I’ve been working since I was a kid. Growing up my weekly allowance was a meager $5.
The Schaab family household chores ranged from making my bed, cleaning the sibling
shared bathroom, emptying the dishwasher, and my all time least favorite straightening up
the basement. For my Midwest basement owning folk reading this book, you will
understand my pain. Cleaning our basement consisted of emptying the water out of our
old fashioned dehumidifiers which were located in dark damp corners of scary basement
hell. As a child I assumed serial killers, poltergeists, and the every bad guy from
Scooby Doo resided in these spooky spots. The basement is also known as the R.H.O.D.L.L.
The Real Housewives of Daddy Long Legs spider. Albeit totally harmless, they are the
super model of long legged insects and still make me gag to this day. Why are their creepy
legs so long and frail?!
The Schaab family household chores ranged from making my bed, cleaning the sibling
shared bathroom, emptying the dishwasher, and my all time least favorite straightening up
the basement. For my Midwest basement owning folk reading this book, you will
understand my pain. Cleaning our basement consisted of emptying the water out of our
old fashioned dehumidifiers which were located in dark damp corners of scary basement
hell. As a child I assumed serial killers, poltergeists, and the every bad guy from
Scooby Doo resided in these spooky spots. The basement is also known as the R.H.O.D.L.L.
The Real Housewives of Daddy Long Legs spider. Albeit totally harmless, they are the
super model of long legged insects and still make me gag to this day. Why are their creepy
legs so long and frail?!
Now don’t get me wrong I know PLENTY of kids who never received an allowance. My own
mom tried to avoid due pay by rolling out a gold sticker reward system. Every week she’d post
our chore list on the fridge and as tasks were completed she’d place a shiny gold star next to the
chore. When you’re under the age of 10 a parent can get away with free household labor, but I
was smarter than the average hustling bear. The jig was up once I discovered where she was
hiding the gold stars and gave myself (in my opinion) a well deserved break by adding a sticker
next to every chore for the entire week. To be honest my moms hiding spot (her desk drawer)
was terrible so she had it coming. I don’t work for stickers. Cash is King.
mom tried to avoid due pay by rolling out a gold sticker reward system. Every week she’d post
our chore list on the fridge and as tasks were completed she’d place a shiny gold star next to the
chore. When you’re under the age of 10 a parent can get away with free household labor, but I
was smarter than the average hustling bear. The jig was up once I discovered where she was
hiding the gold stars and gave myself (in my opinion) a well deserved break by adding a sticker
next to every chore for the entire week. To be honest my moms hiding spot (her desk drawer)
was terrible so she had it coming. I don’t work for stickers. Cash is King.
My Dad however believed in the value of hard work and earning your wages so he offered
up some weekly dough. However, I knew even back then I was underpaid for my talented
Midwest labor skills. The cost vs inflation struggle was real. GAP Dream Eau de Toilette
perfume (in the silver bottle) cost a whopping $9.99 not including tax. That’s almost 3 whole
weeks of allowance. How could my Dad not see I had BILLS TO PAY?! I attempted but failed
multiple times to negotiate a salary increase. I was too young to operate the lawn mower and
that was the next open position at Schaab INC.. Damn this height and age of mine! The child
labor ploy had to go so I hopped on my rad pink and teal 10 speed and peddled around town
asking anyone and everyone for a job. Finally I gained employment at a local pottery painting
spot called Pottery Palace*. You’ve seen these types of businesses; bachelorette style parties
or moms night out sipping wine and painting cheaply made ceramic figurines like a bear or a
single plate which most likely will end up in a junk drawer or a white elephant. Now you may be
saying “Wow Meg! Sexists much? I bet there are MEN who enjoying painting pottery.” I’m sure
there are best friend/reader, but this is MY book and in Westlake, Ohio during the 90’s the only
men who painted pottery were painting against their free will because their wives, girlfriends,
kids, etc wanted to flex their Frida Kahlo skills. #Facts
up some weekly dough. However, I knew even back then I was underpaid for my talented
