When I was listening recently to Randy Pausch talk about work on the audio CD of his book “The Last Lecture,” I was reminded of some lessons I learned about work the summer I turned 16.

After a car trip to Washington, D.C., early that summer, my parents dropped my younger brother and me off at the airport. We were to fly home to Chattanooga, and they were going to drive to New York, I believe, and fly on to Europe.

While we were at the airport, I was paged. It was my eldest brother, who needed to reach my parents. Unfortunately, they were already gone, and I had no contact information.

The problem was, the elevator at the family’s retail store had broken. It was a serious problem — and a very expensive one — for a business that depended on its elevator. The upshot of it was that I became the elevator until school started in September.

When items were needed on the retail floor, I was asked to dash up two or three un-air-conditioned floors to grab them. When stock came in the back door, it was my job to take it upstairs.

The store stocked lots of file folders and legal pads, for instance, that came in cartons weighing maybe 30 pounds apiece. When 20 cartons had to be taken to the second floor, it was — trust me — a lot of work.

When a desk needed to be put together, I did that on one of the floors where there was no air conditioning and no ventilation.

I relocated scores of boxes, moved crates of furniture up and down the working elevator next door, wrapped packages, marked stock, swept floors and did whatever else was asked of me.

I did all that — the most physically demanding work I have ever done over a three-month period — for $1 an hour. The minimum wage at the time was $2 an hour.

The point now is not to grouse over the money I missed — or even the $10 bonus I got at the end of the summer (I really thought I might get $100) — but to talk about what I gained.

At the end of each day, I felt satisfaction at a job well done. It was my first paying job, and I had proved I was no slacker. When someone counted on me to do something, I did it.

“A lot of people want a short cut,” Mr. Pausch said in his book. “I find the best short cut is the long way, which is basically two words: Work hard. As I see it, if you work more hours than somebody else, you learn more about your craft. That can make you more efficient, more able, even happier. Hard work is like compounded interest in the bank. The rewards build faster.”

One of my rewards was learning to budget work. Some work took a little time, some took a lot. Some things needed to be done in a few hours, some could be spread throughout the week.

In an office of about 10, I also learned to work with other people. Some people can talk while they work, some are better left alone. A good attitude goes a long way, a bad attitude curries no favors. Growing up in a family of seven helped with this, but until you work with nine other people you don’t know what to expect.

Whether because it was my first job, or because I got my driver’s license that August, I can remember the most popular songs that summer, how my favorite baseball team performed, specific historic events and even what I ate.

Indeed, by the end of the summer, I even learned a little about Southern cuisine. One day, having eschewed cereal at home, I walked to the Krystal and got a breakfast plate. It had eggs, sausage patties, toast and some white stuff I couldn’t identify and hadn’t ordered.

“What is this?” I asked one of the women with whom I worked. The woman looked at another co-worker, who could see my plate.

“That’s grits, honey,” she said. “Haven’t you ever had grits?”

I confessed that I hadn’t and didn’t even know what it was (or they were).

My mother, who had raised five children in Chattanooga but was not raised in the South herself, had never served them.

To suggest a story, contact Clint Cooper at ccooper@timesfreepress.com.

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