SEASONAL ESCAPE

I spent the entire day at the National Library, but my focus was elsewhere. Extraneous thoughts kept flooding my mind, and my motivation and productivity were nonexistent. It felt like I spent more time in the smoking room than in the reading room. Before leaving, I stopped by the periodicals section to skim through the daily press. My eyes landed on the job advertisements. A few caught my interest, so I grabbed the sheet with the listings.

On the bus ride home, I carefully examined the seasonal job ads: waiters, bartenders, salespeople, and dishwashers were all needed by the seaside. The bartender and waiter positions required work experience, so I crossed those off my list. I wasn’t interested in being a salesperson, either. I couldn’t imagine selling ice cream on the street or marinating myself in a cheap stuff kiosk. That left only one option: dishwasher. Why not? The unfulfilled teenage dream of working as a dishwasher at a seaside resort could finally become a reality. It seemed like the perfect escape from the concrete jungle and a break from everyday life.

It was late, so I decided to call the next morning.

A reserved gentleman answered the phone. He struggled to express his thoughts and gave me brief, superficial answers. He repeated twice that they wouldn’t wait for students until Midsummer, when they’d recover from exams and alcohol. Seasonal workers had to start on June 1st. We agreed to meet in Palanga on the first day of summer.

I was studying at Vilnius University, taking exam after exam, test after test. Days blurred together as I focused solely on my studies. I didn’t even notice when the trees turned green. One day, while riding a city bus along the Neris River, I was reviewing historical dates when I looked up and saw the lush green trees, so dense that the sky was almost obscured. For a moment, I thought I was hallucinating.

I made a goal to finish my exams ahead of schedule and I succeeded. So, on the morning of May 30th, with a backpack on my shoulders and a travel bag in hand, I rushed to the railway station. I was almost late for the train: the minibus I had taken broke down a few hundred meters from the stop I got in, and the driver refunded my money without an apology. With little time left, I hurried to the nearest bus stop, lugging my things along. When I reached the station, I barely had time to smoke before I boarded the train.

It wasn’t a direct train, and after a few hours of travel, I had to switch to a bus. A fellow passenger suggested me to get off a stop earlier than planned. It turned out to be a good choice. It was much easier to catch a bus to resort Palanga from this place. I reached the resort in half an hour. I left my suitcases at the bus station’s luggage storage. I headed towards the sea, walking along the main boulevard. I wondered where I’d wash pots and pans, maybe at that bar or this pub?

Eventually, I reached the sea. The water was so cold it made my temples ache. I wanted to sit and watch the waves for a while, but the sand was wet and the benches had just been repainted. So, I turned back and began searching for a place to stay.

“Rooms for rent. Rooms available.” Everything looked so uninspiring and miserably: aloe vera plants on windowsills, moose horns on the walls, and soviet-style doors with glass and plastic handles that had turned black over time. Dampness and mold everywhere. I almost gave up until I noticed a courtyard on the corner with apple trees, a bench, a table, and a barbecue. It looked cozy. The landlady showed me a small attic room with a triangular window. Outside, I could hardly believe that cabbage was growing in the heart of a resort town, where land was worth its weight in gold. It felt like a fantasy.

There was nothing more to think about. The rent was affordable. It was cheaper than the accommodation my future employer was offering on the outskirts of the resort. Of course, the apartment was more comfortable, but the room would be shared by two or three people. I brought my bags to the new place and stopped by the wine store for some chokeberry wine. From a public phone next to the shop, I called Peter, my future employer. We arranged to meet the next morning.

I went up to my attic “summer residence.” After a couple of sips of wine, I suddenly burst into tears. It was as though the tension that had built up over the past month had finally been released. My brain felt reset. That night, I stayed in.

The next morning, at five to eleven, I went out into the yard. I wanted to smoke, but I couldn’t get the lighter to work. When I looked up, I saw a bald man standing next to a white car on the street. It was Peter - owner of a bar, a shop, a hairdresser, and a company that rents rooms to resort guests. His wife Agne, was in the car at that moment.

I sat in the back seat. It seemed like they were conducting a kind of job interview right there in the car. I got the impression they liked me. Then Mrs. Agne suggested showing me the workplace later that afternoon. Peter, who had been quiet up until then, suggested we go to a bar immediately. On the way, we stopped at Peter’s shop. It was a light-weight summer shop, by the path leading to the sea.

I went inside and bought a new lighter. It was expensive. I smoked and popped a Wrigley’s strip into my mouth.