Midwest labor skills. The cost vs inflation struggle was real. GAP Dream Eau de Toilette
perfume (in the silver bottle) cost a whopping $9.99 not including tax. That’s almost 3 whole
weeks of allowance. How could my Dad not see I had BILLS TO PAY?! I attempted but failed
multiple times to negotiate a salary increase. I was too young to operate the lawn mower and
that was the next open position at Schaab INC.. Damn this height and age of mine! The child
labor ploy had to go so I hopped on my rad pink and teal 10 speed and peddled around town
asking anyone and everyone for a job. Finally I gained employment at a local pottery painting
spot called Pottery Palace*. You’ve seen these types of businesses; bachelorette style parties
or moms night out sipping wine and painting cheaply made ceramic figurines like a bear or a
single plate which most likely will end up in a junk drawer or a white elephant. Now you may be
saying “Wow Meg! Sexists much? I bet there are MEN who enjoying painting pottery.” I’m sure
there are best friend/reader, but this is MY book and in Westlake, Ohio during the 90’s the only
men who painted pottery were painting against their free will because their wives, girlfriends,
kids, etc wanted to flex their Frida Kahlo skills. #Facts
My job at Pottery Palace was pretty easy. I cleaned paint brushes, rang up ceramic figurines, and swept
the floor. Since I was 14 (and probably breaking multiple child labor laws) my shifts were only a few
hours and my paychecks averaged $35-$50 a week. I could not have been happier and took immense
pride in my little after school job. I organized pieces from easiest to hardest, recommended paint
colors, set up a cute window display of plates I painted* during slow (or not so slow) hours, and sold
tchotchkes based on the crowded. No way a 6 year old could handle a ballerina figurine. You get a
coffee mug kid. Paint away! I was earning money and adults looked to me for ceramic decor buying
advice. I was LIVING!
the floor. Since I was 14 (and probably breaking multiple child labor laws) my shifts were only a few
hours and my paychecks averaged $35-$50 a week. I could not have been happier and took immense
pride in my little after school job. I organized pieces from easiest to hardest, recommended paint
colors, set up a cute window display of plates I painted* during slow (or not so slow) hours, and sold
tchotchkes based on the crowded. No way a 6 year old could handle a ballerina figurine. You get a
coffee mug kid. Paint away! I was earning money and adults looked to me for ceramic decor buying
advice. I was LIVING!
One evening I was working at the store while a group of women of a certain age hosted a ladies only
paint night out. They were nice gals and one happened to know the owner of the shop. As they painted,
drank, and gossiped the night grew toward closing time. Our owner of Pottery Palace, I’ll call her Sue
because honestly I was 14 and don’t remember her name, stopped by with a bottle of tequila and cheap
margarita mix. From what I gathered one of the ladies was a newly divorcee’ which meant tequila
therapy was just what the doctor ordered. Just like that with a “Cheers to no Man!” Pottery Palace
quickly morphed into Club Piiizoottery!! The ladies grew more trashed as I continued my closing
duties when Sue slurred in my direction “Megan! Can you make us a round of margaritas?” Um,
quick reminder I’M 14. What’s in a margarita? Never one to shy from a challenge and having about a
45 minutes to kill before my Dad picked me up, I grabbed the bottle margarita mix and read the
directions. 2oz of Tequila per drink. 4oz of mix per serving. There are 6 women. If Train A leaves the
station at the same time as Train B… how quickly can I whip up their tequila therapy? Math has never
been my strong suit so I took a guesstimate how much liquor to toss into the old blender, tossed in
some mix, a couple of ice cubes, hit frappe’ and soon poured out some thick cold frozen margs. The
gals LOVED my drinks and one of them even tipped me $20! They wanted to know all about their new
favorite bartender! I told them a few stories about trying out for the middle school basketball team and
my crush on the social studies hunk who looked just like Devon Sawa, Adam Szytec*. They drank and
laughed and drank... and drank. When my shift was over I walked out to my Dad's minivan proud of
my hard earned wages. I couldn’t wait to get home and tell my mom how I made enough money to go
to the movies on Friday AND purchase GAP Dream Eau de Toilette perfume.
