Into The Abyss

This month marks the 20^th anniversary of my introduction into the work force. That means I only have thirty more to go and maybe I can retire with some sanity left. It was February 1985 when I got my first job at my Uncle John’s White Hen Pantry on 87^th and Roberts Rd. I still have my first pay stub. I made $3.40 an hour and earned a whopping $26 dollars that first week. In twenty years I’ve worked at numerous places and met many, many people. In the ultimate example of vanity each week, I will use this blog to reflect on each one of those jobs. So on Thursday’s I will reflect back on my the job’s I have had in my 35 years on this planet. My first, being that at White Hen.

The Hen was a family affair as my Aunts Kathy, Angela, and Joanne all worked there. My Uncle owned the place so I was usually working with a family member on most shifts. I started with the Saturday morning shift. I was fifteen years old and I had to drag my carcass out of bed at 7:30 to make it in. I would usually catch a ride with my Aunt in the morning or I would ride my 10 speed in. Gradually, I was scheduled for Sundays and some weeknights. It was fun and I never really considered the Hen work.

While I wasn’t making tons of money, I was the king of the world. In 1985, twenty-five dollars to a fifteen year old is a lot of money. I didn’t have a car, didn’t have any bills nor did I pay rent. So, all my money was spent on discretionary purchases. This was before I had a cd player so; I bought a lot of cassette tapes and ate a lot of fast food.

My main job consisted of jockeying a register. This gave me my first interaction with the public. Looking back, I realize how important it was to have this at a young age. I firmly believe that all teens should have a part time job. It teaches the value of the dollar, and it teaches one how to interact with different people. Working the register was the easiest job at the Hen. I also had to run the lotto machine, fill the cooler and candy aisle and sweep up and mop. Also, since White Hen was a deli I made a lot of ham and cheese sandwiches in my time there.

Of all of these tasks, running the lotto machine was the worst. I hated it. People would come in, wait in a twenty minute line to blow their last five bucks on a billon to one chance on winning the lottery. I could never understand it and it explains why even today I still have never played the lotto. It was an assembly line and the customers were all bitchy blaming me personally if their numbers didn’t come in. My favorite customer was this asshole who came in on Sundays. Back then they only had the lotto drawing on Saturdays. So, this tool would come in first thing Sunday morning and purchase $100 dollars of lotto tickets for the following Saturday’s drawing. It was like the money was burning a hole in his pocket. I used to work with this guy Brian, and one day I said “Do you know that guy who buys all those lotto ticket’s on Sunday?” And he replied, “Oh, you mean Dickhead.” That would forever be his name. I would always volunteer to do any other task at the Hen to avoid that lotto line.

Filling the cooler was great. I could take my time and get away from the outside world in the intimacy of a 38-degree giant walk in fridge. Filling the cooler meant stocking milk, eggs, orange juice and a lot of soda. Running the deli sucked but at least I learned to make a sandwich. Slicing meat was a chore, but what the hell it was better than digging ditches.

We had a lot of usual customers, some of whom my Uncle is still friends with today. Plus, there were always Hickory Hills cops in the place drinking up as much free coffee as they could. You got to know all the bread drivers and the mailman. I could write a whole other blog on Jack the mailman, quite possibly the laziest, most perverted man to ever walk the planet.

Then there was the crazy lady. I am not sure of her story but damn was she off of her rocker. She smoked Virginia Slim Menthol Light 100’s. The reason I know this is that she would come to counter, sit there in silence, as I would ask her can I help you. She would stand there for a minute examining all the different cigarettes we had. And then as fast as she could she would blurt, Virginia Slim Menthol Light 100’s. If you didn’t know what brand it was you would never had been able to understand her. One day she came to my register pointed to my Uncle John and said and I quote “You see that man there, he is the type of man who would rip your arm off and gnaw at the bone.”

We had another lady who came in who would order two slices of American cheese, two slices of Krakus ham and she’d buy a whole loaf of bread. Call Bill Kurtis because what she did with the rest of the loaf is still a mystery.

All in all despite my encounters with the insane asylum fugitives, it was a great first job. I worked there from February of 85 until my Uncle sold the store in August of 86. It was a great year and half and I remember those days with fondness. Everybody has a first job and I am lucky to have a first job working with my family.