20 Fingers, Strawberry Field and an Elf

I don't have enough fingers to show you how many jobs I've had. If I did, I could be a paid circus freak. I'd be the weird woman behind the curtain with 20 fingers per hand.

Strawberry picking was my first deal. I rode my bike to strawberry field. Lesson #1 was what happens when one practices gluttony. Pick one, eat one, pick one, eat one. I spent the  night  hugging a toilet.  I graduated to peaches. Wisdom wasn't my friend. Eat one, pick one. Same picture with added doses of non-stop scratching from peach fuzz.

At 16, I  worked at a gas station/car wash. I watched folks pump gas and go through the car wash. The glass booth  I sat in was secured by an hermetic pressure tight door. My boss left for a lunch break.  I heard a car horn blasting away in the car wash. I left my glass palace to investigate. An old Italian lady slammed her foot on the gas pedal and rear ended the car in front of her. Things got worse. The large cleaning brushes were malfunctioning and denting her car.The frantic woman came out of her car screaming  as brushes and water spray slapped her. Pure panic ran through my body.  I ran back to my booth. People at the pumps were yelling at me to turn their pumps on. I unlocked my pressure tight door, slipped and fell. My middle finger didn't follow me to the ground. It caught in the door. I fainted. I heard  banging on my window. People were staring at me like a snake in an aquarium. I went to the hospital. The so called pressure releasing needle they jammed into my nail  looked like Seattle's Space Needle building. Then, I got fired. A bad day.

My friend Kathy, who slept with her eyes open, had a mom who owned a diner. I was hired.  A place where truckers are in a big hurry to eat and go. I couldn't even bake beans out of a can.. Big boy asked for a to go milkshake.In the brightest part of my mind which was dimly lit, I decided to skip a step. Why not make the shake directly into the to go container? Brilliant for a minute. Big boy said something. I spun around. My motion caused commotion.  The spinning blades pierced through the wax coated cup. A chocolate tornado went flying through the air.  It landed all over lucky truckers who sat at the counter. Unhappy big men were shouting unhealthy words at me. I burst into tears. I locked myself in the bathroom. I wouldn't come out. Say goodbye to job no #3.

Jobs came and went. I was an elf to a drunk Santa. I then worked for a man with a fictitious name. He used to have fits and roll on the floor. He ate gallons of chocolate which made him twitch. Mr. Churchwell (but not really) disappeared overnight with his entire family.  I worked for a vet who's name was  Dr. Fish....and then there was this job where I measured flour and put it into bags in a dark windowless attic. Sigh.

 I went to tattoo school in Canada. Not where you learn how to tattoo a butterfly on someone's butt. This was a place where chicks had tattooed arms the size of my thighs. They were there to learn a trade. I learned how to type,  play cards, and hear stories of doing yoga in the nude while smoking a cigaret.

It's all good. Swimming through chaos made me stronger.  I thank my past. It made me grow to a better place. It gave me a voice.

This reminds me of Mr. Sturgeon, but that's another story.