When I was in high school and college, I decided that my dream summer job would be to work at a state park. I had two reasons for this. The first was because I idolized Leslie Knope of “Parks and Recreation”. The second was because reading young adult books had convinced me that I was going to find the love of my life at a summer camp. Neither of these had any basis in reality. I had a lot of growing up to do.

My expectations were that I would find my fun, quirky self because Leslie Knope had these characteristics, in addition to being very funny. I would find a guy who loved my idolized funny self as I related the history of the Pawnee Mountains to him. Maybe we would get married and have a fantastic wedding. Please note that my fantasies only followed the plot of “Parks and Recreation” loosely. But I got lost in my imagination, and working at a state park was quite different than I had expected. It was not quite as glamorous as I imagined it.

My boss told me that my duties were to be a kitchenhand and cleaning cabins. On my first day, the dishwasher was broken. The employees, including several men with low-incomes, were washing dishes by hand. But the tasks got worse as the day went on. I was told to sort through all of the blankets and sheets inside of a tent, but the problem was all of the blankets were on the ground so it was very difficult to know what was considered clean and what was considered dirty. Now, there were also yoga mats that I had to sort through, which the camp kept for yoga classes outdoors on the weekend. I found a Maxi pad on one of them, which disgusted me. Then I was grateful that I had brought rubber gloves from home with me. I had brought them expecting to maybe pick up trash outside, but this was too much.

In the evening, everyone set up a table for a couple who had made reservations for a romantic dinner by the water. We set up the tables with white tablecloths. My boss told me to put candles and lanterns on the table. It felt like a huge slap in the face. Every fictional book I had read about young people at summer camp involved them finding romance. I had a crush on one of the employees at the park, but it stayed at crush. While I was setting up a table for a romantic outing, I wasn’t in a relationship myself—It was like: Name: Melodi. Height? Check. Weight? Check. Status? Single.

The next day was even less romantic. My back hurt from carrying trays with so many dishes. I had to go back-and-forth between the kitchen and the park café holding coffees. The guys unloaded trucks as I cleaned toilets and scrubbed floors of the cabins. When I saw my crush I wondered if he knew I had been cleaning toilets. Almost reminds me of the moment in romantic comedies, where the young man is about to take his love interest to prom, sees her, and is shocked at how beautiful she is. Except it’s me when my brow is sweating, and I probably smell.

I never had to perform physical labor before. It was hard. I was used to going to school and doodling when my professors gave lectures. I had a smartphone from the time they were released. I hoped to use my money from work just to buy Bath and Body works and bath bombs from Lush. I had no idea what people with less money did. Many times, my father would tell me, “Don’t take what you have for granted, because your mom and I had to work for what we have.”

Here I was, cleaning toilets and hating every second of it. The conditions at the campgrounds were far from glamorous. I watched as a woman used the same bucket of water to clean the floors of the cabins, as she did to clean the toilet. But the worst part were the hours.

I was kept at work far longer than we had agreed upon at our initial meeting. The other employees and I were expected to show up to work at 8:30 a.m., and I never got home before 10 p.m. Other employees told me sometimes they would show up to work at 8:30 and not leave until 2 or 2:30 in the morning.

That leads me to the next part of our little story. It was getting dark, and my family called me because they were getting worried. Then they got worried and talked to the camp manager, who finally agreed to send me home—even though I was at the park much later than my contract said. My mom said I couldn’t walk to the bus by myself. Then something happened; the manager sent my crush on his motorcycle to take me to the bus stop! He told me to hold on to him, so I thought “My crush notices me!”. But reality hit once he dropped me off at the wrong bus stop, because he didn’t know the area very well. I panicked and started calling my mom on the phone, because I didn’t know the area either and there was no one around. She told me to hop in a taxi. I was upset because the taxi cost as much as I had made.

The next morning, I quit my job. I was done cleaning toilets. I told my mom how I thought my crush noticed me because he told me to hold on to him, and she said that he cared about me enough to make sure I wouldn’t fall and become roadkill—or maybe he was afraid he would get in trouble. My job lasted just as long as my romance did. I didn’t like being a busser—I had multiple responsibilities— and if there’s anything I don’t want to clean again, it’s bathrooms. Though I'm done with my job, the lessons I've learned about hard work and privilege will stay.