Back in the car, Peter was changing music cassettes in the tape player, while Agne quietly and angrily tapped her pen on her notepad. As far as I could tell, the sales were disappointing. I gathered my courage and asked if the shop was profitable. After a long pause, Peter, glancing at me through the rearview mirror, rambled on about the upcoming season, the weather, none of which made much sense. Before he could continue, Agne interrupted.

I was flustered but suddenly blurted out everything I was thinking: “Cigarettes, gum, drinks - they should be displayed up front, not hidden in the back of the shop under glass, like a museum exhibit. Chewing gum is out of fashion, we need ones with stickers and albums inside. And Turkish cookies with chocolates are already becoming outdated...”

The scene in the shop had been depressing - a mix between a village shop and a bus station kiosk. Peter and Agne listened in silence. Suddenly, I realized I had said too much and stopped, suggesting we go to the bar meet the staff.

After fifteen minutes ride we stopped in the bar backyard. A girl with short hair was sitting on the curb and smoking. In those days, many young people smoked. High-quality tobacco that had arrived in Lithuania from the West, eye-catching packs, suggestive advertising, low prices and unlimited availability – 24 hours a day, whether you want a pack or just one cigarette, made smoking a part of the image and communication culture of the then generation.

"Olivia, tomorrow this young man will take over dishwashing duties; you can return to the hall to work as a waiter,” Peter shouted. I tried to introduce myself to my new colleague: “Hi, I’m Tom.” Zero reaction. Olivia didn’t want to engage with either Peter or me. As she entered the kitchen, I saw her showing a middle finger.

I thought that her biofields and Peter’s did not match, although everything was much simpler. Olivia is a student from Kaunas who has been working as a waitress in this bar for several seasons and has been delegated to wash dishes for a week. There are no tips here. I followed Olivia. Within a few minutes, I received a briefing on where and what to do, what not to do, and where not to stick my nose. Everything seemed simple and clear. I returned to Peter’s car, signed the employment documents, and we went our separate ways.

I went to kiosk behind the corner, grabbed a can of Danish “Faxe” beer, and sat on the nearest bench to celebrate my new “sale into slavery.”

When I returned, in the yard under the apple tree, in a rocking chair, the landlady, Mrs. Nelly, was knitting. I didn’t feel like talking, I was going to sneak across the yard and lock myself in a room. “A bald gentleman was looking for you,” I heard the landlady’s voice. I stopped and turned around, hoping that Mrs. Nelly would say something more about that gentleman, but she only showed me the knitting and added: “I’m knitting socks for my grandchildren, for the winter. American forecasters are predicting a cold winter for Lithuania. Summer hasn’t even started yet, and they’re already talking about winter, how do they know, I wonder, and they’ve already predicted the weather for themselves or can only predict for others.”

I muttered something, sat down further away from the hostess and lit a cigarette, hoping I hadn’t told Peter too much. The end of the dishwasher’s career. Is that a problem? Well, no, I’ll go through all the bars tomorrow, someone will definitely take me in. If Peter refuses me, I’ll send him too, far, far away... I opened the bottle of wine and took the stress away. A little drunk now, I heard a car door slam. I parted the branches of the apple tree and saw Peter scurrying around the gate. I walked out into the street, not intending to fight but mentally promising that if I found out there was no work, I’d spit on Peter’s white “Audi” with red saliva from the aronia wine.

I went to the street.

“If you want, you can work in our store. We’ll find another another person to wash dishes, the store needs rearranging, and... well, you said we should update the goods. We’ll increase turnover, we’ll earn more, and you’ll earn more for your studies,” Peter struggled to express himself, admitting that he lacked the entrepreneurial spirit in this area.

I decided not to show right away how much the offer excited me. I leaned against the fence, took out a cigarette, then put it back in my pack. I counted to five in my mind before responding: “There are two conditions. First, pick me up at nine tomorrow morning.” I saw Peter’s eyes widen. “We’ll go to the dealers’ warehouses in the seaport. If we don’t find what we need, we’ll head to the Vilnius wholesalers,” I continued. “The second condition... I haven’t thought of it yet.”

We both burst into laughter. Peter opened the trunk, pulled out a couple of bottles of beer, and handed one to me. “Have a beer, and tomorrow we’ll get to work,” he said. We shook hands and parted ways.

I put the beer in the vacationers’ refrigerator, thinking someone might drink it, because I couldn’t even look at the cheap local beer, it tasted like shit. Back then, beer in Lithuania was still produced according to soviet traditions, bottled in soviet-designed bottles, and it didn’t taste good. I didn’t like Lithuanian beer, and I rarely drank beer at all.

