But Dad Said . . . : ‘Money Doesn’t Grow on Trees’ : Working at a Christmas Lot Gives Students What They Need to Get Into the Spirit
Ever dream of spending your crisp winter evenings among aromatic Douglas firs, Nobles and Scotch pines while hanging out with friends? Of being a part of the great American holiday machinery that turns our hearths and homes into picturesque Christmas settings?
Then you, too, can become one of the few, the proud, one of the staff at your local tree lot.
Like Costa Mesa junior Jacob Loyko, who’s spent much of the past two weeks, including 12 hours a day on the weekends, unpacking hundreds of trees a foot taller than he is, shaking them, sawing off the ends to even them out, lining them up, hammering buckets and stands on to them and patiently attending to a never-ending parade of customers who can’t leave without finding nature’s arboreal masterpiece.
To them, Jacob, 16, has this message: “That perfect tree everyone wants doesn’t exist. It just doesn’t exist.”
Jacob should know. This is his second year employed at a tree lot, his first working for Noonan’s giant lot on Newport Boulevard. He got the job through his friend Zeke Noonan, also a Costa Mesa junior and the owner’s grandson. Two other classmates also work there.
Like most high schoolers who take one of the slew of odd, minimum-wage, temporary jobs that come with the season, Jacob says he “needed it to buy Christmas presents. You can make pretty good money in tips at this.”
Why else would anyone want to put up with the “holiday cheer” that comes with retail, especially customers who are either pushy, frazzled and out-of-it or complicated (my mom visits at least six lots before settling on a tree that almost fits her requirements).
To keep from getting chilled to the bone, Jacob layers on long johns and sweats (top and bottom) under his jeans, a polo shirt and another sweat shirt. He also wears two pairs of thick socks, making for a snug fit in his tan work boots. The complete ensemble, he informs me, does keep him warm--the same outfit has gone from his body to his bedroom floor and back these past few days without a visit to the laundry room.
“They smell like pine,” he says. It’s too cold for me to tell.
Jacob embraces the physical toil involved in this line of work out of some Zen-like pleasure in working with his hands. Of course, the first day at the lot, Jacob recalls, he just about killed his hands from all the hammering. Now he just goes home with sore legs.
During downtime--when every possible task, from ensuring the trees are positioned in straight lines to preparing more stands, has been completed and gone over again--Jacob and the other young workers read the paper, listen to the entertaining ramblings of an older employee or get real creative and play football in the back with a piece of wood.
Jacob returns to the topic of tips, explaining that the guys count on tips from customers when they haul the trees to their cars.
“You get to know whether a customer is a good tipper or not before they even walk in here,” he says. He couldn’t explain the criteria except to say that the guys guessed I would be a good tipper by my funky dress and demeanor.
He says he encourages his classmates to stop by “his” lot instead of others expecting that if it’s his friend’s parents they’ll tip better. That theory still has yet to materialize, he adds.
“You can tell between the people who have money and don’t want to let go of it and those that have it and don’t mind spending it,” he says.
It’s a total drag, however, when “you work real hard helping them pick a tree,” says Jacob, “tying it up and putting it on their car and they stiff you on the tip. Or they give you a dollar” instead of the two or three dollars they hope to get.
That goes without saying at the American Explorers Youth Center tree lot in Brea, where the mostly teen-age staff forfeits a wage as part of its fund-raising efforts for the center. Proceeds from tree sales finance monthly outdoor expeditions for the more than 250 teens involved in the nonprofit program. So any tips are valued among these young volunteers because such gratuities are their only pay.
Lot manager Robert Aikins, a senior at Sonora High in La Habra, says he has learned not to expect anything.
“More people don’t tip than tip,” he says. “What’s odd is you go to these total mansions to deliver these huge trees, and those people never tip. It’s the normal people, the ones who aren’t really rich or poor, that tip the best.”
This is the 18-year-old’s third year at this lot, but his fifth with American Explorers.
“The first year I thought I was too cool, too busy,” he says. “The next year I was going to come for a day, but something else came up.”
He finally showed up the third year and worked his way up to his current responsibility, which entails five to six hours every day, except for the 14 hours he puts in on the weekends as a service technician at Super K-Mart. Robert started this year the day after Halloween, erecting poles and wrapping wire fencing around the lot in the front of the youth center. He drove with director Randy Gamboa and other members of the teen committee to Riverside to pick up the buckets, stands and flocking.
“I have fun down here. We mess around,” says Robert. “Plus it feels good that I helped out in my community. I’ve learned management, sales skills and values. I’ve learned to be a better person.”
He’s also honed his knowledge of tree flocking. It’s among other skills he passes on to the staff. On this evening, he teaches Brea Canyon sophomore Jesse Ortiz, 15, to custom spray a tree with faux snow. He discreetly tells Jesse to keep the hose steady and not clump up the once-green branches with too much fluff.
“It’s my third year of flocking,” Robert says. “I guess I have some hidden talent to doing that.” Of the dozen flocked at the lot, he sprayed 10. “It’s not as popular this year as it was last. You know, flocking is one of those things that goes in and out of style.”
Robert’s nose is purple from the chill in the air, and I’m trembling so much my writing has turned into doctor’s script. Besides all the clothes he’s wearing, Robert figures the dual coverage of a Santa’s hat over a baseball cap keeps most of his body heat from escaping.
“We’re required to wear these hats,” he says, half apologetically. “We feel weird about it, but then, there are customers who come in wearing them too, so I guess it’s OK.”
It’s this kind of spirit, parlayed by the Santa hats everyone wears or what Robert calls the Christmas tree shopping outfits (“those sweaters with bells and all sort of things hanging off of them”), that Robert and his friends thrive on and that keeps them coming back day after day, despite the cold, the physical work and the tip situation.
“It’s weird because we’ll help someone, and a couple of hours later they come back with a plate of cookies,” he says. “It gets me in the Christmas mood and makes me want to help everyone find their dream tree.”
He pauses to watch his breath in the early evening air.
“The only drawback is, I can’t smell Christmas trees at all anymore.”
The Scene is a weekly look at the trends and lifestyles of Orange County high schoolers.
