When I was twenty-one, three friends persuaded me to attend a meeting. “It will change your life,” they promised. At the time, my life was dull and without focus, and I decided to go, even though I didn’t like meetings. I especially didn’t like the meetings where they went around the room and you had to introduce yourself and explain why you were there. I never heard a word anyone else said, because I was always trying to think of what I would say when it was my turn. That’s probably what everyone was doing, so what was the point? My friends assured me it wasn’t that kind of meeting. This was business, a chance to learn at a young age how to be successful. The phrase change your life echoed in my head. And so I went, failing to recognize the simple fact that falling down an elevator shaft would also change my life, but that didn’t mean it was a good idea.
* * * * *
I had been working since I was sixteen. Or twelve, if you count the paper route. I quit that within a year after realizing that I couldn’t possibly hate complete strangers any more than I now did. Delivering the newspapers was easy. Collecting the money each week was maddening. Customers pretended to not be there, even though I could hear them breathing on the other side of the door. Sometimes a man would answer and tell me his wife had all of the cash, and she wasn’t home. I felt sorry for those men, but still wanted to find a brick and beat them senseless. It was trudging through waist-deep snow drifts for that last ten-cent Christmas tip that pushed me over the edge.
* * * * *
My first real job was at a local supermarket, when the minimum wage was $1.65 an hour. After taxes and union dues were deducted, there was almost enough left over in my paycheck to buy myself a new shirt and tie, which I had to wear while pushing long lines of shopping carts across slushy parking lots, and while unloading filthy and disgusting delivery trucks. One week I filled in for someone in the meat department and spent every day with my hand inside the abdominal cavities of frozen turkeys. That was when I decided I would go to college, after all.
There was a guy named Whitey who was in charge of the beverage aisle. Whitey was a few years older, and tried hard to convince me that within a month I would either be drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, or both. But he seemed most interested in testing his theory that if all of the toilets in both bathrooms were flushed at exactly the same moment, the plumbing system in the entire store would explode. None of the women would cooperate, however, so we were never able find out if it was true. I eventually came to doubt the validity of Whitey’s theory, yet almost forty years later I still find myself waiting a few seconds if I hear someone flush the toilet in the upstairs bathroom at home. Some things just aren’t worth the risk.
* * * * *
In my senior year of high school I was a baby food salesman, visiting about a dozen grocery stores, stocking shelves, and placing orders. Except for occasionally slicing open a case and finding eleven broken jars of moldy spinach — and having to extract and clean the thirteen survivors — it wasn’t an unpleasant job. There were deep mysteries, of course. Like strained applesauce: wasn’t applesauce already about as strained as something could get? And squash. What could a six-month-old have done to deserve that for lunch?
Part of my task was to make sure the jars were arranged on the shelves so the labels in front all faced straight out. Each label featured the company’s symbol, an illustration of an impossibly adorable baby. This wall of product, orderly and solid, was meant to attract the eye of the customer. But to me, hundreds of cute baby heads lined up in perfect rows was surprisingly disturbing, like some genetics experiment gone horribly wrong. On the other hand, the company was paying my salary, so I did what they wanted. When I reached the lofty level of two dollars an hour, I could feel the weight of financial pressure leave my shoulders forever.
* * * * *
That summer I was hired as a baker at a doughnut shop. I knew nothing about baking, so I had to be trained by Pierre, a man from Haiti who had worked there for ten years. Standing next to Pierre as he transformed a slab of dough into hundreds of perfect doughnuts was like watching a street magician up-close. I was looking right at him, yet I couldn’t tell what he was doing. The dough seemed to be under his spell, forming itself into uniform rings against its own will.
The hardest part of the job was frying the doughnuts, which involved arranging them on a metal rack and lowering them into a cooker filled with boiling hot oil. As the bottoms browned, we had to flip the doughnuts with wooden sticks in order to fry the other side. Pierre turned them with a rhythmic ease. It appeared that they wanted to be turned, and every couple of minutes he produced another four dozen golden beauties, ready to cool and decorate. I had the sense that this man was impervious to the tremendous heat coming off the top of that oven. I imagined that he could have plunged his hands and his entire head into the oil and emerged smiling and singing Haitian love songs.
