Who hates summer jobs? This guy! In fact, I hate them so much, I got a job that only required two days of work a week, and it still didn’t make a damn bit of difference – I still hate working when the temperature is above 70 degrees. Let me relate to you my descent into the seedy world of private golf course caddies.

It all began in the summer of 2006, when I had possibly the worst job experience anyone will ever have. I worked at Bruegger’s Bagels. That doesn’t sound so bad right? wrong. Not only did I have a female manager with an ambiguously male name, but I also had to serve the richest, most spoiled bastards in New England. In fact, some woman requested a plain bagel with balsamic vinaigrette and nothing else. How ridiculous is that?

Also, Bruegger’s was very passive aggressive in how they went about letting me go. They just gradually reduced my hours to the point where I was coming in two hours a week. As if I wouldn’t notice.

I mean, just because I’m an econ major doesn’t mean I’m clueless about the world. To top it all off, right before they fired me, they asked me to fill out a Forbes survey on “Best Places to Work.” Needless to say, they didn’t make the list. Assholes. Also, they had me wear an absurd uniform. A major no-no in my book.

So let’s fast forward to this past spring. Determined to not get screwed with some lame-ass food service job for the second summer straight, I talked with some of my friends from home. They all said “Dude, caddying pays ridiculous amounts of money and it’s the easiest job in the world.” Stupid me, I decided to believe them. And so I e-mailed some connections and, lo and behold, I got myself a job at the Weston Golf Club, one of the “Top 100 Oldest Golf Courses in the Country,” according to Golf Magazine. Apparently, that is the only thing it’s got going for it.

I started caddy training right when I came home from school. While most of my friends were playing poker and drag racing in the high school parking lot, I was sitting in a classroom learning how to kiss some rich guy’s ass. Very exciting stuff.

And so it began. My weekends started off at 6 a.m. I was at the course by 6:45 a.m. The club had all the caddies wear a uniform (however, apparently the rich can afford to clothe their hired help much better than Brueggers.) The caddies were a hodge-podge of characters. Some were 12-year-old children of members who looked small enough to be in kindergarten, who sat around all day and make immature fart jokes. There were also some high school and college students like myself.

And then there were some old men, including the oldest guy I’ve ever seen carrying a golf bag. Those were the weirdos. They were also the first caddies hired to carry bags in the morning. No one over the age of 21 should ever be allowed to carry bags on a weekend. Not only did the older caddies look extremely jealous every time they carried a bag, but one guy collapsed on the golf course and made the reof the day miserable for the rest of us.

There is an old saying that goes, “Rich people are inherent assholes.” Ok, maybe I made it up but it still rings true. To illustrate this point, I’m going to tell you the story of “Mr. X.” Mr. X apparently just got divorced from Mrs. X the week before. And for 18 holes, I had to hear his sob story about how happy they were before and how the cheating slut messed everything up. Needless to say, I didn’t really care, all I wanted was to get my money and go home.

Apparently God decided that Massachusetts hasn’t had a drought in a while, so all summer the weather was absurdly hot, which makes carrying two bags for four hours rather uncomfortable, even without hearing some rich guy complain about his marriage. I suffered through this job for two and a half months. Before this summer, I always felt that summer jobs were a little bit lame, but because of this summer, I have decided that summer jobs should be banned. God forbid I get a summer job next summer. If I do, you have my permission to slap me.

Maystrovsky is a member ofthe class of 2009.

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