Job
by Amy—Age 30—Bellingham, WA
Started out picking strawberries when I was nine. Was illegal until age twelve. Those of us under twelve had to stay home when the inspectors came. My best friend stole from my lunch box and her best friend peed his pants while sitting in my lap. The bosses were mean, especially when we threw berries at each other, but we taunted them right back: Hey! You in the red shirt! Hey! You with the red hair! Hey! You with the red face! Get down and pick!
At twelve, I moved to within walking distance of a farm where I picked strawberries, raspberries, blueberries and beans every summer until I finished high school. The bosses didn’t yell and they didn’t hire anyone under twelve. I was the only kid who liked it.
I also did a lot of baby sitting when I was in high school. I told the kids bedtime stories about how bizarre the other families were.
Adult life: A blur of fish canneries, factories, processed food packaging lines, drug store counters, grocery stores, and cubicles. I am a job hopper, and I’ve made peace with that. I’ve grouped my jobs into three categories: retail, industrial, and office. While I’m working in one category, the other two are sworn off. I like industrial work because, although it’s boring, at least my thoughts are free. But I had to quit my last job (packaging frozen imitation crab) because of carpal tunnel problems.
Office work is okay as long as I can secretly wear earplugs under my long hair so I’m not a captive audience to chit-chat, gum chewing and pop music. Why is it that when you work in an office you have to act like everything you’re doing is super important, even if you’re just alphabetizing junk mail that no one will ever look at? I am increasingly cranky in my old age.
What I like about retail is that you have the prescribed things to say in every situation. It’s like acting ““ fake smiles and fake enthusiasm for whatever crap people are buying from you. That’s where I’m off to next.
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