What did you want to do as a child when you looked into the unimaginable future? Who did you dream you might become, and what did you do in this other part of your life? Did you look forward with bright anticipation for what you saw ahead, or did your imagination and experiences lead you toward darker possibilities?
I saw so many branches on the path in front of me that I had no certainty, only guesses about where my life would be at 20, 30, now. I wanted to be: a mermaid, scientist, artist, jockey, Solid Gold dancer, explorer, archaeologist, writer, Ayla from Clan of the Cave Bear, an environmentalist, chef and a teacher. All of these professions and passions seemed compatible and possible, minus the jockey idea, which got squashed early on because they are petite and I was 5'10" by age twelve.
I didn't know then that in parts of our American culture people are supposed to follow one trajectory. I have never been able to do that, either to my benefit or detriment. Instead, I have followed my will,curiosity and the need to survive. Some of the job choices I have made have been a success, others a failure. Most of the time I've ditched the duds fast, and I knew what I didn't want to be when I grew up, right away.
I adopted vegetarianism for some ten years, and a little longer if I add my sophomore year of high school, before I headed to vegetarian intolerant Belgium (that's changed in the twenty years since I've lived there). Still, I worked as a kitchen bitch for many years, notably the winter I spent coated in grease and gagging over blood as a grill cook. I'm not sure how I landed that job despite extensive experience in restaurants, since I had little way to gauge how well prepared the slabs of steak and chicken breasts were.
There remains not the slightest portion of doubt in my mind that working in a call center is one of the circles of hell - and I don't even believe in hell other than as a metaphor. I had a morning shift, which meant I got to hound parents getting their kids ready for school, workers on their way out the door, the deceased, and elderly folk who didn't quite understand what I was not selling them. You see, I was supposed to obtain the client's agreement for a free trial of x y z product, but if they didn't cancel it in time they would be charged for the experience. It could have been a great deal, but my conscience reminded me that it verged on a scam.
I slung cocktails at a skeevy downtown bar in Albuquerque during one of my stints in college. Imagine if your waitress wore tank tops instead of a bra, and refused to shave her legs. Yes, that's me, ashamed to help people get drunk in a bar, and ignoring you if you didn't tip me the first time I brought you your drink. Then I'd ride my bike the several miles home at three a.m., until the night I got hit in the head with a full beer bottle thrown from a moving car.
A necessary responsibility on a multi-day river trip is as the groover attendee. The rule on the river is pack it out, and that means everything. The set up includes a heavy duty plastic bag, lime, sawdust, a roll of toilet paper, hand sanitizer and a large ammo can. The original rig lacked the improvement of a toilet seat, thus, the groover. I've been the gear boater on numerous commercial trips and that includes setting up and dismantling the groover, plus stashing it on your boat, as far as possible from where you sit. Hot days are miserable and odiferous.
And that's just some of the jobs I had in my early twenties.
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