paint night out. They were nice gals and one happened to know the owner of the shop. As they painted,
drank, and gossiped the night grew toward closing time. Our owner of Pottery Palace, I’ll call her Sue
because honestly I was 14 and don’t remember her name, stopped by with a bottle of tequila and cheap
margarita mix. From what I gathered one of the ladies was a newly divorcee’ which meant tequila
therapy was just what the doctor ordered. Just like that with a “Cheers to no Man!” Pottery Palace
quickly morphed into Club Piiizoottery!! The ladies grew more trashed as I continued my closing
duties when Sue slurred in my direction “Megan! Can you make us a round of margaritas?” Um,
quick reminder I’M 14. What’s in a margarita? Never one to shy from a challenge and having about a
45 minutes to kill before my Dad picked me up, I grabbed the bottle margarita mix and read the
directions. 2oz of Tequila per drink. 4oz of mix per serving. There are 6 women. If Train A leaves the
station at the same time as Train B… how quickly can I whip up their tequila therapy? Math has never
been my strong suit so I took a guesstimate how much liquor to toss into the old blender, tossed in
some mix, a couple of ice cubes, hit frappe’ and soon poured out some thick cold frozen margs. The
gals LOVED my drinks and one of them even tipped me $20! They wanted to know all about their new
favorite bartender! I told them a few stories about trying out for the middle school basketball team and
my crush on the social studies hunk who looked just like Devon Sawa, Adam Szytec*. They drank and
laughed and drank... and drank. When my shift was over I walked out to my Dad's minivan proud of
my hard earned wages. I couldn’t wait to get home and tell my mom how I made enough money to go
to the movies on Friday AND purchase GAP Dream Eau de Toilette perfume.
My mom however was not so eager. She was angry that I was exposed to alcohol and called Sue and
her gal pals irresponsible for allowing a 14 year old girl to play the LIVE version of Sam from
CHEERS. My parents made me quit Pottery Palace the next day but the tone was set. I was a great
entertainer and not too shabby of a bartender. Looking back this was basically the suburban version of
Goodfellas. I’m Spider minus the whole getting shot to death in the end by a disgruntled Joe Pesci.
There was money to be made in the world and I was ready to earn (and spend) it.
her gal pals irresponsible for allowing a 14 year old girl to play the LIVE version of Sam from
CHEERS. My parents made me quit Pottery Palace the next day but the tone was set. I was a great
entertainer and not too shabby of a bartender. Looking back this was basically the suburban version of
Goodfellas. I’m Spider minus the whole getting shot to death in the end by a disgruntled Joe Pesci.
There was money to be made in the world and I was ready to earn (and spend) it.
In High School my Dad gave my sister and I his old car so we could share it and stop calling them
collect for rides home from the school payphones.* Fortunately being the youngest has major perks!
Soon after the deed was transferred my sister was off to college and with killer license pic plus a
new ride, your girl was hell on wheels! The only downfall of owning your ride is now I was the solo
gas provider. My parents were not about to fork over cash and give me extra reason to
scoot-scoot-scoot like Beyonce around town. Once again, I was in need of employment. A found
out there was an assisted living home at the edge of Westlake which hired high school kids to serve
the old folks* breakfast and dinner. After dropping my resume and interviewing that very moment I
was on my way to employment city! The morning shifts were BRUTAL! I’d wake up at 6am and
head into work by 7am. Our uniforms where anything but cute which always bummed me out because
there were boys from my rival high school who also worked at the home. Side note, assisted living
homes are the boujee older sister to nursing homes. We had a Cook in the back named Margie. I loved
her! She was a tattoo’d up fast talking mom figure to us wannabe hooligans. Margie was no nonsense
and if she suspected you came in to work a 7am brunch shift hungover from the night before house
party where you drank garbage alcohol like Mike's Hard Lemonade she’d make you honorary
dishwasher for the entire day. Hungover and scrapping half eaten eggs of an old folks plates should
be placed on the FBI torture tactics on how to break criminals. The job was low pay and I was
constantly trying to pick up extra shifts to satisfy my gas guzzling and perfume obsession needs.
collect for rides home from the school payphones.* Fortunately being the youngest has major perks!
