DATE: Friday, July 4, 1997                  TAG: 9707030013

SECTION: LOCAL                   PAGE: B9   EDITION: FINAL 

TYPE: Opinion 

SOURCE: Keith Monroe 

                                            LENGTH:   78 lines

ON THE JOB: WORKING TEEN HAS THE SUMMERTIME RED, WHITE AND BLUES

Today I'll celebrate the 4th in traditional style, with a neighborhood parade and picnic. But the 16-year-old in our household won't be taking part. Instead of stuffing hot dogs and chips in his mouth, he'll be stuffing them in paper or plastic. He's got a summer job as a bag boy. This is cause for patriotic celebration. Another generation of capitalists is born. Hooray for the red, white and greenback.

Our young employee took his first steps into the world of work last winter with a job on a Christmas tree lot. Making money is clearly good for its own sake, if only because every dollar the kid earns is a buck I get to keep. But it's also assumed that earning money teaches valuable lessons.

Parents - hopelessly naive - like to imagine that the hardness of the earning will translate into caution when it comes to spending. But, in our consumer culture, that's a forlorn hope. The money is quickly squandered on fast food, trendy CDs by groups with names like Ruptured Spigot, clothes that look like Salvation Army rejects or - in one particular case that comes to mind - a turquoise, glow-in-the-dark, Quicksilver surfer/diver watch alleged to be waterproof to 330 ft. Way cool!

Of course, there is a silver lining to this profligacy. Spending enforces the need to keep on earning. It's the vicious cycle on which the economy is built. If the choice is to spend less or work more, Americans have not tended to spend less. Often they've bridged the gap by charging more. But our teen has not yet reached the age of consent - when you get your first Visa.

It is also assumed that work teaches valuable lessons about the need to cooperate with with people, meet obligations, be punctual, set goals, follow schedules and other virtues. Our confidence in this premise is daily shaken, however, when we ask the fledging employee what hours he has to work tomorrow.

``Uh. I forgot to check.''

On the other hand, the No. 1 lesson he gleaned from loading Christmas trees into trunks or tying them onto roofs was this: ``Working outdoors in December is cold!''

This is the beginning of wisdom. The philosopher Bertrand Russell once made the same point: ``Work is of two sorts, moving heavy objects at or near the surface of the earth and telling other people to do so. The former is ill-paid and unpleasant. The latter is well-paid and pleasant.'' And you thought modern philosophy had nothing useful to teach.

For 16 years, this kid's parents, grandparents, teachers, coaches have been droning on about the need to get good grades, commit no major crimes, attend college in order to wind up working in a clean, well-lighted place where no heavy lifting is required. Three weeks hoisting fir trees in frigid temperatures made the point really spring to life.

This summer, our employee-in-residence is learning similar valuable lessons. Like: Standing up for six or seven hours with only a 15-minute break for lunch is no picnic. Like: The lower you are in the pecking order, the more likely you are to have to work holidays.

But the bag person has also learned some tricks of the trade and has had the rich experience of dealing with humans.

When women buy flowers, a compliment is in order. ``My, those are beautiful posies, ma'am.''

From the bagger's perspective, plastic is preferable due to ``the aggravation of paper. You have to weight paper bags out just right. They're not as versatile as plastic.'' This is actual expertise talking.

It's pointless to offer to carry bags for older gentlemen. Not only is it an affront to their machismo, but ``they all say the same thing, like it's original: `Hey, I'm not that old yet.'''

The customers most grateful for help are women with small children.

A demographic insight: The only people who purchase pimento loaf are elderly men.

When six cases of beer and a dozen bottles of wine come down the conveyor belt, resist the impulse to say: ``Wow, having a party?'' When the customer fixes you with a bloodshot eye and says, ``No,'' it's pretty embarrassing.

The customer is not always bright. Like the irate man who claimed he was overcharged but wasn't. Like people who buy unidentifiable objects from the meat counter wrapped in cellophane and glistening grayly. Such foodstuffs give at least one bag person the creeps.

The vendor is not always right. Like the time a cashier started up the conveyor belt while a customer's driver's license was on it. When the ID disappeared into the bowels of the machinery, the customer was screaming so loud she couldn't even hear: ``Paper or plastic, ma,am?'' MEMO: Mr. Monroe is editor of the editorial page of The Virginian-Pilot.

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