Thursday, July 28, 2011

Work: A little piece of Hell, right in you own back yard!

Jobs. I have had lots of jobs. Official and unofficial. From working on a trash truck with the legendary Bob Verbeek, to the never ending home remodels of Randy "The Beastmaster" Listd and "Uncle Ronny" Rowe. When I worked for Uncle Ronny I also used to drive him to and from court appointments due to the DWI he incurred from driving slowly into a dentist office while sauced. The Beastmaster tended to make me collect vast amounts of grilled cheese sandwiches from the leftovers at the nearby summer camp, which I presume he used as a rudimentary form of insulation or weather proofing. That American "cheese" is one hell of a long lasting product! Work is fun. Or it can be. Often it is just a test of pain tolerance and a masochistic desire to become a "good American" the latter of which I gave up on many years ago.

But if you do get the chance, some of the things I have done on the clock are quite fun, and I highly recommend them. Such as: jumping off the roof of a kitchen into the cardboard collection bin!

One of my first "real" jobs was working as a dishwasher at Sambica summer camp on lake Sammamish in Issaquah WA. My friends Kris, Scott and Eric were all around the same age and we made up the dish washing crew of the small camp kitchen. Aside from exterminating rats by varying means, we had a couple other forms of "entertainment." The first was very simple, and involved tormenting the customers. The door top the restroom led everyone down a sort of outdoor hall right past the dishwasher, which thankfully had a screen window which let in a slight (non-existent) breeze. One day while Eric was operating the sprayer, and I was putting the dishes away, the door opened. As we saw the top of a head move past the screened window, Eric aimed the spray nozzle at the shape and let a blast go. Resulting in what must have seemed like to the customer an accidental shot of water. Of course as they say, you can lead a horse to water but cannot make him drink, unless like me that horse is thirsty as hell and a fast learner. The tradition of spraying paying customers with water was carried on long after Eric left, and I sure hope that I passed it on to all the dishwashers that I trained. So if any of you readers are in a similar situation and have never taken the opportunity to dowse you paying customers in the face with water, you should damn well try.
This cat could be your customer. If their entire body was covered in a soft, silky, delightful fur pelt.
As for jumping off the roof into cardboard boxes, it is fun as hell and I have no time to tell you about it this moment.

See ya, King Buzzsaw the Great (I have decided to increase my already out of control delusions of grandeur every day until my head explodes or the world ends).

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