Reading over my résumé recently made me realize how many interesting and unusual jobs never made it to that list simply because they’re not considered “professional” (oh – and also because then my resume would be five pages long). And so, without further delay, to give credit where credit is due, (drum roll) here is a not-so-brief list (WITH AWARDS!) of some of the more salient moments of my pre “professional” so-called career:

Most ‘Why on Earth Did They Hire Me?’ Job: Painting and Lawn Mowing Crew, Chevy Chase, Maryland. Job: Not-So-Handy Person: At fourteen, this was the first job I ever had that did not involve babysitting. I didn’t work for those folks for very long. One customer in Chevy Chase questioned my experience as I painted the exterior trim of her house (she was smart to do so – I WAS FOURTEEN). The rest of the crew consisted of men in their 20s and 30s, but they were very respectful, even acquiescing to my vegetarian requests at lunch. I finally quit after we mowed lawns all day at Andrews Air Force Base; by the time I made it back home I was exhausted and wheezing.

Smartest Economic Move By An Employer: Baskin-Robbin’s Ice Cream Shop, Cabin John Shopping Center, Potomac, Maryland. Job: Ice Cream Scooper. New workers were encouraged to eat as much ice cream as they wanted. After any employee’s first week or so, the last thing in the world they wanted was ice cream.

Most Esoteric Job/Most Eccentric Boss: Good Vibes, Garrett Park, Maryland; Owner = Bill Marimba. Job: Mallet Finisher. This micro-company made mallets for marimbas and vibraphones, and was created by Bill “Marimba,” (a name he bestowed on himself – I don’t think he ever had it changed legally). After drilling holes in Super Balls (remember them?!), and inserting rattan handles, Bill would then pass them on to his peon workers (me, for example). Our job was to wrap nylon yarn around the Super Balls in such a way as to create a nice cushiony thickness suitable for use by percussionists. This all took place in Bill Marimba’s falling-down house near the railroad tracks in the Nuclear Free Zone that is Garrett Park, Maryland. Bill was a rabid Wobbly, and a strict vegan, often going on carrot juice fasts that literally turned his skin and his frizzy halo-hair orange. Most memorable quote from him was when some workers left their lunch in the kitchen’s IWW bumper sticker-encrusted refrigerator. Bill discovered the infraction and screamed unhappily, to no one in particular, “Those nerd-brains left a meat sandwich in my refrigerator!”

Most Underpaid (But Nonetheless Cool) Job: Five and Dime in Wildwood Shopping Center, Bethesda, Maryland. Job: Cashier, stock person, key maker. This was the real old-fashioned kind of store that sold everything from thread to notebooks to shoelaces to esoteric candy such as Fizzies and those little candy wax bottles filled with red dye #2 juice. One of my favorite tasks was making keys for customers. However, I was eventually “let go” when I asked why I wasn’t receiving minimum wage.

Most “Sign of the Times” Job: Hecht’s in Montgomery Mall, Bethesda, Maryland. Job: Cashier. I can’t remember what my “Department” was called, but I refer to it as the “Groovy Hippy Department,” because that was where my peers could purchase lava lamps, happy face buttons, happy face T-shirts, happy face trash cans, peace symbol stickers, peace symbol necklaces, peace symbol bumper stickers, black light posters, and, of course, beaded curtains. I’m not sure how long that department lasted in that incarnation, but if it still existed when I graduated from high school, it would have been the go-to place for a Pet Rock.

Most Ironic Job/Best Boss: E.J. Korvette’s Snack Shop, Rockville Pike, Rockville, Maryland. Job: Short Order Cook/Server. Ironic, because I was a vegetarian, and this was a very busy and extremely meat-oriented snack shop that served burgers, hot dogs, fries, half smokes (you get the picture). I really enjoyed it though; it was always packed with customers, and I was in constant motion – putting in a batch of fries, flipping a burger or a half smoke, slicing turkey, assembling a sandwich, or waiting on a customer. Never a dull moment. For some reason my boss, who was great and taught me a lot, nicknamed me “Libby” on my first day, and I never corrected her.

