I know that I'm supposed to continue the bill collector story, but I'm tired as hell. I've slept a total of six hours this weekend, so that's gonna have to wait. But I appreciate you, dear reader, too much to not share some aspect of brokedom with you. I just spent the last ten minutes drifting in and out of consciousness while I thought about all of the part time jobs I've had.
I have a friend whose mutant power is the ability to grow up in the projects and not work a part time job. Somehow he went straight to the corporate world. It's like watching David Blaine. I see it, but I don't understand how you did it. I was on an parenting forum and one of the topics was "When is it okay to discuss money and finances around the children." The consensus was junior high or high school. HA!!!
I learned about money the same way most poor people learn about it: "You got any Transformers money?" I NEVER (Capital N-E-V-E-R) went into the toy store and actually expected to leave with something. That didn't stop me from begging, but I didn't feel entitled to shit. I also didn't believe that I could earn anything. I was a straight A student for the majority of my life and no one EVER gave me something for getting good grades in school. If I even mentioned making the honor roll, all I heard was,"That's what you're supposed to do." When I overheard one of the slow kids in class saying that his mother gave him $5 for every D that he could turn into a C and $10 for every C that he turned into a B, I almost lost my goddamned mind.
"What do I have to turn my A's into? A fucking number? This is some bullshit!"
I applied for my first job when I was eleven. I didn't know anything about child labor laws. I walked down the street to the Blockbuster on Good Hope and Naylor Road and handed them an application. Those ignorant bastards took it like they were really going to consider me. For about a year I applied once a month and just assumed that they had picked someone more qualified.
I tried a lemonade stand in front of my grandmother's house. I sold one cup the whole day. It probably would've helped if it was actual lemonade and not a gallon of lemon drink. I didn't have ice or even a pitcher. I was just trying to sell it straight out of the jug.
I tried washing cars. I put up all of these signs around the neighborhood that I made by hand with construction paper and markers. I got a bucket, a rag and some Palmolive and stood in front of the house like a jackass all day one Saturday. Some guy paid me $5 to wash his car and his wife's car. Halfway through, my grandfather made me stop, because he said I was wasting up all of his water with the hose.
I even spent the better part of an evening making library cards and a small card catalog of all of my Disney Adventure magazines. I took those to school the next day and told the kids that they could pay me fifty cents to read them at lunch. They looked at me like I was a damned fool. One girl gave me a quarter out of pity.
With all of that said, you can understand how happy I was when I was finally old enough to work. Of course as soon as I got my first job I became responsible for buying my own clothes, deodorant, soap, bus tokens, hair cut and anything else besides rent and utilities. I was just happy to make my own money. I happily wore my little movie theater uniform to school. I was so happy to work that I started collecting jobs. In the two years between 11th and 12th grade I worked at the movies, the hospital, two ice cream shops, interned in a congressional office and did part time janitorial work at my school during the summer. Sometimes I was so tired from working so many jobs at the same time that I'd go to work in the wrong uniform. But you couldn't tell me nothing. I was employed!
College was even worse. I can't tell you anything that happened in pop culture in 2004 or 2005. Superbowl, NBA Finals, Grammys...nada. I was at work. My wife lost her job, so I dropped out of school and got two jobs. 40 hours a week at the bank in the day and 38 hours a week at Blockbuster in the evening. We saw each other during my 20 minute break every night. We lived down the street, so I'd rush home where she'd have dinner waiting. We'd squeeze a whole day's worth of time into 20 minutes: Listen to a song, fast forward through a TV show with her narrating along the way and sometimes even play a game of Wipeout against each other and then I'd go right back to work. As hectic as it was, I was grateful to be able to work and pay my bills.
More than anything, I'm glad I finally "got McDonald's money!"
No comments:
Post a Comment