Odd jobs are a thing in my family. At least on my father’s side. I’m sure it has something to do with being a family of immigrants. My grandfather immigrated from Germany when he was 14 or 15, having jumped ship after joining the merchant marines. He would become a bricklayer, although he preferred the term mason, and made sure each of his sons knew the family business, as he put it. My grandmother was also from Germany, although I don’t know her story.
My father went into the military and served in Viet Nam. He came home with two purple hearts. After the military he took a job as a carney. He followed that up with driving a semi cross country, and then a dumpster hauling rocks and dirt and whatever else that was needed to and from construction sites.
Carney is an odd job if there ever was one. It is also a romanticized occupation. Probably because it’s the closest that someone can be to becoming a working hobo traveling from place to place. It’s an interesting way to see the world and meet new people. I never asked, but I’m sure my dad had some interesting stories to tell from those days.
Much like my father I have had my share of odd jobs. I’ve worked in fast food; I’ve done freelance writing which involved everything from concert and venue reviews to homeschool curriculum. I worked for BlogTalkRadio when it was just a start up. I worked for the Psychic Readers Network, otherwise known as the “Miss Cleo Psychic Hotline.”