Best Training, Best Employee Camaraderie: The Magic Pan, Montgomery Mall, Bethesda, Maryland. Job: Crepe Assembler. Before ever entering the kitchen, all new hires had a very involved video instruction and discussion session. This was followed by hands-on training in the kitchen, where we learned to create delicious Coquilles St. Jacques Crepes, and the out-of-this-world Banana Crepes Chantilly. Perhaps because of the terrific training, there was genuine camaraderie in the kitchen.

Most “Rosie the Riveter” Type Job: Sears, Montgomery Mall, Bethesda, Maryland. Job: Tire Changer. Between backpacking in Europe after high school (I know – cliché – sorry!) and going to college (that was back when you could apply to the University of Maryland/College Park, say, in April, and get in), I went to the Human Resources Department at Sears and filled out an application. The human resources woman sized me up (not in an inappropriate way – I’m sure she was just trying to figure out how heavy a tire I could lift), and then asked me if I would consider training to become Sears’ first female tire changer (this was the mid-seventies, and equal opportunity was on the front burner). “Sure,” I said, “Why not?” And so it was that I learned how to bust a tire, use very loud equipment, and talk like a sailor (OK, I already knew how to do that!) My uniform was the same as the guys’ – grey cotton pants and shirt with Sears logo – and my long hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Nonetheless, a customer (yes, she was an old lady), once referred to me as “young man.” I learned how to put a car on a lift, pop off the hub caps, remove the lug nuts from the wheels with a torque wrench (ruining my hearing in the process – BRRRRMMMMM). Then it was over to the machine that would assist me in removing the tires from the rims. After putting on the new tires and filling them with the appropriate amount of air, I would hammer in lead weights, where needed, to balance them and then put the tires on the car. All of this was accomplished using a machine capable of decapitating someone, I was warned. Some of the old-timers never got used to “a girl” being in the shop, but I suppose I did a good enough job, because my boss wanted to send me to train to become a Front End Mechanic. Like an idiot, I declined his offer, and went to college instead, getting a useless degree in English.

Least Training, Most Pompous Overling: Bloomingdales, White Flint Mall, Bethesda, Maryland. Job: Gift Wrapper. My start date was right around Christmas, so naturally, without any training whatsoever, I was thrown front and center, alone, on the wrap desk. In front of me were at least a dozen customers waiting with items to be gift-wrapped. There were “examples” of wrapped packages tacked up on the wall behind me, but as a rule no one ever wanted the super fancy “example” ones, because you had to pay for them. Mostly everybody just wanted the free Bloomingdale’s wrapping paper, especially if they were buying fifteen $2 dollar items that they wanted to have wrapped individually. Perhaps this generosity towards its customers lead to Bloomingdale’s later financial difficulties, but they weathered it apparently – I just drove by it the other day! One time I was in the fine china shipping department getting a large order of wedding registry gifts ready to be shipped. In swooped a large man in a three-piece-suit, and barked that he needed to take my only heavy-duty tape dispenser; I protested, motioning to all of the china and crystal ware that needed to be bubble-wrapped and boxed up for shipping, at which point he bellowed, “Do you have any idea who I am?” (I did not.) Then he told me: “I am the Vice President of the ENTIRE STORE!” “Well,” I said, “Then I guess you can have the tape.”

Most “I Don’t Want To Belong To Any Club That Will Accept People Like Me as a Member” (quote courtesy of Groucho Marx) Job: University of Maryland, College Park Food Co-op. Job: Sandwich Preparer/Cashier/Fraud. The food co-op was in the basement of the Student Union, and was (and still is, I believe) “worker-owned.” It took me two tries at one of the very serious quasi-Marxist meetings before I was “allowed” to become a volunteer at the co-op, which would not provide me with any money, but would give me a food credit. The collective’s reluctance to let me join their group was probably because they realized I had a complete lack of interest in politics – all I really wanted was daily access to the four-inch thick sandwiches on whole grain wheat stuffed with Havarti cheese, lettuce, bean sprouts, carrots, cucumbers, and yes, mayonnaise. I didn’t mind working there, but I kind of felt like an imposter, particularly on that day in the late 70’s when we went as a group to “bury student apathy” in the giant “M” garden on Route One. Amazingly, the administration let us attempt to dig a hole in the garden and bury an empty casket. The FBI probably has a file on me because of my association with the food co-op.

