No Grape Stomping or Candy Factory

       No, I never had a job stomping grapes, nor did I ever have a job in a candy factory--that would have been the perfect worst job for me--but I did feel like I was a reincarnation of Lucille Ball at times...And thinking about my past employment was inspired by Linda O'Connell and a post she did about the work she's done.

      For instance, my first job was at Dairy Queen. I was 15. I never could do that little curlicue at the top of the cone perfectly, but I was able to perfect mistakes...edible mistakes.

      "Oh, I'm sorry. You wanted a strawberry sundae and not a hot fudge sundae? Just a minute, I'll get rid of this hot fudge one and make you a strawberry one," and then I'd scuttle off to the walk-in freezer with the hot fudge-ice cream creation, so I could eat it later. (We were allowed to eat our mistakes, but I don't think we were supposed to deliberately make them. Every day.)

          I worked a summer for the Youth Conservation Corps on an all-girl crew when I was 17, stringing barbed wire and digging post holes by hand. Once the caretaker killed a rattlesnake in the middle of the night as he walked some of us to the latrine (he hacked it to death with a shovel) , and told us, "Its mate will come looking for it." (I'm sure he was trying to scare us to get back at some of the stupid girls who flushed things down the toilet they were not supposed to flush.) 

         My first job out of high school was at a factory. I ran a machine that put together medicine capsules. The place stunk. If I pulled the two parts of the press together with too much force, the capsules would end up with poked-in spots, and they would have to discarded. There were many times I'd have to dump a whole tray of the capsules into the trashcan. That job only lasted a couple of weeks. (I ended up getting my finger caught in the press and cutting off the tip. After a trip to the emergency room, and making a mess of their press, they thought it was time for me to retire from that field.)

         One of my favorite strangest jobs was selling door-to-door pre-arranged funerals. That, too, was a short-lived job. I could charm my way into the houses, but I couldn't sell a single casket.

      Interspersed here and there were waitressing jobs. I worked at some fairly-nice places (Steak and Ale, and Victoria Station) along with Denny's, but I was a gawk. Once, I spilled an entire Bloody Mary on a businessman there at Steak and Ale for a business lunch. (No tip for me that time!)

       I've been a teacher since 1991, a teacher-consultant for the National Writing Project since 2001, and am now a freelance writer. In fact, I just heard this past weekend that a story of mine has made the first cut for the Not Your Mother's Book...On Family.  (They're still looking at stories, as the deadline has not happened yet, and my story could be booted off before it hits the presses. But I'm keeping my fingers crossed.)  

          What important things have you learned while on your jobs?  What was your favorite job or your most unfavorite job (and why)? Come on...take a trip down memory lane, and take us along with you.         

Chambray Shirts and Barbed Wire

         The summer I was seventeen, I worked for the Youth Conservation Corps. It was an all-girl team. We worked in the Mark Twain National Forest, doing a variety of things. We cleared trails. We dug post holes--by hand. We strung barbed wire. My choice of clothing (in that era) was chambray shirts--hand embroidered with the female power symbol, among other things, and worn blue jeans patched with colorful scraps of denim--and those clothes worked when doing the YCC work, too.

photo by Rural Explorer

         It was the summer I smoked grapevine. (We were convinced we would get high.) It was the summer I fell in love with an Arkansas artist who--when we parted--said he'd kiss me good-bye except he had some "chew" in his mouth. And it was the summer I learned how easy it was to be fierce--as long as I stood on my own two feet.

        Since the only guys on our crew were the park ranger (he drove us to our work every day) and the night caretaker (he killed the rattlesnakes and kept an eye on us), all the work was done by the young women. We sweated, we strained but we perservered.

       One weekend, as a treat, we went to visit another YCC site in Arkansas. (Enter and exit the artist with the horrible tobacco drool.) This team was co-ed, and we quickly discovered that the girls on the crew made a habit of hanging back, claiming the work was beyond them, so they could rely on the guys to do the physical labor. 

        There are times when I have to send off a submission and I don't get the chance to share it with my writing critique group. It's all on me. There are times when I bring a story to get critiqued and it doesn't have a title, and I'm tempted to just rely on the group and ask, "Hey, what should I call this?" But really, it's my responsbility to name my baby. There are times when I flounder with a piece, but I channel my critique group members and usually--not always--figure out where I should go with it.

       Obviously, being part of a crew or group makes me stronger, but if we all work together and pull our own weight, we...are...fierce.

        

Truth...and No Consequences

        Before I (drum roll, please) reveal which was the lie (see the previous post), I want to pass the liar's torch to one blogging friend I unintentionally left out.

           I don't think of Fireblossom as just an average, run-of-the-mill blogger. I read and follow other blogs to laugh, to think, to get inspired.  I read Fireblossom's posting when I want to get brilliantly green with envy.  How one person can write a phenomenal poem every day is beyond my comprehension. Perhaps she's the biggest liar of all?  Maybe it's her minions that take turns writing poetry will she sits back in a recliner eating bon bons?

         Anyway, Fireblossom...Consider yourself included in the fibbin' bloggers. Maybe your 4 truths and a lie can be written in the form of a poem?

       Okay. Start the drum roll now, please.  

• I did work in Mark Twain National Forest one summer in high school. It was part of the Youth Conservation Corps program.  It was an all-girl crew, which we did not consider exceptional until we visited another crew that happened to be coed.  Much to our surprise, the girls in the coed crew did the easier work while the guys did the more manual stuff.  That summer---forty years and 100 pounds ago---I learned how to dig post holes by hand, I strung barbed wire, cleared trails and tried my best to avoid rattlers and brown recluses...

• I do have a half-sister who is in prison (forever) for killing her four-year old step-grandson.  For the several years since it's happened, I've wrestled with the desire to understand/forgive/disown.  I still am undecided...

•  Skydiving. The most exhilirating experience of my life.  I've done 3 tandem jumps (which means I'm hooked up to diving instructor) and hope---some day---to do a solo jump.  There is nothing more exciting than looking up and down and all around and seeing nothing but blue sky... 

photo by amelungc
This is a tandem jump, done in the proper position:
Back arched, arms and legs extended, your cheeks
(probably both sets) rippling like a brook...

• Both my daughter and my son were born at home. When I was 18 I trained to be a nurse's aide, and we had to do a rotation in the wing where the new mothers were. In those days (late 1800's) women got routinely shaved and had a "just-in-case" enema. And if they were dying of thirst, they only got ice chips. I wanted a little more control to what went in or came out of my body, so I looked into getting a midwife (not legal in those days) and eventually found Dr. Fred Duhart (now dead), an osteopath whose specialty was home deliveries.  No drugs. Surrounded by my family and friends. When I was thirsty I got some 7-up, and after Virginia and Ian were born, we had cake and coffee with the doc.  Their births were a close second to skydiving...

• So the lie is working for Chrysler. However, I did work for a short time at a pharmaceutical factory. My job involved working a machine where the two halves of a capsule were filled and then joined.  We were supposed to throw away the capsules that got dented or got holes in them. My problem was just about all of them had dents or holes, because I was such a klutz. I finally got fired when I cut the tip off one of my fingers with the machine and they had to pay for a trip to the emergency room. I was relieved---that place really stunk! 

        
            I know there are other writers brewing up tall tales right now. Linda O'Connell
is telling a lie...See if you can determine which one it is. Donna has got her pants on fire, she's such a liar...Barb--as expected--told her 4 truths and a lie in a poem that rhymes! There are others. Check them out.(And Fireblossom...I'll be on the look-out for yours!)