Some people like to go out dancing And other people like us, we gotta work It was the late 1970s. I was in college working the graveyard shift over Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Years breaks, happy for whatever hours I could pull because my pay was tied to the Teamster shop and was 3-4x above minimum wage. It was the closest I ever got to a coal mine that I remember. You clocked in shortly after 6pm and were done the next dawn. First you filled the pallets with the orders and, because I was small, Id go up as high as three stories, unprotected on a forklift. No harness, no wire, no nuthin. Pulling a case or two of of an obscure liqueur like Cherry Kijafa down and onto the wood pallet, then onto the next. Id come home, a little after daybreak, so filthy and covered in dust, the first thing Id do is blow my nose, only to see black snot. The next thing Id do is shower it all off. The third thing Id do is collapse into bed and sleep the day. All the while, my friends who didnt need to earn so much as their spending money, let alone their rent or food money or bus money or book money, they would be out dancing, or the rough equivalent. Or so I thought, as I listened and played and thought of...Sweet Jane.
Posted on: Wed, 30 Oct 2013 19:55:28 +0000
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