Most Blatant Sexual Harassment: Casual Gourmet Restaurant, Pooks Hill, Bethesda. Job: Waitress. My shift was the non-lucrative breakfast and lunch crowd. My boss never called me by my name; instead, he referred to me as “Big Blonde Girl.” The day he crept up behind me and pressed himself into me, whispering how lonely he was because his wife was out of town, was the day I quit.

Most Nicotine Residue: Mr. Henry’s Restaurant, Washington, D.C. Job: Waitress. Once again I had a shift with lousy tips – after lunch but before Happy Hour. In between serving customers, there was a lot of free time. One of my tasks was to clean all of the glass surfaces of the yellow nicotine residue that was a byproduct of the copious cigarette smoking that was allowed back then. I have never been a smoker, but if I had been, handling Windex-soaked and nicotine stained rags several times a week would surely have made me quit.

Hottest (as in temperature) and Most Boring Job: Screenprinting Shop, College Park. Job: T-Shirt Sorter. The THOUSANDS of T-shirts waiting to be “screened” (now THAT was a job that looked like fun), were stacked ten to fifteen feet high, in no particular order as to size, color or condition (along with picking for size and color, I had to weed out any shirts that had holes in them). This all took place in an un-air-conditioned shack.

Coolest (as in most awesome) Job Ever, Ever, Ever: George Romero films, shot in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania – Dawn of the Dead (1978) and Knightriders (1981). Job: Extra. Pay – $25 a day and all you could eat at the craft service table. Fun, fun, fun. My oldest sister Susan was friends with George Romero and Tom Savini, the Special Effects guy on Dawn of the Dead. Being an excellent older sister, she not only landed me a part as a Zombie, (fine! All the extras were Zombies!), but she ALSO finagled me the opportunity to be rigged up with a squib blood pack (actually a condom filled with fake blood), so that I could be shot and not die in one scene, because I WAS THE UNDEAD. Our seventy-year-old father was also a Zombie in Dawn of the Dead (if my mother had still been alive, I like to think she would have been one as well . . .) On the drive home from the shoot, my dad and I got caught in a snowstorm and had to seek lodging for the night – we checked in wearing full Zombie pancake grey make-up. BECAUSE WE WERE THE UNDEAD.

Not long after my brief shot at movie stardom (all of my clips ended up on the cutting room floor, I’m quite sure), I graduated from college with a BA in English, and it was time to get a “real” job. When I graduated, the U.S. was in a severe recession, and unemployment was higher than it had been since the Great Depression. This meant that many, many people were vying for not enough jobs. (Sound familiar?)

My favorite post-college job interview was in Georgetown, Washington, D.C. at the Yes! Health Food Store/cafe. They were looking for someone with a college degree to design and write a newsletter for them. No problem! Then they told me the pay: Minimum wage. “Really?” I asked, stunned, and wondering aloud why I went to college, and how someone could support themselves on little more than three dollars an hour. My interviewer said that many of the workers lived in group houses, and that the job had “psychic benefits.” Psychic benefits!! I left his office and told the other college grads waiting to interview for the job what the salary was. Then I left the building, drove my brother Rusty’s rusty orange Datsun back to my father’s house, and wondered what the future would hold.

At the end of a long, tree-lined lane in Ridgley, Maryland, is the remarkable Saint Martin’s Ministries (https://stmartinsministries.org/), that provides basic human needs for the impoverished. Created twenty-eight years ago by the Benedictine Sisters of Ridgely, this outreach to the poor and homeless began with the Emergency Food Pantry, which started in the (now-renovated) Saint Martin’s Barn.

The mission of the food program is to help the poor in Caroline County, though other Saint Martin’s programs are available to all Mid-shore residents. The number of people requiring emergency food assistance has grown, and approximately 300 families are currently in the program.

If a person or family qualifies to receive food, they come to “the Barn” once a month and receive a box of food which might contain dried foods, canned goods, bottled juices, pasta, tomato sauce, tuna fish, peanut butter, as well as frozen items. Fresh produce is donated from the Sand Hill produce stand in Caroline County, the Chestertown Community Garden, and private individuals who have home gardens. A personal care product, either hand sanitizer or tissues, is also put into each box, and in August the boxes contain some school supplies. The food pantry is open Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday mornings from 8:30 am to 11:30 am, and Wednesday evenings from 6:00 pm to 7:30 p.m.

