Student utility worker
I'm filling out applications for cop jobs. Like any job, you have to supply your work history. While doing so, I think about the things I've done at each job, the people I've known, and the pleasure I've experienced in the work.
I worked for the U as a student utility worker for about four years. The people were magnificent.. I looked forward to going to work just to hang around those guys. I guess they liked me okay, too- they either called me "Southside Dave" or "Super Dave". I also loved the work itself- it was rough, dirty, free, and satisfying. I could chose what I wanted to do, and I had the freedom to get it done the best way I thought I could do it. Man, I had great bosses. Ed and Art.
One day, I was sitting in the shop looking at the job board when Art walked in and asked me if I was free. I said yup, and he said, "Good. I've got a big project, and I want you to do it." The project was simple, but it was big- an "island" made of concrete blocks in the middle of Oak Street Ramp was filled with sewer rock, and the rock needed to be moved. The island was about the size of an average living room, and filled with golf ball-sized pebbles to a depth of about 18 inches. It was literally tons of rock. The problem was that the island was too high for a Bobcat (or any other machinery) to easily access the rock. It had to be moved by hand, or more specifically, by shovel. This was the project that Art needed done.
So I did it. It took about a month. Each shift, I devoted a couple of hours to that pile of rock. The process was simple- pull a truck as close to the island as I could, shovel as much into it as I safely could, drive to the St. Paul storage yard, and shovel it off in an unused corner of the yard. It was summertime, and I remember muddy sweat rolling off the end of my nose, and down my neck into my t-shirt. Even more, I remember how good it felt driving to the St. Paul yard, windows open, sun on my arms, wind in my hair, AC/DC on the radio, feeling the glory of hard work and a strong back.
I'll admit that I think of it now with rose-colored glasses. Still, as I reflect on who I was then, I see a good-natured young man with broad shoulders and calloused hands, and I'm proud of him. I can still see the way the girl who ran the office looked at me out of the corner of her eye, when she thought I wasn't looking. I can still hear the Chief mechanic say, "He's a good man." I've still got the jacket they gave me for finishing that project, and I still feel a little twinge of pride every time I put it on. Man, those were good guys I worked with.
I worked for the U as a student utility worker for about four years. The people were magnificent.. I looked forward to going to work just to hang around those guys. I guess they liked me okay, too- they either called me "Southside Dave" or "Super Dave". I also loved the work itself- it was rough, dirty, free, and satisfying. I could chose what I wanted to do, and I had the freedom to get it done the best way I thought I could do it. Man, I had great bosses. Ed and Art.
One day, I was sitting in the shop looking at the job board when Art walked in and asked me if I was free. I said yup, and he said, "Good. I've got a big project, and I want you to do it." The project was simple, but it was big- an "island" made of concrete blocks in the middle of Oak Street Ramp was filled with sewer rock, and the rock needed to be moved. The island was about the size of an average living room, and filled with golf ball-sized pebbles to a depth of about 18 inches. It was literally tons of rock. The problem was that the island was too high for a Bobcat (or any other machinery) to easily access the rock. It had to be moved by hand, or more specifically, by shovel. This was the project that Art needed done.
So I did it. It took about a month. Each shift, I devoted a couple of hours to that pile of rock. The process was simple- pull a truck as close to the island as I could, shovel as much into it as I safely could, drive to the St. Paul storage yard, and shovel it off in an unused corner of the yard. It was summertime, and I remember muddy sweat rolling off the end of my nose, and down my neck into my t-shirt. Even more, I remember how good it felt driving to the St. Paul yard, windows open, sun on my arms, wind in my hair, AC/DC on the radio, feeling the glory of hard work and a strong back.
I'll admit that I think of it now with rose-colored glasses. Still, as I reflect on who I was then, I see a good-natured young man with broad shoulders and calloused hands, and I'm proud of him. I can still see the way the girl who ran the office looked at me out of the corner of her eye, when she thought I wasn't looking. I can still hear the Chief mechanic say, "He's a good man." I've still got the jacket they gave me for finishing that project, and I still feel a little twinge of pride every time I put it on. Man, those were good guys I worked with.