Jobs: Part One

A rundown of all the jobs I’ve had:

 

Cutting grass (1974-1977). After becoming proficient at cutting my own yard, I expanded my empire to mow three other lawns in the neighborhood. Earned five or ten dollars a pop.

Umpire, Vine Ingle Little League (1975). Was a little shaky the first couple of games before gaining my confidence. Then I loved it. I was 15 years old. Former Tech standout Brannon Bonifay was the head umpire, and he hired his goofy brother Cam as a fill-in. Cam had kicked at Tech. He went on to become general manager of the Pittsburgh Pirates. Cam umped the younger kids without the balloon chest protector. Like a lemming I followed suit. From somewhere I developed my signature call: “STRIKER!” The players loved it.

 

Memorable play: young Mike Herndon bowled over a poor little catcher. Late one May Saturday afternoon the shadows were long, I remember the announcement coming over the PA system that Secretariat had won the Triple Crown. Used the money I made umpiring to buy my first car, a red 1966 Ford Country Sedan station wagon.

 

Baskin Robbins Assistant Manager, Ingleside Ave and Macon Mall (1975-1978). I started driving the summer before my junior year, and joined best friends Don Lott and Chuck Smith scooping cones. Starting pay was $1.35 per hour. Summer Sundays were brutal: a storeful of customers with the line stretched out the door. Winter weekdays were the opposite: nights with hardly any customers. We’d bide the time eating ice cream, performing skits (being held up by a guy with a banana), and composing songs. We’d use the long-armed grabber to hang witty signs on the marque. After football practice I’d drive to work, so I’d be gone from home from 8 am to 11 pm.

 

Macon preservationists Peter and Maryel Battin were the owners and college student Sandy was the cool assistant manager. Then I became assistant manager for the summers of 1976 and 1977. I’d make out work schedules and prepare bank deposits, then walk down the block to the bank. The walk took just long enough to eat a single scoop cone. Usually I’d eat a double dip on the way home, if I hadn’t filled up during my shift. The Moa Moa Punch was great too. Once while leaving the mall I scooped myself a heaping double-dip of gooey English Toffee. After eating it I didn’t feel so good, and actually swore off ice cream for a week.  

 

Working at the mall was fun. There was a strange fast food place across the aisle we’d never heard of before, that didn’t open on Sundays: Chickfila. I never ate there. One Sunday afternoon at Ingleside Mercer All-America basketball star Cindy Brogdon came in and ordered a pint of ice cream – and a spoon. Then she sat down and ate it all. Brogdon later transferred to Tennessee, and later played on the Olympic team. Besides Don and Chuck, other co-workers included Bruce Wood and Paul Sparrow. Connie worked the day shift. Occasionally the regional manager came down from Atlanta. Years later Mike Ayers and I were in the same singles group at SPdL.  

 

Some customers would complain about the high prices. A single scoop sold for the outrageous sum of 31 cents. I wish I had a nickel for every guy who told me he used to buy ice cream cones for a nickel. To this day I remain a loyal member of the Baskin Robbins Birthday Club.

 

Anderson Little sales associate, Macon Mall (1977). Probably to his chagrin, I followed my buddy Don across the mall to the local clothier. Had to wear a tie to work for the first time. I helped customers with their choices and also marked down merchandise, applying sale tags. Once I had a question for the super cool mustachioed assistant manager, but waited patiently for him to finish his conversation with a pretty girl. He saw me waiting and gave me a nod. While waiting I absentmindedly played with the stapler in my hand, only to accidentally shoot a staple into my finger. As I doubled over in pain the assistant manager cracked up, knowing exactly what I had done. Good times.

Betz Chemical, South Macon (1978). One summer during college my Northside Christian Church friend gave me a job at the south Macon plant he managed. I was the odd job man, cutting grass, trimming hedges, loading trucks, positioning and stenciling barrels, helping the maintenance man install gauges, and such. The 600 gallon barrels were tricky: empty ones could topple if not stacked with care, full ones weighed 800 pounds and took muscle to maneuver by hand.

 

Over the course of the summer I was stung three times while doing yardwork. The first two times were uneventful, but the third time was the charm: my hand swelled up and I was taken to the emergency clinic for a shot. For a couple of days I was unpopular – the plant safety record had taken a hit because of me. During a break near the end of the summer an older coworker not only learned I had played football at Central, but that I was the player he and his wife has noticed was meticulous in how I wore my uniform: taped shoes, socks just so, taped sweatbands, and the contrasting towel sticking out of my pants. I was famous!  

 

Resident Manager, Georgia Tech Baptist Center (1979-1982). After living off campus my first two years at Tech, I moved into “The Cave” – the small windowless downstairs bedroom in the dark corner of the BSU. The “Zoo” was the center of all social activity for my group of friends, which undoubtedly contributed to my poor grades. While “on duty” nights and on weekends me or my roommate would open and close the building (lock/unlock the doors, turn on/off the lights) and answer the phone. Also mop the kitchen once a week. In return we received a free room and parking, lunch five days a week, and maybe a small paycheck (I forget).

 

Saturday nights we’d lock up and pile into a car and drive down Ponce to the Krispy Kreme “mother ship” to collect dozens of doughnuts for students gathering Sunday mornings for rides to church. We’d eat doughnuts Saturday night, Sunday morning, then Sunday afternoon while watching the Falcons. Eventually the doughnut budget was cut in half, then completely.

 

My first roommate was Mike “Action” Jackson, who attending FBC. Then Tennis England, then Tom Leuze. The meeting room was big enough to practice my field goals - but the football left marks high on the ceiling, bringing the wrath of campus minister Al Rahn down on me. I had to wash the walls. Under past regimes hijinks included carrying a student’s VW Beetle into the meeting room, and filling Al’s office to the ceiling with wadded up newspapers. Al let me remain even when I flunked out for a quarter.