My first job-job was at Video Biz, a movie rental store tucked between a Mervyn’s and a dry cleaner in my hometown strip mall.

I say job-job because before that, I’d done the usual teenage hustle—babysitting, working in the high school office, and picking up odd jobs here and there. But Video Biz was my first official paycheck, time card, and shirt-with-a-logo kind of job.

The place was delightfully jenky. Musty brown carpet we had to vacuum every night before closing, candy and popcorn for sale, and handwritten signs reminding customers to “Be Kind, Rewind.” My main task? Making sure people knew that their VHS tapes had to be returned before 2 p.m. or they’d be charged for another day. (IYKYK.)

It was, in many ways, a job about nothing. But it taught me about everything.

I learned to show up on time, even when I didn’t want to.
I learned to deal with the public, especially the cranky ones who racked up late fees.
I learned to take pride in something small, even when it didn’t feel important.
I learned not to giggle (out loud) when movies from behind the red curtain landed on the counter with titles like Stiff Competition.

And maybe most importantly, I learned about people.

I learned that everyone loves a good story and that people will talk if you’re willing to listen. Working at a video store wasn’t just about checking out tapes; it was about connecting with people over what they loved.

In its own way, it was my first lesson in Human Psychology 101. People reveal themselves through the stories they choose.

And those first jobs, they teach us so much more than the work itself.

That’s something I try to remind my own kids and the teens I work with in therapy: you don’t leap to the dream job; you grow into it.

There’s value in the early, messy, boring beginnings. In cleaning floors, stocking shelves, working late, and showing up for the shift no one wants.

Because those are the jobs that shape your work ethic and your humility. Those are the jobs that teach you how to be in the world.

Those are the jobs that quietly build confidence, character, and grit long before we realize how much we’re learning.

So when your teen complains about their first job—bagging groceries, bussing tables, folding towels—remind them that every career, every calling, every purpose begins somewhere small.

The truth is, those early jobs aren’t just about earning money. They’re about earning character. And every great story, just like every great career, has to start somewhere.

Even if that somewhere is a little dusty, a little outdated, and filled with stories waiting to be rewound and replayed.