Soon after the deed was transferred my sister was off to college and with killer license pic plus a
new ride, your girl was hell on wheels! The only downfall of owning your ride is now I was the solo
gas provider. My parents were not about to fork over cash and give me extra reason to
scoot-scoot-scoot like Beyonce around town. Once again, I was in need of employment. A found
out there was an assisted living home at the edge of Westlake which hired high school kids to serve
the old folks* breakfast and dinner. After dropping my resume and interviewing that very moment I
was on my way to employment city! The morning shifts were BRUTAL! I’d wake up at 6am and
head into work by 7am. Our uniforms where anything but cute which always bummed me out because
there were boys from my rival high school who also worked at the home. Side note, assisted living
homes are the boujee older sister to nursing homes. We had a Cook in the back named Margie. I loved
her! She was a tattoo’d up fast talking mom figure to us wannabe hooligans. Margie was no nonsense
and if she suspected you came in to work a 7am brunch shift hungover from the night before house
party where you drank garbage alcohol like Mike's Hard Lemonade she’d make you honorary
dishwasher for the entire day. Hungover and scrapping half eaten eggs of an old folks plates should
be placed on the FBI torture tactics on how to break criminals. The job was low pay and I was
constantly trying to pick up extra shifts to satisfy my gas guzzling and perfume obsession needs.
One day the activities coordinator Helen asked me if I’d like to start calling Bingo one day a week.
I jumped at the chance for an extra $30 in my paycheck. Yup. Minimum wage is lame. Helen said
calling Bingo required two employees so I convinced my co worker and high school classmate Mark
to get in on the ground floor of this sweet Bingo gig. We showed up the day of our shift and the
activities room was packed. Dang, who would have thought the Bingo circuit was so hot? Mark
wanted to handle the ball and fill in the letters which left me announcing the numbers over the
microphone and checking Bingo cards of winners because old folks can be stingy cheaters. We started
off great! Mark was owning behind the scenes and I called numbers and told some jokes like a boss.
When working a room as a comic, it's important to understand the vibe of your audience. Are they
conservative? Do they seem drunk and ready to laugh till they pee themselves? Can they even
understand me because most wear hearing aids and the batteries haven’t been changed in 6 months?
The joke portion of my act ended quickly when our favorite old folk Bob yelled out “Forget the damn
jokes and call the numbers!” That was my first time bombing as a stand up comic.
I was 16. #ClevelandComic.
I jumped at the chance for an extra $30 in my paycheck. Yup. Minimum wage is lame. Helen said
calling Bingo required two employees so I convinced my co worker and high school classmate Mark
to get in on the ground floor of this sweet Bingo gig. We showed up the day of our shift and the
activities room was packed. Dang, who would have thought the Bingo circuit was so hot? Mark
wanted to handle the ball and fill in the letters which left me announcing the numbers over the
microphone and checking Bingo cards of winners because old folks can be stingy cheaters. We started
off great! Mark was owning behind the scenes and I called numbers and told some jokes like a boss.
When working a room as a comic, it's important to understand the vibe of your audience. Are they
conservative? Do they seem drunk and ready to laugh till they pee themselves? Can they even
understand me because most wear hearing aids and the batteries haven’t been changed in 6 months?
The joke portion of my act ended quickly when our favorite old folk Bob yelled out “Forget the damn
jokes and call the numbers!” That was my first time bombing as a stand up comic.
I was 16. #ClevelandComic.
Word spread that the new hot ticket in old folks town was Bingo Bonanza.* Mark and I held onto our
time slot for a few weeks until one day opportunity came a knocking as it always does for a hustler.
