When I tell friends and family that Cambridge students aren’t allowed to work during term time, I tend to be met with the same gasp, followed by murmurings about privilege. This worsens when I explain that many also forgo unglamourous student summer jobs in favour of lofty internships, which have become nigh-on-ubiquitous among the more ambitious and career-oriented of us. I trot out the usual explanations for the university’s policy, but can’t help but feel that those who have never worked a day in their lives (excluding Spring Weeks, of course) may have missed out on a different kind of privilege.

"Two years worth of weekends spent talking to customers helped me to reach a place of readiness to move out and start university"

I got my first job, in a café at the top of my street, in no small part because my dog was very fond of the ‘pupcakes’ that they would generously give her whenever she poked her snout through their door. Owing to Rosie’s networking skills, I was offered a job making coffees and serving customers. I was sixteen and, inconveniently for a customer-facing role, lacking in confidence.

Conversations were an integral part of the job; the cafe served as a community hub, and many of our regulars were older and perhaps vulnerable to loneliness. My boss’s husband Stephen, in particular, provided stories on everything from history and politics to his experiences as a nurse in busy Glasgow hospitals during the pandemic, which I would never have heard had we not worked together. He even reads my Varsity articles to this day! Two years worth of weekends spent talking to customers helped me to reach a place of readiness to move out and start university, despite the fact that many of their paths in life were drastically different from the one I was embarking on.

About a year later, I started coaching taekwondo, and was swiftly sent to teach the littlest kids. My newfound appreciation for parents appeared instantaneously: keeping tabs on a group of five and six-year-olds is no mean feat. But, a couple of weeks later, I opted to stay with the youngest group when offered the more sedate older children. During a period consumed by the pressure of applying to Cambridge and other stresses, an hour of trying to keep little kids from kicking each other, which wholly prevented me from thinking about anything else, was immensely beneficial.

This summer, while some of my peers were entering shining corporate offices to partake in well-remunerated internships, I spent five weeks working at a summer camp for twelve to sixteen-year-olds from all over the world in Cambridge. Mentioning this age group to people tended to invoke one reaction: “You’re brave!”

"My co-workers and customers have repeatedly proven to me that generally, people are pretty good"

Ultimately, I returned home with unexpectedly touching anecdotes rather than horror stories. When taking a group of young teenagers on a trip to the Imperial War Museum’s Holocaust Galleries, my anxiety quickly gave way to admiration for their maturity and empathy. The string of questions a fourteen-year-old girl asked me as I checked that she was in her room for bedtime, including but not limited to “Have you ever been in a nightclub?”, “Do you pay tax?” and “Does it get easier to deal with things when you get older?” stayed with me long after I said goodnight to her. I got to know a group of high school teachers from the US, had a surprisingly wholesome dinner at Shake Shack with a bunch of teenage boys, and shared many thought-provoking conversations with a young girl staying on my staircase on topics ranging from Brexit to the experience of girlhood. Admittedly, I had my downbeat moments, when I felt the urge to pack up and go home to my Mum. But being surrounded by children thousands of miles away from their families put this into sharp perspective, and forced me to grow up a little.

Glitzy internships they were not, but in a profoundly uncorporate manner, these jobs taught me to serve others. My co-workers and customers have repeatedly proven to me that generally, people are pretty good, often at times when I most needed this reminder. What I may not have gained in LinkedIn clout was made up for by other lessons for the future. Working with children caused me to consider whether I might want to be a mother one day. My admitted luck in having good bosses has given me models to emulate if I ever find myself in a management position. And getting to know a wide range of people preemptively provided a much needed antidote to the Cambridge bubble that I will carry with me. 

So, I can’t help but consider myself privileged in comparison to Cambridge students who have never had a part-time job. Let pay grade and prestige be damned and try the most mundane job imaginable; you never know what you will earn from it.

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