Your first job

[Harp]

Soldering Tiffany-style lampshades.

A Tiffany lamp sits atop my desk. Ya did a helluva job kiddo.

 

[Fifty150]

Oh, never mind. I thought it was a thread about my 1st time doing something else.

 

[ChiTownScion]

I was sixteen and desperate for a part time job and so I went to a job placement service run by the Mothers Club at my high school. Followed the lead and was hired, as a trap boy at a local gun (trap & skeet) club.

The job mainly consisted of climbing into a concrete bunker (trap house) sixteen yards in front of a standard firing line where up to six shooters took turns firing at the clay pigeon targets. A puller/ scorekeeper would trigger the machine, flinging it like a small flying saucer. I would load each target by hand: mechanical loaders existed, but they were notorious at the time (early 1970's) for breaking an excessive number of targets.

The picture illustrates one of the trap machines: I would be standing on the side of the machine from where the camera is situated, the steel arm snapping away from me. I had to place the target "just so" between the two arrows. Care had to be exercised so that if the machine unexpectedly "fired," your fingers were not in the way.

Trap boys have, essentially, become extinct. That arm could easily remove fingers, a hand, even an arm if one were careless. And the constant firing of the shotguns mandated ear protection. Can you imagine letting a 16 year old kid do this today? Too bad, because I had a ball and also earned my initial college money at that job.

I had the best boss of my lifetime at that job. He'd been a young tank officer under Patton during the Big One. Never married, a pilot, business owner, and generous to a fault. A major positive influence in my life, as I look back.

 

[Fifty150]

sixteen yards in front of a standard firing line

I can't even imagine standing in front of the firing line. Everyone's gun is pointed in your direction.

 

[ChiTownScion]

I can't even imagine standing in front of the firing line. Everyone's gun is pointed in your direction.

As I said: I was inside of a concrete trap house.

 

[belfastboy]

I was sixteen and desperate for a part time job and so I went to a job placement service run by the Mothers Club at my high school. Followed the lead and was hired, as a trap boy at a local gun (trap & skeet) club.

The job mainly consisted of climbing into a concrete bunker (trap house) sixteen yards in front of a standard firing line where up to six shooters took turns firing at the clay pigeon targets. A puller/ scorekeeper would trigger the machine, flinging it like a small flying saucer. I would load each target by hand: mechanical loaders existed, but they were notorious at the time (early 1970's) for breaking an excessive number of targets.

The picture illustrates one of the trap machines: I would be standing on the side of the machine from where the camera is situated, the steel arm snapping away from me. I had to place the target "just so" between the two arrows. Care had to be exercised so that if the machine unexpectedly "fired," your fingers were not in the way.

Trap boys have, essentially, become extinct. That arm could easily remove fingers, a hand, even an arm if one were careless. And the constant firing of the shotguns mandated ear protection. Can you imagine letting a 16 year old kid do this today? Too bad, because I had a ball and also earned my initial college money at that job.

I had the best boss of my lifetime at that job. He'd been a young tank officer under Patton during the Big One. Never married, a pilot, business owner, and generous to a fault. A major positive influence in my life, as I look back.

View attachment 364288

My older sister's boyfriend was a 10 pin bowling pin setter and took me to his work one day in an effort to recruit me. As desperate as I was for a job I respectfully declined the wonderful opportunity.

 

[Zombie_61]

My older sister's boyfriend was a 10 pin bowling pin setter and took me to his work one day in an effort to recruit me. As desperate as I was for a job I respectfully declined the wonderful opportunity.

According to the story I was told, one of my uncles was at least partially responsible for the elimination of the position of pin setter/pin boy in bowling alleys. Allegedly he had been hired by Brunswick to visit bowling alleys all over southern California to perform maintenance on the equipment, and while repairing a machine one day he thought of a relatively simple improvement to the existing equipment that effectively replaced human participation in the resetting of the pins. So he brought it to his supervisor's attention, and two days later he was in a meeting at Brunswick's headquarters. He explained his idea to The Suits, and by the end of the day he had signed non-disclosure documents that legally prevented him from sharing his ideas with any competing companies or face paying hefty fines, and was paid $30k for his idea. Now, this specific uncle was not known for telling false stories so I believed it when my family repeated it to me, but I was convinced after my Mom died and I found in her belongings an old receipt for $30,000 with the Brunswick logo and my uncle's name on it.