It was raining heavily, and since I don’t like umbrellas, I didn’t have one. Instead, I had a vest with a hood, which I pulled over my head, and I ran to Peter’s car. The front of the car was lifted, and it was obvious that the trunk was full of some kind of junk. I insisted on unloading it, so we drove to a garage on the outskirts of the resort. We threw four rolls of roofing felt and a gas cylinder out of the trunk. After about half an hour, we reached the dealer’s warehouse. I collected the goods, Peter paid, and we carried them to the car together. Finally, we took a box of cigarettes that had to be disassembled to fit into the gaps since there was no more space. Peter didn’t argue, though it was clear he was nervous. Peter wasn’t sure we could sell all this stuff for a profit, but I was confident we could.

In the evening, we went back to the store, moved furniture, restocked the shelves with new goods, and put up advertising stickers from the suppliers on the windows. We finished just before midnight. Peter drove me home. In the yard, a group of young people were grilling barbecue. I realized I had only eaten breakfast that day. The girls were chatting loudly, but I was so tired that I quickly fell asleep. It was the first day of summer…

Peter still didn’t agree with some of the proposals, and I wasn’t going to budge. Next morning, instead of “good morning” I carved out that we as sellers need to be easily accessible and visible. Half an hour later, we moved the ice cream freezer outside, spread out the umbrella that had been lying in the utility room until now, and simply removed the front door, hung speakers in the ceiling, and turned on the local radio. The store had been redesigned according to my vision, all that remained was to prove that this was the formula for success.

The dark days began. Work stretched from 10 AM until 10 PM and often even later. There were three of us working: myself and two female cousins—Diana and Margarita—who are relatives of the owners. The girls were in charge of the swimwear, underwear, and all those other “girly” sections.

For the first three weeks, I worked without a day off and didn’t see the sea, but every night I could hear its waves, and that was enough to remind me I was in Lithuania’s summer capital. Then, on the eve of Midsummer, reinforcements arrived—Loreta, a future teacher from Vilnius. Having a fourth person in our little store allowed me to catch my breath and even organize some free mornings, afternoons, or whole days off.

The first week of June was chilly, but there was no shortage of vacationers. It was obvious that with each passing day, more and more people were arriving in Palanga. There was a steady stream of customers. Although I couldn’t compare the turnover directly to previous years’ June months, I felt sales were definitely busier than last season. Peter delivered a full trunk of goods every day, and I handed him a round sum of money. While I didn’t receive much praise, I was confident I was doing well. After two weeks, Peter conducted an audit and paid out the first salary. It was just average. I won’t hide that I felt like I had struck gold when I earned my second “salary” on my own — running a side business buying cigarettes from unofficial suppliers and selling them right in the shop. This was possible because the shop’s sales weren’t strictly accounted for, we didn’t have a cash register, and all trade was accounted for in the black bookkeeping, which was a fairly common phenomenon at the time.

My prior retail experience helped me a lot in managing these operations. After finishing school, I took a gap year and spent two years building a small retail business, which is now successfully managed by my parents.

At one point, when some perfume was stolen by unfair customers, I asked my colleague not to tell anyone. I covered the losses from my extra income. Later audits never found a single cent missing from sold goods. I didn’t feel like I was doing anything wrong. In fact, the extra income motivated me to work harder…

However, not everything was smooth. One day, Agne found out from the supplier that I had purchased more ice cream than I had recorded in the black ledger and decided to fire me immediately. I tried to explain, but Agne didn’t want to listen. I played my last card and invited her to come with me to my place—the room I rented—and promised to return the supposedly stolen ice cream there. I invited both — Peter and his wife Agne — to come to the kitchenette, since there was a lot of ‘stolen’ ice cream. “Yes, I bought this ice cream from the supplier with my own money to sell it here and make a profit,” I explained as I opened the freezer packed with ice cream. “This has nothing to do with your shop and your business at all,” I quietly added. On the freezer was a sign: “The best, tastiest ice cream with nuts. Price: 2 Litas (the Lithuanian currency before 2015).” Nearby stood a money box, and two kids were happily licking the ice cream. Agne asked if all customers were honest, and the tension eased. We returned to the store, I kept my job, and we even adjusted the ice cream prices according to my recommendations.

True summer had begun. Palanga started filling up, turnover nearly doubled, and sometimes a line would form. At times, we worked just the two of us.