Recently, I went back home to the Mid-Hudson Valley for a family gathering. Since my parents moved from my childhood home in Wappingers Falls to nearby Poughkeepsie, the route to their house has changed. For most of my life, Route 9 led me home to Wappingers Falls. Now it’s the Route 44/55 arterial. It just so happens that a few weeks back, along this new Poughkeepsie route, we passed Dutchess Beer Distributors, the site of one of my more memorable summer jobs.
If I’ve done the math correctly (errrr), it would’ve been 1995, right after I’d finished my junior year in college that at the distributorship. I’m fairly certain Dutchess Beer Distributors does not have a record of employment, since they recorded everything on paper back then. So, you’ll have to just take my word for it that I worked there. Nevertheless, this summer job was another incredibly fun experience that ended all too soon.
I learned several life lessons from the three brief months of my seasonal employment at Dutchess Beer Distributors. The biggest life lesson I learned, albeit after the fact, is this: don’t wait too long when you’re saving something for a special occasion. The best time to use something special is often just to enjoy it immediately, rather than waiting for the perfect moment. Because as I learned that ideal moment may never come. Or it may come too late. In other words, don’t wait until the last call.
Here’s my story…
Pounding the pavement
Finding summer employment was always a challenge during my college years. The Hudson Valley region was not booming with seasonal opportunities for young adults, particularly those with limited job experience. The one thing I had going for me was that I began scouring the Want Ads as soon as I got home from college. I wasn’t waiting for last call in the summer job market.
Since I still had a leg up on some of the less-motivated collegiate jobseekers, I could afford to be a little bit picky in my job search. As a slight germaphobe, I didn’t want to work in food services due to my squeamish feeling about clearing away other people’s food. Now, as the mother of two teenagers, I would have no such reservations. Having changed countless diapers, cleaned up vomit, and helped children blow their noses often into my hand, rather than the tissue, I laugh at my younger self’s hang-ups.
Still, an office job had been my first choice for summer employment. It was fortuitous that I stumbled upon a Help Wanted ad for Dutchess Beer Distributors, which was seeking someone to fill a bookkeeping position.
As a double major in Pre-Law and English, I knew a thing or two about books. Bookkeeping, well, not so much. But I had a friendly smile and a can-do attitude. Plus, I would work for next to nothing.
So, I updated my resume, making sure I highlighted any prior employment where I worked in an office. Perhaps that would make me seem more qualified for the bookkeeping job. If not, I could probably just fake it for three months. That naïve attitude was likely the reason why I went into the job interview with an unhealthy amount of confidence. I assured the manager I was more than up for the job. He hired me on the spot.
Easy as one-two-three
The office was managed by a pleasant man in his late twenties named G. G had wavy dark brown hair and a moustache that looked out of place. G favored colorless short-sleeved button-downs and solid-colored ties. G was also the type of guy who was too nice for his own good.
One of the permanent bookkeepers who worked at the distributorship was a girl named J, who happened to have gone to my high school. Although we weren’t friendly growing up, I discovered that J had an incredibly sharp sense of humor and quick wit. She teasingly called G “sweet cheeks” and “baby doll.” Had there been an HR department, they surely wouldn’t have known what to do with J’s insubordination.
G accepted his nicknames with eye rolls and exasperation. I knew this would be a fun summer.
My job was mainly to count the pallets of beer the truckers brought in. Once the pallets were logged in, I’d give the drivers their receipts through a tiny warehouse window. I must’ve also done some other data-entry and secretarial work, but that part of the job wasn’t all that memorable.
I’ll admit there was a strange beauty in seeing all the beers stacked neatly throughout the humongous warehouse. Although the windowless, wood-paneled office was kind of dumpy, I didn’t mind the work at all. This job was far from the last call summer positions I could’ve gotten.
The party’s over
The other aspect of the job that made it so fun were the people. The truck drivers were a bit gruff, but J’s spunky personality and ability to make G squirm made every moment of work feel like I was in a sitcom.
While I could never dish it out like J could—she honestly had a comeback for everything—I had a quick enough wit. Between J and G’s constant back-and-forth banter, I basically just laughed the whole day with them. Even the warehouse guys were funny in their own way.
If they could’ve, the guys in the warehouse would surely have drunk all the beer had it not been closely accounted for. When they weren’t unloading the beer pallets, the warehouse guys would make fun of each other. They were also quite protective of us “office girls” when the truckers came in. Thankfully, there were only a couple of instances of inappropriate comments. But under the watchful of our warehouse guys, they dealt with the offenders swiftly.
Sadly, my last call for summer came far too soon. Before I knew it, I had to head back to school. On my last day at the distributorship, the team threw a goodbye party for me. If you’re curious, they served me cake, not beer.
As a special going-away gift, G and the warehouse guys gave me a six-pack of Corona. At the time, Corona was (and to some extent, still is) one of the premium beers. It was a far cry from the cheap swill most college kids drank. Also, since the statute of limitations has surely passed, I was only a few weeks away from turning twenty-one.
Break out the bubbly
I was so excited to show off my “sixer” of Corona to my college friends. But, I decided that I wanted to save the beer and drink it on a special occasion. And so, I waited for that special occasion. But what occasion would be special enough to warrant drinking the Corona? Doing well on a paper didn’t seem like it was worthy of cracking open that premium beer. The night before going home for the holidays didn’t seem monumental enough to open the Corona.
The weeks turned into months. Then the months stretched into a year. The last call never came.
Upon graduating from college, I brought the six-pack of Corona home with me. By now, it had traveled quite a bit. It had been refrigerated, and it had been unrefrigerated. A thin layer of dust had settled on the bottles. It had been some time since my summer job working at Dutchess Beer Distributors.
But finally, after I’d moved into my new apartment in Brooklyn Heights and was just about to begin law school, I decided that it was time to open the Corona. Excitedly, I rifled around in my kitchen drawer to find a bottle opener. With two friends hovering around my small kitchen table, I held out the plate of cut limes to them. That was the classy way to drink Corona. I cracked open my bottle and was about to raise it up in a toast. Then I smelled something awful.
While I find the scent of beer disgusting to begin with, the smell wafting out of the Corona bottle was more than just unpleasant. It was downright pungent. As in, the beer had been skunked (aka “light-struck”). For all you science lovers out there, skunked beer occurs when ultraviolet light breaks down the hops, causing them to react with sulfur and create a compound called 3-methyl-2-butene-1-thiol (MBT). Like its name implies, it smells exactly like a skunk.
No time like the present
While I later learned that the beer was still perfectly fine to consume, the Coronas had long been poured down the drain. You know what else went down the drain? The opportunity I’d missed to actually enjoy my six-pack of Corona. I wish I had drunk the beer sooner.
But that’s the problem with waiting for a special occasion. “Someday” and “the perfect time” can be dangerous words. Sometimes the best time is the present.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to realize how precious time is. We don’t live forever. At least we don’t yet. Not to get all philosophical on you, but as it turns out, waking up every day with people whom you love is a special occasion in and of itself.
So, take it from me, use that decorative soap, eat off the good dishes, or light that fancy scented candle you’ve been holding onto. And when it comes to saving a special food or drink, double check that it’s the kind of item that can be aged—as I learned, beer doesn’t fall into that category. Turns out, the last call exists for a good reason. (And of course, whatever you do involving alcohol, please drink responsibly.) Cheers.
Do you recall any childhood memories that had a strong impact on you later in life? Please share your stories with me in the comments section.