I had a different experience. Unaccustomed to the feeling that my fingers were about to burst into flames, I had to keep pulling my hands away from the heat, and it took me much longer to flip the doughnuts. Most would turn completely over, so the side that had been facing down kept rolling right back to that position. As I grew more frantic, they would spin faster and faster, always stopping with the cooked side down. Soon all of the doughnuts were bobbing around like small boats in a hurricane. I’d occasionally stab a few of them with the sticks, and they would flood with oil and sink to the bottom of the cooker. The ones I did manage to turn were, by then, saturated. Filled and frosted, many weighed as much as forty pounds apiece.
My baking skills never improved much, but for some reason I was asked to handle the overnight shift, which was when the store prepared for its early morning rush. There were few customers between midnight and five, and the ones who showed up tended to be drunk, or looking for a place to hide. One night, at around three, the waitress came into the back room to tell me there was a customer sitting at the counter with a snake around his neck. It was a large snake, a boa constrictor she thought, and she wanted me to go out there and tell him to leave. We argued about it for a good thirty-five minutes, with me explaining to her that I had a huge batch of jelly sticks to powder, and her explaining to me that I was the most useless coward she’d ever met. That of course insulted my pride, and after another fifteen or twenty minutes of arguing, I decided to go out front and offer the man a dozen free doughnuts if he agreed to take his snake and go away. Lucky for him, he was already gone.
Visit Ron Leishman’s website to see his original cartoon art.
carldagostino
April 23, 2011
My first job. I ran behind that garbage truck in the summer of 1963 in Miami’s blazing heat, rain and blazing heat again. City of North Miami. $40 a week, gross. I was 14.
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bronxboy55
April 23, 2011
Did you mean gross, as in gross salary? Or gross, as in gross?
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Terrance H.
April 23, 2011
Do you create those little images, Charles? I only ask because they seem to compliment the writing rather, um, perfectly. LOL.
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bronxboy55
April 23, 2011
The images are from iclipart.com, and most of them were drawn by Ron Leishman. I usually combine two or more cartoons and add the dialogue.
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souldipper
April 23, 2011
When I saw the 2nd cartoon – the fear of not shelving the baby food perfectly, I actually had a pain move across my chest. Charles! Someone else knows the weight of responsibility over lost sales because of my sloppiness. The relief I felt when I upgraded to the front counter where I was trained on the delicate art of slicing cold cuts was short lived. I included a slice of warm-cut! I have had no feeling in that fingertip since and only God knows how slicers were cleaned in those days. YUK!!
I think it was wise for me to take up selling shoes.
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bronxboy55
April 23, 2011
I wouldn’t do well with a slicer either, Amy. My mind tends to wander. Shoes definitely seem safer.
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Allan Douglas
April 23, 2011
Hey… I *like* squash. I grow quite a lot if it. although I don’t puree it and stuff it into jars, that would cool my enthusiasm.
Too bad that fellow left, maybe you could have trained the snake to flip the doughnuts with the tip of its tail.
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bronxboy55
April 23, 2011
You have actual enthusiasm for squash? I can imagine tolerance, but not enthusiasm. Although I know you’ve become quite adept at gardening, so maybe you were referring to the process of growing the vegetables, rather than eating them.
Thanks for the comment, Allan.
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Westchester Square
April 23, 2011
On my very first night of my very first job (at the clothing store Robert Hall- now who in the world remembers that store?) my mother completely forgot that she had a newly employed high schooler who needed a ride home from work. I stood around outside with my new manager for a long time before we finally agreed I had been forgotten, and he drove me home.
I got my second job working as a waitress at a restaurant, from which I could walk home! (Although it was not a good idea to walk home with an apron laden with cash, and my mother dutifully chauffered me back and forth for years thereafter. Thanks Mom.)
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Marie M
April 24, 2011
I remember! I even remember shopping there once with my family. Whew! That was a long time ago!
Which restaurant did you work at? Maybe the Clarksville Inn, or something else on Route 59A (more recently known as West Nyack Road)?
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Westchester Square
April 25, 2011
Hogan’s Diner!! Or, as I prefer to call it, Hogan’s Family Restaurant. I think I made about $5 an hour in tips, which was a fortune as I recall.
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bronxboy55
April 27, 2011
I remember Robert Hall, and even their jingle, which I will now have playing in my head all day. (Thanks, WS.)
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magsx2
April 24, 2011
Hi,
A very nice read, and brought back a lot of memories.