 

[Frunobulax]

According to the story I was told, one of my uncles was at least partially responsible for the elimination of the position of pin setter/pin boy in bowling alleys. Allegedly he had been hired by Brunswick to visit bowling alleys all over southern California to perform maintenance on the equipment, and while repairing a machine one day he thought of a relatively simple improvement to the existing equipment that effectively replaced human participation in the resetting of the pins. So he brought it to his supervisor's attention, and two days later he was in a meeting at Brunswick's headquarters. He explained his idea to The Suits, and by the end of the day he had signed non-disclosure documents that legally prevented him from sharing his ideas with any competing companies or face paying hefty fines, and was paid $30k for his idea. Now, this specific uncle was not known for telling false stories so I believed it when my family repeated it to me, but I was convinced after my Mom died and I found in her belongings an old receipt for $30,000 with the Brunswick logo and my uncle's name on it.

Very cool!

 

[belfastboy]

According to the story I was told, one of my uncles was at least partially responsible for the elimination of the position of pin setter/pin boy in bowling alleys. Allegedly he had been hired by Brunswick to visit bowling alleys all over southern California to perform maintenance on the equipment, and while repairing a machine one day he thought of a relatively simple improvement to the existing equipment that effectively replaced human participation in the resetting of the pins. So he brought it to his supervisor's attention, and two days later he was in a meeting at Brunswick's headquarters. He explained his idea to The Suits, and by the end of the day he had signed non-disclosure documents that legally prevented him from sharing his ideas with any competing companies or face paying hefty fines, and was paid $30k for his idea. Now, this specific uncle was not known for telling false stories so I believed it when my family repeated it to me, but I was convinced after my Mom died and I found in her belongings an old receipt for $30,000 with the Brunswick logo and my uncle's name on it.

He did teenage kids in N America a huge favour.

 

[Fifty150]

I was 19. A very well known politician asked me to stop by and check out some bar I've never heard of. He told me who to ask for, and to say that he "sent me". A buddy of mine rode down there with me. A woman there seated us at a table in the corner. Drinks and food came. We didn't order it. But there it was. A lot of food. Platters of grilled meat. Vegetables. Fresh fruit. 6 beers in a bucket of ice. A bottle of Remy Martin. Then two girls came over, sat down at the table, and started serving the drinks and food.

What the heck was going on here?

Eventually, a guy comes over, and introduces himself as the person I was suppose to ask for. He actually breathed a sigh of relief, like the movies, and said, "I'm glad you guys are here."

Okay. I was young. A little naive. This was a "hostess bar". Just like they have in Asian countries. Not prostitution. There were literally dozens of girls there, all dressed up in evening clothes, like they were out on a hot date. They went to different tables, served food and drinks, socialized with the paying customers. Customers were men and women. So where do I fit into all of this?

The owner of the place said just relax, have a good time, order anything you want from the bar and kitchen. If I need you, I'll let you know. He didn't even say anything about how all the men were wearing suits, the girls had on cocktail dresses, and my buddy and I were wearing leather motorcycle clothes. Then in the Chinese tradition, he handed us red envelopes. "Those are your motorcycles outside? Good. I like that. Park in front from now on. People will know that I got you guys around."

None of this sounded good. We were from Chinatown. But we weren't thugs. At that age, there was a little more bravado. I should have been scared. But I wasn't. This guy I knew, who asked me to go down there, was one of those people who held elected offices, was very well known, on TV a lot...... so I didn't get the impression that he was sending me down there to do anything illegal. Although, this looked every bit like the guy who owns the bar wanted to have a little muscle on his side as things go sideways in bars.

The next day, this politician guy found me where I usually hang out during the day. He asked how it went last night. I told him about all the free food, free drinks, and the guy giving us red envelopes with $100. So he tells me, "Here's the deal...... every Friday & Saturday, say for the next few weekends, go down there. Do it as a favor for me. Bring some of the boys with you. You guys don't have to do anything but eat and drink. Don't get into any trouble. Don't start any fights. Don't beat anybody up. And if there is a fight, don't jump in. Just keep your eyes open. If anything unusual happens, or if you notice anything, let me know about it."

So every Friday and Saturday night, I had a "side job". Show up at this place around midnight, eat, drink, collect a red envelope. 3 parking spaces in front were always empty for my friends and our motorcycles. The table in the corner was always reserved for us. Just hang out in the place. There was nothing sinister. No drugs. No vice activities. No underaged girls. Just middleaged business people, well dressed, and some people who were high profile in the press.

