-ride amusement park, attracting kids of all ages.

The “swim gate” was the best spot to work. You could check out everyone who arrived – most importantly, the boys!

I usually wound up in the ride ticket booth, selling 10 cent tickets to frazzled parents and whiny little kids.

The job paid 50 cents an hour. If your cash drawer didn’t jive with the numbered tickets on the roll, the boss docked your pay.

After losing 75 cents once and 35 cents another time, I quickly mastered change-making!

That skill has served me well.

Now, 44 years later, I’ve come full-circle. I’m in a booth selling 10 cent tickets again, this time for my church’s summer festivals.

For the most part, I love my customers. But I recall exceptions.

An irate man demanded his $1.20 back when the grill ran out of hot dogs. Each 10 cent ticket is clearly marked “No Refunds.”

I suggested that he sell them to the lady standing in line behind him, but he belligerently refused.

With a dozen impatient folks waiting, I reluctantly gave him the cash. Then I reached under my counter to grab the super-soaker squirt gun I’d brought along.

As he turned to leave, I took my shot. I nailed him square in the back of the head, then stashed my weapon. 

The other customers squealed gleefully as he looked around for the source of the “cloudburst.”

“Will you get in trouble for that?” laughed my next customer.

“Not a chance,” I assured him. “Besides, I used holy water!” 



Michele Mikesic Bender is a Johnstown resident and a member of The Tribune-Democrat’s Readership Advisory Committee.