I think there are a lot of people out there that are thankful we now have automatic donut makers. I remember when these first came onto the market, I was working in a milk bar at the time, and the owners decided to invest in a donut machine. So easy and the donuts sold very well. I stayed there all of 6 mths, before moving on.
The shop is long gone, but about a year after I left it turned into a donut shop. These days where the shop once stood is a freeway.
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bronxboy55
April 27, 2011
I guess that’s progress, magsx2: human beings to machines to freeways.
Thanks for the comment.
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Priya
April 24, 2011
“Delivering newspapers was easy.” Really? Don’t be modest!
How did you aim right? I am a great fan of people doing paper routes. What if you had to deliver to people living on the first floor (second floor in America)? Did the roll of newspaper land right into the person’s balcony? Or, wait. Did you physically go and ring the doorbell and deliver? Please tell me you didn’t.
May I interview you someday?
PS: I am sorry to say all your other choices of employment fall flat in front of the The Coolest Thing.
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bronxboy55
April 27, 2011
I didn’t throw the newspapers. I folded them and placed each one either at the front door or in the mailbox. I thought the hard part would be remembering who got a paper and who didn’t, but that was amazingly easy. The hard part was getting people to open the door and pay me.
I don’t really grant interviews anymore, but I’d make an exception for you.
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She's a Maineiac
April 24, 2011
My first job was a paper route (well, I took over my older brother’s route so he could play soccer) I remember how cumbersome it was to jam that huge stack of papers into my bright orange bag. Then I’d drag the bag along the route, trying so hard not to spill it. I remember some of my customers were reclusive–and scary. Some would leave me a payment, others nothing. One nice old lady would leave a big bowl full of candy bars on her front steps with the instructions “Please, only take ONE”. I guess my brother before me used to empty the bowl? In any case, she was always my fave customer.
The doughnut-making brought me right back to watching my mom and my grandmother make them in the kitchen. I was always mesmerized watching them bob in the hot oil. I never got the hang of that either, wish I had paid more attention!
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bronxboy55
April 27, 2011
You reminded me that on certain days, the newspaper was a lot thicker because it was filled with ads. On Saturday, it was very thin and the bag was easier to carry.
Thanks, Maineiac. It’s always great to hear from you.
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cooperstownersincanada
April 24, 2011
Thanks for sharing this, Charles. Another great piece. My first job was also as a paper boy. I remember we had receipts in a book that we were to issue to someone after we had collected money from them. There was one particular house I dreaded going to. They had three kids around my age who were bound to do anything to torture me. Needless to say, that family received a free newspaper for most of the year.
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bronxboy55
April 27, 2011
I’ve heard a lot of stories (and have a few of my own) about having to cope with mean dogs. You’re the first person I’ve heard mention abusive kids. I’m glad you survived, Kevin.
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Snoring Dog Studio
April 24, 2011
I don’t remember my first job, but I do remember jobs that were particularly painful. I worked in a gift card shop once – you’d think that would be a place of happiness and delight, what with all those saccharine sentiments floating in the air. But one evening around Valentine’s Day, I had an altercation with a customer while I was working the cash register. She threw about 3 dozen cards in my face and stomped out. She wasn’t very lovable – how in the world did she have that many people to send Valentine’s cards to? I sure do love learning about your life, Charles and particularly the wonderful way you recall it and phrase it. These are treasures of wit.
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bronxboy55
April 28, 2011
I’m sure whatever caused that incident with the customer in the gift shop had everything to do with her frame of mind and not yours. Unfortunately, encounters like that seem to be inevitable when you work with the public. Thank you, SDS, for always taking the time to read these posts, and to leave such kind and supportive comments.
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Jessica Sieghart
April 24, 2011
The worst job I’ve had was a gift wrapper at a department store years ago. Despite the constant paper cuts, it wasn’t a horrible job except that my supervisor hated wasting tape. She would often hover as I wrapped to make sure that I didn’t use a millimeter more tape than what was required to secure the paper. I wouldn’t have lasted a minute making donuts, but I think I’d love the midnight crowd at the place. Where else could you get that kind of entertainment?
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shoreacres
April 24, 2011
I wouldn’t have lasted a minute making donuts, but I think I’d love the midnight crowd at the place. Where else could you get that kind of entertainment?
Waffle House! (Yes, it’s a southern thing and no, IHOP won’t do….)
