Sunday Scribblings: #80 First Job, Worst Job, Dream Job

I haven't written a Sunday Scribblings in awhile, so here it goes:

My first job was a paper route. I was thrilled to be delivering newspapers, I had a large route and it took quite awhile on my bike to get them all delivered. In the winter I believe I pulled them on a sled, it took hours but the tips were great then. I will never forget a house I had to deliver to, it was the furthest point from my delivery start. Raymond. Raymond was one of the fattest little boys I've ever seen. I must have been in 5th grade and he was either a year younger or older, either way he was the meanest ugliest kid I'd ever seen. He was out of my school district so in real life I never had to deal with him. But every day after school I would dread having to ride past his house. Him and his posse would chase me on their bikes and the boys would all scream 'kill her Raymond, kill her!' I was terrorized to say the least. It was bad enough that a few houses before his I had to deal with the other worst house, the doberman house. Two doberman pincher's that jumped the fence and went for blood if allowed. The house was creepy, stinky and had I known anything back then would have realized it was probably a drug dealers cove. Between the dogs and Raymond and the after school punks that harassed me, I was constantly anxious and feared for my life. I always out rode them, sometimes I even had to skip the next house after his because if I slowed down to throw the paper god knows what they would have done with me. I got to be real fast and could sling a paper like nobodies business. One of the last houses on my route had little evil chiuwawas. Those little bastards also went for blood, nipping at ankles so I would have to ride fast and then put my feet up. Adrenaline was a daily drug coursing through my tiny body.

The worst job: When I left Arizona a few years ago to do this art journey thing I spent a winter in MN. I needed to work and since no one called me back for the odds jobs I applied for I resorted to massage. In Arizona I worked for myself and had wonderful clients. Families, normal people. Husbands, wives, moms, dads....regular people. In MN. I got all the perverts. I worked at this little massage place and was shocked by the customers. All men. Not a day went by I wasn't exposed creeps. It was the most disgusting job I have ever had. I learned how to deal with it and thankfully never had anything untowards happen. Not surprising I wasn't as popular as some of the other massage therapists, (they got dressed up and I kept myself sterile and plain looking) god knows what they were doing in those rooms, all I know is when they asked for a massage from me that's all they got and a piece of my mind if they tried to push the envelope.

Oh, there is a tie for worst job: the other worst job was right out of high school. I worked at the University Bookstore as an accountant. ME. Miss right brain. I was in a 4 x 5 room, no windows, basically a closet, doing the daily books. Every single day I had to get up early, dress up and sit in a hole for eight hours. My sheets never came out right and I was always pissing the other two secretaries off because they had to do it for me. The boss was a large Greek man who didn't understand anything I said, I was always in panic mode. I think I lasted a few months before they put me out on the floor where I became a better t-shirt maker and greeting card organizer.

Dream Job: I'm kind of already doing it since I'm working as an artist. The dream part would be to have a nice studio with windows so I could see the mountains as I worked. To have some assistants help me with fabricating things, and to be a mentor to others. Pretty boring for a dream job, but hey I live low.

Sunday Scribblings


kate said...

The MN massage work sounds truly awful ... the art studio with windows sounds like a wonderful fantasy, that will turn to reality. I know you will make that happen.

sarala said...

The dream job does not sound at all low to me. I hope you get the studio some day.
The massage job sounds truly gross. I feel for you. Yuck!

Gilson said...

An art studio would work fine for me too. I share your interest.

Clare said...

Hi Self Taught! Your description of the paper route with the mad dogs and even madder kids was so vivid -- I could feel the adrenaline pumping! And the massage job in MN definitely sounds creepy -- I'm glad you're not having to do that now. I love that you are doing your dream job as an artist and that we get to see the awesome photos of your work and read about the process of how you make these beautiful pieces. The studio with windows and assistants will come -- I do not doubt that for a second! And you are already a mentor to others in so many ways -- you are an incredible teacher and role model, and I feel really grateful that you share your life and creativity through this blog.

self taught artist said...

clare, thanks for the comment, I appreciate it as well to have readers like you, makes it more fun to share :)

San said...

It was fun to read about your employment history, since I have my own yucky, checkered resume memories. But nothing as bad as your MN massage tenure. That makes me cringe.

DJPare said...

That worst job does sound pretty crappy. And it sounds like Raymond would have been the kind of person to end up being one of those massage clients!

You sound resourcefull enough to me. I think you'll have those windows soon, even if you have build the studio yourself!