What Have I Done?

Part 1 of a recurring series

Note: Since joining Facebook, I have realized that there is a main question people ask in order to catch up. It is: "What are you doing?" This is code for, "what is your job, are you a loser or not?" I have decided to answer this question one job at a time. Also, I realize there are people who haven't known me since I was 15, so I may as well go back to the beginning. Well, almost. I'll skip the paper routes, and start with my first hourly job.

Oswego, New York
1991?
Grass cutter

Although I'm not sure the exact year, I know I was young. How do I know this? Well, I was paid $3.80 per hour. Yeah, I know, a long time ago. Not as long as one might think, however. See, the minimum wage was $4.25. $3.80 < $4.25. Since this equation is true, therefore I must have been a child laborer. If I was working as a child laborer, I must have been young. (Remember logic proofs, anyone? Clearly they weren't pointless after all.).

I was not deterred by the fact that I was working (perhaps) illegally. I had a job! I got to be outside in the summer, and I was going to cut grass! How tough could it be? This was 1991(?), after all. We had things like lawn mowers. They looked like this:



And for those tough to reach places, borders, or grass against the wall, we had things called weed whackers. They looked like this:



So life is good. I arrive at the city building to be picked up be my crew leader. As I wait, I realize that other people on my crew are actually some of the cooler kids in school. What a great opportunity for me to learn how to be cool! All while cutting grass. Then another cool kid shows up, and it turns out his dad is our leader. This is going to be great.

But alas, as I pile in to the station wagon, I feel a have a strong sense of foreboding. I can't help but notice some strange tools in the back with me. I can't even find pictures of these tools on the internet, but the closest thing I can think of to describe them is like a sickle with teeth, on a broom handle. My suspicion is confirmed when we arrive at the job site and there is no lawn mower, or weed whacker awaiting any of us. But there are plenty of sickles to go around. Hooray!

So what exactly am I doing for $3.80 per hour? Either going to random places along the road with long grass, or back yards of extremely old people, and hacking away until the grass looks very similar to the way it started. It was like cutting hair with a butter knife. In all honesty, I would've had better luck getting down on all fours with a long spool of weed whacker string, and whipping away for 8 hours. On the bright side we were provided with gloves. Sadly, they were the same thin cloth gloves that old ladies use in the garden to keep their hands clean. But at least I didn't have gigantic blisters until 30 minutes in to my shift. And the crappy gloves kept those blisters from bursting until (sometimes) midday! So that was neat.

On the bright side, we did have some adventures. Like the ancient lady's backyard. Apparently this woman hadn't mowed her lawn in 15 years. Plus, she had the worst collection of neighbors possible, since no one either noticed or cared enough to help out. And why would they, when the city was eventually going to send in a bunch of people who were in utero the last time the old bat made it to the backyard? And do so for wages that Third-World children would scoff at.



So here we are, in this inner, inner city, inner city wilderness (Flight of the Conchords people. Trust me, this is funny. And if you don't believe me, Kira will confirm it in the comment section. Which, by the way, I encourage all of you to take part in. While your at it, become a follower. All you have to do is put in your email address and password. You won't even get emails unless you tell me so!). We have been whacking away for most of the day, and have succeeded in actually knocking some of the taller grass over. And so down a pathway of beat up grass, I see commotion near a fence. A crew member has discovered a toad! You know how 20 Questions always starts with, "Is it bigger than a bread box?" Well, if the answer was this toad, then I would have to say "I don't know." Besides, is there a standard bread box size? Is there a federation who has determined that it is 18x10x8? If so, then I still don't know. What I do know is that when Jeremy picked it up, it took a leak on him that could fill any size bread box. It was amazing.

Sadly, I could not bask in this glory for too much longer. Within minutes, other members of the crew working near the house disturbed a colony of bees. I think they were my age, since they hadn't been disturbed in so long. For some reason, one of these giant teenage bees decided to make its way across the "lawn," land directly between my eyes, and sting me into sleepiness. I went home. Thank you bee.

My favorite adventure was when we were at a park, and knocking over an area underneath some trees. This was very close to Lake Ontario, a place where some people may have partied over the years. And had many, many cheap and disgusting beers confiscated by the police. However, Lady Luck was on our side this day. We unearthed and ancient beer specimen with our (not even close to sharp) sickles. Only the top was above ground. Again, good eye Jeremy! After some frantic digging, the prize was held aloft. It was dirty, and very old, but it was BEER! (We were still 15). So Jeremy did the sensible thing and chugged it.

Stay tuned for the second installment, the Burger King year...