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Jessica Sieghart
April 25, 2011
There used to be IHOP’s everywhere here, but they are slowly vanishing. I don’t even think the ones that remain are open 24 hours. I used to get that kind of entertainment when I worked at the police department. I miss it. You just can’t make that stuff up!
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bronxboy55
May 1, 2011
It’s also great material for writing, isn’t it?
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bronxboy55
April 28, 2011
We had a manager in the doughnut shop who would come in and weigh some of the finished doughnuts to make sure we weren’t overfilling them. Similar to your supervisor watching to make sure you didn’t use too much tape. It does make it hard to enjoy your work. As far as the entertainment, I think almost anyplace would do as long as it was open at all hours. People who are active between midnight and six tend to be interesting.
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shoreacres
April 24, 2011
It wasn’t my first job, but it was the first job I took to avoid living on the street – the 11-7 shift at a nursing home. It was those college years, don’t you know… and things were – well, complicated.
But it was a worthwhile six months. Sort of.
Thanks for unearthing that memory!
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bronxboy55
April 28, 2011
I’ve been in nursing homes myself at those hours and they’re much more active than one would expect. I’m sure you have some great stories from that time.
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Earth Ocean Sky Redux
April 25, 2011
Babysitting was my primary source of income. I only got between 75 cents to $1.00 an hour but after the kids went to bed, it was a pretty cush job. TV, homework, free food, and on occasion, a boyfriend might sneak over before the parents came home. Don’t tell, okay?
I delivered papers too, in the days when papers had a morning and afternoon edition. I had an after-school route. All on bicycle, and as I tell my children, it was uphill both ways! I had to tri-fold the papers before delivering them but I don’t remember putting them in plastic sleeves – I just tossed them and fled the crime scene!!
Do you still straighten out the baby food jars at your supermarket, just for old times sake?
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bronxboy55
April 28, 2011
I did the tri-fold, too, and babysat for a dollar an hour — sometimes for three kids at once. I steer clear of the baby food aisle now, though.
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Mitchell Allen
April 25, 2011
Excellent, Charles! You’ve illustrated, literally and figuratively how the REAL world’s most interesting man cultivated his many talents.
I enjoyed reading about the baby food most. While the other comments focused on squash, I was struck by the implication that you’d wandered into a mad scientist’s lab. Struck funny, that is. What an image…
Thanks for brightening my morning with your wonderful recollections.
Cheers,
Mitch
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bronxboy55
April 28, 2011
Thanks, Mitch. I really do still have dreams about stocking those shelves, and they’re not pleasant.
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Lenore Diane
April 25, 2011
I was excited to see you post on what – Friday? With the busy weekend, I just now had time to read it. The read was worth the wait. I look forward to your posts, Charles. Thank you for sharing.
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bronxboy55
April 28, 2011
Lenore, I’ve been away this past week, so I’ve fallen behind myself with visiting others’ blogs. I’ll be around in the next couple of days to read yours. Thank you for always being so encouraging.
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Betty Londergan
April 25, 2011
How do you manage to make me laugh OUT LOUD every single post? I loved the image of you trying to roll over the donuts and never being able to get them to stop flipping until they were slathered in oil — absolutely hilarious! I worked as a baker, too, but thankfully not with donuts. Bagels — which boil in water– were challenging enough and have the same tendency to want to stay face down when you’re trying to get them to turn over. Thank goodness for your great Catholic education so you could make it to college & delight us with your recollections of Jobs Gone Bad!
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bronxboy55
April 28, 2011
I’ve made bagels at home and it always brings back those memories of trying to turn the doughnuts. I guess we’ve all had Jobs Gone Bad. That would make a great title for a post, wouldn’t it? Thanks, Betty!
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Julia
April 25, 2011
Funny — my kids liked the squash and I did not, as it stained everything a gruesome shade of orange that reminded me painfully of the yellow mustard squash of their poop. Do you still eat donuts even after having been “behind the vat”, as it were, and know the secrets of the trade? Like people who work at fast food places and choose never to eat at that restaurant again? And I have to admit: I would be one of the breathers-behind-the-door, because every time anyone shows up to ask for money, I haven’t got any and I hate disappointing people to their faces. Rather do it behind the door, whilst breathing heavily.
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bronxboy55
April 28, 2011
I still like doughnuts, although there are certain kinds I can’t even look at. When I was hired they told me I could eat all the doughnuts I wanted. That was heaven, for about two weeks.