About 80% of the food in the Saint Martin’s Food Pantry comes from TEFAP (The USDA Emergency Food Assistance Program). The Maryland Food Bank also donates food to the pantry, and food is distributed according to family size. A family living in Caroline County who is eligible for food stamps, (i.e., living at the poverty level), is also eligible to go to the Saint Martin’s food pantry.

Saint Martin’s Ministries also administers an eviction prevention program which is open to residents of multiple counties in the Mid-shore region. This helps people stay in their homes, either through rental assistance or utility assistance to prevent utility shut-offs. These subsidies are based on funds received from various sources and subject to the rules of the funding sources. There has been a major drop in the amount of funds available this year.

[slideshow id=95]Nineteen years ago, the Ministries designed and built Saint Martin’s House, a transitional furnished residence for homeless women and children. Each unit is set up to house four women and their children. Each family has their own private quarters, which consists of a very large bedroom and private bath. There is a large shared living room and dining room, and a large playroom. The kitchen is set up for group living, with two refrigerators, and there is a laundry room. Another shared space is the office/computer room. The back yard has a fenced-in play area with toys, climbing equipment, and a playhouse, all overlooking hundreds of serene acres of farmland.

One of the residents currently staying at Saint Martin’s House is Bianca, a young mother with a two-month old infant. Bianca has juvenile diabetes, and was in the hospital for the last ten weeks of her high-risk pregnancy. Despite her health obstacles, Bianca has found a safe and structured environment for herself and her daughter at Saint Martin’s House.

During their stays, which can last up to two years, the women are expected to cook for themselves and sit down and have meals with their children. They are also required to pursue educational or vocational training. Parenting classes, “cooking challenges,” and “fitness challenges” are available to the residents. In this secure, structured environment, the women are helped by a caring staff. There is monthly case management to oversee the progress of the residents.

The Saint Martin’s thrift shop, also in “the Barn” sells everything from clothes and shoes to household items. The first Saturday of each month there is the “Saturday Sale” from 8:00 am to noon, and it is open to the public. Clients in the emergency food program are given monthly vouchers of $10 to $20 depending on their family size that can be redeemed for clothing and shoes in the thrift shop.

Saint Martin’s Ministries receives financial support from the United Way of Kent, Queen Anne’s and Caroline Counties, the United Fund of Talbot County, and from the County Commissioners of both Kent and Talbot Counties. They are also recipients of the Emergency Solutions Grant, through HUD, as well as foundation grants and private donations. Two fundraising events are held at Saint Martin’s each year – the first Friday in October there is an Arts Dinner, held in Rock Hall, and in March (this year it will be held on March 3rd), they host a Book and Author Luncheon.

Volunteers provide over 10,000 hours yearly to Saint Martin’s Ministries, and Sister Patricia Gamgort, OSB, the petite powerhouse who began and oversees the Ministries, stresses that there is “no way we could do this without them.” New volunteers are always welcome and in demand, either to prepare food boxes in the food pantry, to babysit while one of the moms in Saint Martin’s House is taking college classes or preparing for her GED, or to help in the thrift store.

The most pressing volunteer requirement of Saint Martin’s Ministries is transportation. Ridgely is in a rural location, and drivers are always needed to get the Saint Martin’s House residents to school or appointments. (The house has four vehicles available to volunteers.)

If interested in volunteering in any capacity, contact Jean Austin, COO of Saint Martin’s Ministries at 410-634-1140 or [email protected].

Recently our elderly Maytag washing machine died, or, as they say around here, “went up.” (When I first heard that phrase fifteen years ago, I had to stop the storyteller describing her refrigerator’s demise to ask for clarification. “Excuse me,” I asked – “your refrigerator went UP?”) There was an explanation and a guffaw at my ignorance, but the etymology of the phrase still puzzles me – do appliances go “up” as in “up in a puff of smoke,” or do they “go up” to some sort of appliance heaven? My mother used to employ an equally inexplicable phrase if something was broken, stating that it was “on the fritz.” Long live regional dialects, even if the Malling of America continues.

