Hayley Glatter

It was a great first job. It taught me to cheerfully perform objectively disgusting work, an invaluable career asset. It wiped out all traces of teenage vanity; when the best-looking boy in my class came in to buy a bag of chips and saw me—hair frizzy from the steam of the sanitizer, hands red and raw from bleach solution, ugly store apron proudly advertising my membership in the working class—I still had to look him in the eye and ask, “Are you finding what you’re looking for?”

The juxtaposition of months spent in the classroom with months spent cleaning up a meat department is stark. For a teenager with aspirations of becoming a lawyer, for instance, it might not be easy to elect a job in manual labor over a summer course on criminal justice or a chance to intern at a local law office. Still, a number of readers described how physically grueling experiences can prove to be emotionally and mentally formative. Take Jesse, who spent the summer between his freshman and sophomore year of college earning rent money at his father’s concrete business:

I ended up working almost every day of the week—we couldn't work in rain so those were the only off days—for 8-13 hours. I regularly handled heavy-duty grinding equipment and toxic chemicals regularly, and I was constantly carrying 80-180 pounds of equipment around in the hot sun. I had never had to do anything near this demanding or difficult in my life.

I dreaded waking up almost every day of that summer, especially with how beat up my body was near the end. After it all, though, I’m thankful for the experience. It landed me with several thousand dollars in my pocket, and I learned a lot of hard lessons that summer—some things I would have never learned otherwise. It will probably be one of the most character-defining moments in my life, and I wouldn’t have gotten that at an internship.

These unexpected lessons learned while working a temporary job permeated nearly every response we received—and some of those lessons last for decades. From 1960-1965, Harry Freiberg worked for a large ice maker and deliverer in New Orleans, where he brushed elbows with the city’s most eccentric characters and establishments. He also began to develop his own ideology:  

I was the only white driver, the only high-school kid driver, and the only college-kid driver. For a nice upper-middle-class Jewish boy, each summer was a learning experience. It was long, hard work for little pay, but the experiences more than compensated. It was  how I became a liberal, socially and politically. And those summers are still some of my fondest memories.

It’s not just the big life lessons that last, either. Sometimes an unexpected gem found during a summer job can sparkle for a lifetime—as Ron Palmquist, a longtime reader from Maine, knows:  

While working as a soda jerk at a local pharmacy paying for incidentals prior to graduation in 1947, I saw Atlantic Monthly on the newsstand and took a copy to read during breaks behind the soda fountain. I was hooked.

That today’s young people are looking for ways to maximize their time and are choosing more academic ways to do so—or, in the case of internships, more explicitly future-oriented ones—isn’t shocking. Since 2000, the number of students expected to attend higher education in the United States has grown by 5.2 million, according to the Education Department. But those applicants haven’t necessarily brought 5.2 million additional spots at selective universities with them. And so as admissions rates plummet and the application pressure-cooker heats up, taking SAT prep classes instead of babysitting can seem less like an option and more like an obligation.

I grew up in a competitive public school district where a premium was placed on club leadership positions, community-service hours, and AP classes. Many of my peers spent their summers bolstering their resumes, and I certainly considered alternative ways to spend the summer, especially once I was in college and my peers were securing coveted internships at banks and consulting firms. At the end of three consecutive summers, I said I wouldn’t return to camp in favor of more professional pursuits—but every time, when summer came again, I was back at camp. Ultimately,  the camaraderie I felt there, along with the unique freedoms and joys of spending weeks in the woods, was something I didn’t think a desk job could replace.

Not only was camp my first paying job, but it was also the first time I was truly responsible for someone other than myself. Camp counselors do more than kick soccer balls and create wacky dance routines: I taught dozens of kids to swim, I know what to do if someone goes into anaphylactic shock, and hopefully I was a positive role model for my campers in the same way my counselors were for me. I also met some of my best friends (one of whom I still live with) at summer camp, and we’re bonded together by memories of sticky s’mores and incessant Color Wars cheers.

The middle of nowhere is filled with hot bonfires, deep lakes, and the occasional tick, and being entrusted with the safety of others amid legitimate risk is incredibly empowering for a young adult. Explaining how to make a lanyard keychain to a second-grader and speaking to a parent whose child has misbehaved taught me to respectfully communicate with people of all ages. At camp, I didn’t just learn how to steer a canoe. I learned to be independent, accountable, and just the right dose of weird. These lessons form the bedrock of who I am as an employee and as a human being, and that kind of social-emotional growth simply isn’t found inside a summer-school classroom.

For the adults out there: What was your most formative summer job? For the teens: How are you choosing to spend the summer, and why? To share your story, send us an email at hello@theatlantic.com.