Most people work to pay off their manicure debts, to watch their bank accounts plump up with minty goodness, or to cap the flow of nagging annoyance from their parents. In this sense, I'm an oddity.

I initially chose to work at Yorktown Pools and Spas so I wouldn't have to cough and change the subject every time someone asked me what I was doing during the summer. The humble $7.25 an hour (minus that irksome $52 tax the township takes every now and then...man does that dent paycheck) was a mere perk. Plus being ghostly white is just so "rebelling against society's standards" of me...I can't let the sun ruin this perfect Casper glow I've got going on!

So I got the job from a family friend, who owns the business with her family. My older brother, CJ, worked there years ago when my mother was tired of him sitting home and eating Cool Ranch Doritos and watching Seinfeld (I love Seinfeld, but those Doritos really make your breath stink). I guess you could say I had connections. Oh yes, you're impressed.

So there I was (June 12, 2007, by the way), strolling up to YTP, as we cool working kids have dubbed it, ready to join the working force. I clocked in very proudly as number 31 when I suddenly remembered something (in my mind, this moment was choreographed to a car screeching to a halt, emphasis on the screech).

I don't have a pool. I don't have a spa. I know nothing about either except that they both involve water and chlorine and cute pool boys in some cases.

Eeeeek!

Immediately after this realization fell into my head, customers began to flood the store. Standing up a bit straighter, I sauntered over to a customer with a bottle of water clutched in her hands and asked somewhat professionally, "May I help you with something?" Except I neglected to remember that the bad thing about asking said question is that customers usually think you know what the heck you're talking about.

For the next four hours I would find out what pool owners needed, politely tell them I'd solve the problem in four shakes of a lamb's tail (two shakes was a bit ambitious for my first day), and run to Bonnie (the sweetest pool lady you'll ever meet) to ask them what the heck an eyeball fitting or flocculant or alkalinity increaser or DE powder was.

I stumbled through water tests and navigated my way through a really confusing and unorganized computer system as if I were maneuvering through a marshmallow jungle. Side note: how awesome would it be if such things existed? Anyway.

You might be thinking something along the lines of...why didn't I quit right there and then? Because, even though I have no intention to ever own a pool, become a chemist (water tests are more scientific than one would think), or work in retail, it was kind of fun to invest time in something that make me squeamish and uncomfortable. I had no idea what I was doing or talking about half of the time. But I've kind of been a bit of a know-it-all my whole life (I can't believe I actually admitted that in writing, or type I guess), so in a way being out of my element was healthy.

This year I'm back to working at YTP. I actually know how to unload a skid. I know how to give results from a water test back to a customer sans a furrowed brow, shrugging shoulders, and "erms." I know how to look up more obscure things in the database (seriously, that thing needs to be reorganized: a liquid tester for chlorine is under OTO ½). I know what the difference between chlorine, bromine, Synergy, and Baquacil is. I know how to nonchalantly sign the fancy FedEx thing (what is that called?) and toss out "Yeah, the last name's Seitz-Brown. You wish your parents were hypenaters, I know."

Yet every day, I'm still learning. And in a way, isn't that the point?