WORKING YOUNG (personal) (silly) I started working for my father’s business at a

WORKING YOUNG

(personal) (silly)

I started working for my father’s business at age seven. On holidays. I would take the list of deliveries and get them out of the cooler, put them in the truck, strap them down, then ride with the driver, walk up to the house, ring the bell, say something polite and cheerful, get back in the truck, and do the next delivery. I earned one dollar an hour.

At twelve I got a paper route. It was the biggest paper route in town. One hundred and eight to one hundred and twenty newspapers on sundays. Sunday was very heavy and took me a lot of trips. I used a wagon if I could, and a red sled in the snow. But usually just a canvas shoulder bag. And walked from house to house.

It is very cold in upstate NY in winter. 🙂 But the air smells amazingly good.

I loved delivering the papers. But I hated collecting the money. Too much human interaction with too many strange people. It made me exhausted.

I saved up, patiently, in a jar, and bought my mini bikes. 🙂

But I understood inventory, cash flow, receivables, sales, revenue, and, unfortunately, a lot about filing in alphabetical order, and how to serve customers by the time I could do multiplication tables. 🙂

Dad made me practice introducing myself and shaking hands a lot. Incredibly valuable really. And more of the same: I actually know what all those little forks, knives, spoons and glasses are for. 🙂 And how to tie a necktie. That kinda stuff. Which, if you’re an Aspie, turns out to be awesomely confusing to normals.

LOL

Life is awesome. Too bad we don’t get a couple of trial runs.