The spring and summer seasons mark the time of fresh new beginnings in life. High school or college graduation indicate a leg of the trek completed but only a step in a much more extensive journey. Blah, blah, blah. Unless your parents are wealthy and don’t mind you staying, it’s time to find a job. You have been with them your whole life and it’s time to take your act on the road. Think in terms of being a documented freeloader while being raised and an undocumented one upon the completion of school.
Personally, I would have had no qualms being a squatter. Now, I’m not lazy you understand and upon graduating high school, I promptly made every effort to join the working class. Well, by promptly, I mean after a couple months and then having my mother wake me up slapping me with the classified ads. I found job hunting and deer hunting similar, in that neither a prospective employer or deer ever ran through my living room. My initial attempts at employment were fruitless, until the old man took me aside and explained the American dream was more easily attainable for those who’s job search begins prior to four in the afternoon. He added, the chances for being hired were improved exponentially for those without beer on their breath.
You may not be as lucky as I was, in your first adult job. Money in my pocket every day, sleep as late as I cared to, meet, greet and talk trash all day. Yes, I was indeed a cab driver on the west side of Cleveland, Ohio. Cash from tips every shift, for after work carousing, reporting for work by 3pm, yeah, this is where I was supposed to be. The hand of fate however, took me to bartending where I thrived. In Michigan, during my first stint pouring drinks, I met a fella that would later introduce me to the prison system, as an employee no less. Well, the idea of paying rent or a house note on any long term basis nearly induced panic attacks, but I prevailed. My utopian position as a cab driver, that I thought could never be matched, was in fact eclipsed the day I began my career, at twenty-one years old, to do battle at the prison all day for the lofty stipend of $4.38 per hour.
Now retired, my ambitions are replaced with memories, my old friends joined by new ones and another leg of the trek under my belt. Blah, blah, blah, life is good. Enjoy the trip.