Sometimes people would sit down at the table and introduce themselves. Some were these politician and community leader types. Other people I had never heard of. They always knew my name, even though I had never met any of them. They all had lucky red envelopes for me, and whomever rode in with me that night. These guys were handing out $100 bills, like they were getting free money, and needed to get rid of it. Then they made a big deal of calling over the owner, ordering some fancy bottle of liquor or food as a gift, paying the tab, and tipping out the hostesses at our table. I would call my politician friend the next day, and tell him that so & so came by, sent us a $500 bottle of cognac, and paid the tab for the table. Sometimes I would hear him chuckle on the other end of the line.

It went on like that for a year and a half. Then there was a fire which burned the place down.

 

[Frunobulax]

He did teenage kids in N America a huge favour.

By kicking them out of a job and paving the way for future baristas?

 

[Hats Matter]

I was 19. A very well known politician asked me to stop by and check out some bar I've never heard of. He told me who to ask for, and to say that he "sent me". A buddy of mine rode down there with me. A woman there seated us at a table in the corner. Drinks and food came. We didn't order it. But there it was. A lot of food. Platters of grilled meat. Vegetables. Fresh fruit. 6 beers in a bucket of ice. A bottle of Remy Martin. Then two girls came over, sat down at the table, and started serving the drinks and food.

What the heck was going on here?

Eventually, a guy comes over, and introduces himself as the person I was suppose to ask for. He actually breathed a sigh of relief, like the movies, and said, "I'm glad you guys are here."

Okay. I was young. A little naive. This was a "hostess bar". Just like they have in Asian countries. Not prostitution. There were literally dozens of girls there, all dressed up in evening clothes, like they were out on a hot date. They went to different tables, served food and drinks, socialized with the paying customers. Customers were men and women. So where do I fit into all of this?

The owner of the place said just relax, have a good time, order anything you want from the bar and kitchen. If I need you, I'll let you know. He didn't even say anything about how all the men were wearing suits, the girls had on cocktail dresses, and my buddy and I were wearing leather motorcycle clothes. Then in the Chinese tradition, he handed us red envelopes. "Those are your motorcycles outside? Good. I like that. Park in front from now on. People will know that I got you guys around."

None of this sounded good. We were from Chinatown. But we weren't thugs. At that age, there was a little more bravado. I should have been scared. But I wasn't. This guy I knew, who asked me to go down there, was one of those people who held elected offices, was very well known, on TV a lot...... so I didn't get the impression that he was sending me down there to do anything illegal. Although, this looked every bit like the guy who owns the bar wanted to have a little muscle on his side as things go sideways in bars.

The next day, this politician guy found me where I usually hang out during the day. He asked how it went last night. I told him about all the free food, free drinks, and the guy giving us red envelopes with $100. So he tells me, "Here's the deal...... every Friday & Saturday, say for the next few weekends, go down there. Do it as a favor for me. Bring some of the boys with you. You guys don't have to do anything but eat and drink. Don't get into any trouble. Don't start any fights. Don't beat anybody up. And if there is a fight, don't jump in. Just keep your eyes open. If anything unusual happens, or if you notice anything, let me know about it."

So every Friday and Saturday night, I had a "side job". Show up at this place around midnight, eat, drink, collect a red envelope. 3 parking spaces in front were always empty for my friends and our motorcycles. The table in the corner was always reserved for us. Just hang out in the place. There was nothing sinister. No drugs. No vice activities. No underaged girls. Just middleaged business people, well dressed, and some people who were high profile in the press.

Sometimes people would sit down at the table and introduce themselves. Some were these politician and community leader types. Other people I had never heard of. They always knew my name, even though I had never met any of them. They all had lucky red envelopes for me, and whomever rode in with me that night. These guys were handing out $100 bills, like they were getting free money, and needed to get rid of it. Then they made a big deal of calling over the owner, ordering some fancy bottle of liquor or food as a gift, paying the tab, and tipping out the hostesses at our table. I would call my politician friend the next day, and tell him that so & so came by, sent us a $500 bottle of cognac, and paid the tab for the table. Sometimes I would hear him chuckle on the other end of the line.

It went on like that for a year and a half. Then there was a fire which burned the place down.

Someone with a lot more talent than I do could make some money off of this by writing a screen play with this as a premise for a movie. It remonds my of The Sopranos