After wrapping up Bingo Bonaza Helen approached us in a panic. Happy Hour was starting and they
were short staffed. Could Mark and I stay a little longer and help out? Mark and I looked slyly at her
but answered with the classic innocent and perplexed tone of two underage youths. “Um… what
do you mean help out with Happy Hour?” Helen responded with an exasperated “Can you make the drinks?!” And just like that I got my
second credit as a bartender on the ol’ resume.
time slot for a few weeks until one day opportunity came a knocking as it always does for a hustler.
After wrapping up Bingo Bonaza Helen approached us in a panic. Happy Hour was starting and they
were short staffed. Could Mark and I stay a little longer and help out? Mark and I looked slyly at her
but answered with the classic innocent and perplexed tone of two underage youths. “Um… what
do you mean help out with Happy Hour?” Helen responded with an exasperated “Can you make the drinks?!” And just like that I got my
second credit as a bartender on the ol’ resume.
Let me break down a Happy Hour in an assisted living community. The old folks may have had their
freedom within their confined grounds of the community but they were not allowed to keep alcohol in
their super expensive apartments. Basically they worked their entire lives to be transported back to
freshman year dorm life. Many of them were on meds so as a precaution for their safety each person
could keep their favorite alcohol locked safely away in the activities room closet and partake everyday
at 3pm at happy hour. Since my resume as bartender consisted of 1 job and Marks 0, I was upgraded
from Bingo entertainer extraordinaire to bartender. Mark took the drink orders and served*. Now if
you thought Bingo was popping you would not have believed how full the room was for Happy Hour. It was THE who’s who of assisted living. Bob and his crew which consisted of old guys who
smoked cigars and complained about the weather, Queen Bee’s were the widows whose kids rarely
visited unless they wanted money, and a few “Cuties Couples,” that held hands and talk of the old
days. For legal purposes, I feel I should tell you that two sixteen year old High School kids are not
allowed to make or serve alcoholic beverages especially on the clock and acquiring a paycheck. Hey!
Law-schmaw, Mark and I were already drunk with power from Bingo Bonanza some lame legal term
like “underage” wasn’t going to stop us from building our assisted living entertainment empire!
Thankfully many of the old folks weren’t allowed liquor since it clashed with their medications.
Beer it was! I began popping bottles and working the room telling jokes and gossiping with the
Queen Bee table about who was dating who and their ever favorite (yet morbid) topic, guessing who
will die next. Not to brag but it was THE most talked about Happy Hour of the week. Sadly, over the
next few weeks end of the school year projects and tests amped up so the Bingo Bonanza duo was
forced to turn over our empire to the front desk attendant “Ron the rule follower.” Ron was mayo
meets white bread and could have lived in the community as he was that old. I heard rumors later on
that bingo was never the same again. Sigh, all good and illegal things must come to an end…
freedom within their confined grounds of the community but they were not allowed to keep alcohol in
their super expensive apartments. Basically they worked their entire lives to be transported back to
freshman year dorm life. Many of them were on meds so as a precaution for their safety each person
could keep their favorite alcohol locked safely away in the activities room closet and partake everyday
at 3pm at happy hour. Since my resume as bartender consisted of 1 job and Marks 0, I was upgraded
from Bingo entertainer extraordinaire to bartender. Mark took the drink orders and served*. Now if
you thought Bingo was popping you would not have believed how full the room was for Happy Hour. It was THE who’s who of assisted living. Bob and his crew which consisted of old guys who
smoked cigars and complained about the weather, Queen Bee’s were the widows whose kids rarely
visited unless they wanted money, and a few “Cuties Couples,” that held hands and talk of the old
days. For legal purposes, I feel I should tell you that two sixteen year old High School kids are not
allowed to make or serve alcoholic beverages especially on the clock and acquiring a paycheck. Hey!
Law-schmaw, Mark and I were already drunk with power from Bingo Bonanza some lame legal term
like “underage” wasn’t going to stop us from building our assisted living entertainment empire!
Thankfully many of the old folks weren’t allowed liquor since it clashed with their medications.
