From Crazy Uncle Earlâs Attic:
Hello September!!!!
A Hump Day Chuckle!!
I had a chat with a couple of friends the other day while killing brain cells with a couple of Daddy-Pops, and the question was posed, âwhat is the most demeaning job?â
We sat there and thought about it.
One guy says, âWhat about a manicurist for a plumbing company?â
Laughs ensued.
Next guy says, âWhat about a teller at a sperm bank?â
Laughs erupted!
After the laughs died down, we pondered the question.
I said, âWe used to have an ice cream truck that came around from a company called Mister Softy. The truck had a caricature of a soft serve ice cream cone with a face on it and a service hat.
That driver must be humiliated all day driving around being called Mr. Softy.
Can you imagine going into a bar and trying to pick up a girl? âSo what do you do for a living?â Soul crushing.â
The guys chuckled, and then the conversation veered off into another topic.
Later on, that question about the most demeaning job stuck with me. Pretty much every job has some sort of not-so-nice public perception. Professionals, the trades, restaurants, retail, anything can be perceived as demeaning, lowly, or negativity attached to it.
I have had jobs in my life that were not exactly âspecial,â but it was about that âends-meansâ deal. Thatâs an adult thing: you do what you do to provide for yourself and your loved ones. If you donât like it, find something else and move on.
My first job was a curb boy at Steakân Shake. At 14, I carried trays of hamburgers and shakes from a window on the side of the restaurant to cars parked in the lot. For 90¢ an hour plus tips, I humiliated the hell out of myself by sporting a paper âCâ cap, a clip-on bow tie, a white shirt, black pants, and a frickinâ cummerbund just to haul food out to rowdy delinquents in muscle cars. These jack-wangs were NOT kind to curb boys. The laughs and taunts were brutal, but I endured foraging for nickel and dime âtipsâ in a partially eaten burger or shake glasses that were turned into makeshift ashtrays. I wanted to earn to have spending money and help the family.
At 14, I knew curb boy was not my career. I also knew a paycheck was not an entitlement; it was a system of work-earn. I knew I was not entitled to the same pay and benefits as my superiors. I knew curb boy was not a career, but a first step. It was ENTRY LEVEL!
Oh well, Iâm retired. Am I rich? I am loaded when it comes to faith and happiness. I am filthy rich with the love of family and friends. So, yes, Iâm rich. Would I want more money? Well, duh! Do I want more stuff? Maybe. But my days of accumulation are behind me.
When itâs all said and done, I donât think U-Haul has a trailer drop-off at the Pearly Gates, and there are no closets in caskets. To paraphrase the 1984 Wendyâs commercial, âStuff is stuff.â
Yeah, I knowâŚâŚjust call me Mister Softy!
âŚ.as alwaysâŚâŚ..Aspire to Inspire!!!