Our former Maytag was eighteen years old and had already withstood several repairs, so for an early Festivus present to each other, my husband and I went to the Sears next to the Chester 5 Theatre and bought a new washing machine. We don’t use the dryer much, but going without a clothes washer was not an option, particularly since the kids would be coming home for the holidays with bales of undone laundry. We chose a high efficiency top loading machine that has almost twice the capacity of our former “extra large” model. The least expensive option was top loading, which we chose, but we did spend a little more money to get an “agitator-free” model which is apparently, by law, going to be the wave of future.

With the new “high efficiency” washing machines, naturally you must use special high efficiency detergent, or you might cause damage to your new appliance. If you insist on using a non-HE brand, you could cause over sudsing reminiscent of the “Brady Bunch” episode where Bobby dumped an entire box of washing powder into the washing machine and then stupidly went off to do his homework. In order to buy the correct detergent for a high efficiency washing machine, look for the “millennial swoop logo” (phrase stolen from former co-worker) containing a lowercase “h” and “e.”

On the car radio yesterday I heard a shill cheerfully announcing that “Everyone wants a washer and dryer with a stainless steel basket!” We now have half of that particular American dream – our new washing machine has a stainless steel basket! So exciting! The exterior is a staid, standard-issue, white enamel, which has considerably brightened up our cobwebby basement. Nonetheless, I can appreciate the visual appeal of an immaculate white laundry room adorned with front-loading cherry red enameled appliances perched on top of pedestals replete with drawers to store things, even if in ten years they will look as dated as the avocado-hued appliances of days of yore.

The cost of our new washing machine was approximately what I pay each and every bloody month for my health insurance, a “Blues” plan, through the State of Maryland. For a birthday present, they raised my monthly premium to SEVEN HUNDRED AND TEN DOLLARS A MONTH. (Yes, I know that I’m screaming.) After a few diagnostic procedures in the next month or so, I am seriously considering cancelling this “luxury,” and taking my chances, as do many of my friends. Hey, I eat pretty well and do Pilates, I’ll be fine!

I also had a Blue Cross Blue Shield plan in the mid 80’s. While making every effort to attend my sister in law’s wedding in Canada in 1986, I found myself in the throes of needing life-saving, emergency surgery even as we were in the midst of decorating the reception hall. I had to travel by ambulance for almost an hour before I went under the knife. On the down side, I missed the wedding and the reception, but on the plus side, I didn’t die.

For my six-week surgical follow-up, I was back in the States, and went to see my doctor in Washington, D.C. It was several minutes before she came into the examination room where I was waiting in my paper gown. The first words out of her mouth seemed shrill: “And why didn’t WE do the surgery?” Before answering, I decided that this would be my last visit to this doctor, and then answered measuredly that the surgery had been performed in Canada. (Note to any doctors still practicing in Maryland – we patients think that it’s “real cool” if you take a few minutes to acquaint yourselves with our charts BEFORE you barge into the examination room.)

A couple of weeks after that unpleasant visit, I got my medical bills from Canada. The entire charge for the forty-minute ambulance ride from Westport, Ontario to Kingston General Hospital, the diagnostic procedures, emergency surgery, transfusion of three quarters of my blood, and a week in the hospital, (as well as lodging for my husband, who was allowed to bunk in the medical residents’ quarters) was ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS. I sent the bill to my BCBS plan and they paid it dutifully. They also (hilariously and incorrectly), referred to my ordeal as an “in-office procedure,” probably because they were confounded by the low fee.

If I did cancel my health insurance, I could, ostensibly with that money, buy a new major appliance for each month of the year. Fortunately, “they” don’t make things the way they used to, so we could probably use a few “spares.” A couple of weeks after our washer died, our six year old microwave oven went up. So young! Replacement parts for it are probably no longer available, and it would be cheaper to replace it than repair it anyway. On Thanksgiving at one of my sister’s houses, we heated up the gravy in a microwave that our dad purchased during the Reagan administration. The gravy was nuked to the perfect temperature by a machine that probably gives off enough radiation to perform a chest x-ray or a mammogram. Too bad I lack the skills to jerry-rig it to perform those tests, since I really cannot afford my health insurance.

So I’ve got the blues about the Blues. Most likely I will downgrade to a catastrophic plan with a $10,000 deductible, as I am not keen on losing our house if another major health crisis should arise and I didn’t have any medical coverage. Perhaps I am risk averse, but I enjoy having a roof over my head even more than I enjoy washing clothes in our new washing machine.