Beer it was! I began popping bottles and working the room telling jokes and gossiping with the
Queen Bee table about who was dating who and their ever favorite (yet morbid) topic, guessing who
will die next. Not to brag but it was THE most talked about Happy Hour of the week. Sadly, over the
next few weeks end of the school year projects and tests amped up so the Bingo Bonanza duo was
forced to turn over our empire to the front desk attendant “Ron the rule follower.” Ron was mayo
meets white bread and could have lived in the community as he was that old. I heard rumors later on
that bingo was never the same again. Sigh, all good and illegal things must come to an end…
Would I consider these gigs “Survival Jobs?” Not really. I had a roof over my head and the money
wasn’t going to help anything other than my GAP scent obsession. But beginning work in the real
world at 14 is something I’ve never regretted and genuinely think is important for all kids. Working
in middle school and high school as much as I sound like an article from Parent Magazine, builds character. While other kids were begging their parents for money I was earning and it felt great.
The independence and self responsibility to get my butt up every morning for those 7am shifts was
hard but gave me a sense of accomplishment. I learned how to budget my time, save my paychecks,
and honor my commitments. I worked with kids my age, single moms, high school dropouts, bored
retirees, ex cons, addicts, and also some pretty lousy people all before I could even cast my vote in
a presidential election. I learned how to work with people from these experiences. I have seen great
work ethics and extreme laziness. I grew in empathy as well. Working alongside people from of all
ages, personalities, financial, and educational backgrounds at such a young age opened my eyes to
how lucky and blessed I was. We weren’t rich by any stretch of the imagination but my parents
worked their butts off so we didn’t want for anything. Seeing how the world really operates is something a mostly all white privileged high school in the suburbs can’t and will never teach you.
All of these experiences as a teen not only helped toughen my skin for the road to becoming an
entertainer and entrepreneur but laid the foundation of inner strength and discipline to keep on pushing
through even the worst survival jobs (and their managers) with my head up until my Hollywood
dreams came true..
wasn’t going to help anything other than my GAP scent obsession. But beginning work in the real
world at 14 is something I’ve never regretted and genuinely think is important for all kids. Working
in middle school and high school as much as I sound like an article from Parent Magazine, builds character. While other kids were begging their parents for money I was earning and it felt great.
The independence and self responsibility to get my butt up every morning for those 7am shifts was
hard but gave me a sense of accomplishment. I learned how to budget my time, save my paychecks,
and honor my commitments. I worked with kids my age, single moms, high school dropouts, bored
retirees, ex cons, addicts, and also some pretty lousy people all before I could even cast my vote in
a presidential election. I learned how to work with people from these experiences. I have seen great
work ethics and extreme laziness. I grew in empathy as well. Working alongside people from of all
ages, personalities, financial, and educational backgrounds at such a young age opened my eyes to
how lucky and blessed I was. We weren’t rich by any stretch of the imagination but my parents
worked their butts off so we didn’t want for anything. Seeing how the world really operates is something a mostly all white privileged high school in the suburbs can’t and will never teach you.
All of these experiences as a teen not only helped toughen my skin for the road to becoming an
entertainer and entrepreneur but laid the foundation of inner strength and discipline to keep on pushing
through even the worst survival jobs (and their managers) with my head up until my Hollywood
dreams came true..
* Name changed to protect every and all painting pottery spots innocence.
* I knew even at a young age it was all about getting your content out there. More on that later…
* Adam was my first crush and genuinely a nice human. He unfortunately passed away after we
graduated High School. Not to be a bummer but just thought everyone should know his name.
graduated High School. Not to be a bummer but just thought everyone should know his name.
* Pre cell phone era. “Would you like to accept a collect call from-- SOCCER’S OVER PICK ME UP!”
* GAP please call me about bringing back GAP Dream Eau de Toilette in the silver container.
* My favorite old folk, Bob, dubbed the assisted living home residents “Old Folks”. We were the
“Young Folks.” I miss him. He was a hoot.
“Young Folks.” I miss him. He was a hoot.
* Everyone refused to call it Bingo Bonanza except Mark and I.
* Mark is now a hospitality broker. FULL CIRCLE?