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notesfromrumbleycottage
April 25, 2011
I used to love to watch the Krispy Kreme guys work their magic. Thank God one never came in by me or my diet would just be done.
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bronxboy55
April 28, 2011
I was just talking to my sister today about the name Krispy Kreme, and how odd it is. They do make good doughnuts, though.
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writerwoman61
April 25, 2011
My brother and I split the paper route…he got all the good tippers! I had one couple who tipped regularly…a princely 25 cents!
Baby food in jars is evil…I always made my own in the blender…
Funny post as usual, Charles!
Wendy
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bronxboy55
April 28, 2011
We must have been delivering newspapers around the same time, because twenty-five cents was a pretty good tip. Thanks, Wendy.
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Melinda
April 27, 2011
I hope I can resist the urge to try to flush all the toilets the next time I’m at Walmart after that story. Love all the job stories!!
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bronxboy55
April 28, 2011
You’d have to get a group together, because apparently they have to be flushed at precisely the same instant. But I have no idea how he could have known that.
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happykidshappymom
April 27, 2011
Oh my word. This is one of the FUNNIEST things I’ve ever read. I just love how you tap right in there, to the central core of your feelings, in these everyday situations. There were so many lines I was going to point out in this response, but then my response would be as long as your post. So I’ll stick with the first one that caught my eye: “I still find myself waiting a few seconds if I hear someone flush the toilet in the upstairs bathroom at home.’
Doesn’t that just say it all? How all our experiences, no matter how trivial, shape who we are for the rest of our lives.
Love it. Great perspective, great stories, great post. Thanks for the smiles!
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bronxboy55
April 28, 2011
Thank you, Melissa. I really appreciate your enthusiasm and kindness. And I promise to get back to reading your blog as soon as I return home this weekend.
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Damyanti
April 27, 2011
I really needed a smile today, and this post, predictably, did the trick 🙂
My first job was babysitting, and I don’t think either the baby or me especially looked forward to those spells.
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bronxboy55
April 28, 2011
Thanks, Damyanti. At least we can appreciate that those babysitting days are over. The pay and the responsibility were definitely out of balance.
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Val
April 29, 2011
As soon as you mentioned doughnuts I thought of bagels, which I’ve cooked… I loved watching them ‘pop’ to twice their size in the water, but like you and the doughnuts, could never get them to stay under the water. These things seem to have a mind of their own, don’t they?
Oh, and now you’ve gone and reminded me of a wordage I wrote. Maybe I’ll post it, but it’s verrrrrrry long.
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bronxboy55
May 1, 2011
Go ahead and post it, Val. I’d be happy to read it.
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arborfamiliae
May 3, 2011
Wow…you’ve had quite a few jobs.
I have to admit that I like to watch people who stroll around 24-hour stores late at night or frequent all-night eating establishments. The guy with the snake around his neck sounds like an interesting character. I’ve seen quite a few fascinating people when I’m out shopping or studying late at night (I’m a night person). Many of them drunk, none of them toting a snake.
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bronxboy55
May 6, 2011
The snake guy was definitely the most interesting. We also had the crew from McDonald’s come in after they closed up. They’d bring us their unsold burgers and fries and we’d give them free doughnuts.
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Amiable Amiable
May 5, 2011
I’ve always had the utmost respect for newspaper delivery people since I subbed for a friend during junior high. It took me 3x the amount of time to make it through her route, and I still managed to miss houses along the way. I think that’s because I was so rattled from the customers with rabid dogs (okay, so they weren’t really rabid – but they looked and sounded like it).
I think it’s wonderful that you worked such an array of jobs. They built character and they make for wonderful stories, even if they didn’t make for careers. As I read this post, I thought about how my kids would never have worked the jobs you worked, Charles. They prefer the jobs that require as little work as possible.
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bronxboy55
May 6, 2011
Our kids wouldn’t even apply for certain jobs because they wouldn’t have been enough fun. I tried to tell them that your first few jobs aren’t supposed to be fun. You’re supposed to hate them. And isn’t that what we really want — for our kids to be as miserable as we were?
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comingeast
May 17, 2011
Your doughnut job description was hysterical! I enjoy your writing.
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bronxboy55
May 20, 2011
Thank you very much. That’s always nice to hear!
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