During those few weeks where I had endless spare time and an overriding sense of curiosity and adventure, I'd tramp the streets of San Francisco, observing the Mission district's Latinos, Dolores Park's hipsters, the Castro's aspiring divas and I knew that somewhere, among this mash of humanity, I would slide right in. I was craving a life in Fog City. I was therefore praying that my instincts would tell me that working for these people was the right thing to do, because as my mother always said "Trust your instincts".
As it turns out, my fears that my employers would morph into the Bundys or the Mansons were completely unfounded (and as some psychologists might argue, irrational). My job involved a short day that most full-time workers dream of, consisting of what most able-bodied people would call remedial tasks: washing laundry, drying laundry, folding laundry. Then of course there was the major task of chaperoning my employer to: the drycleaner's, hardware store, dump, supermarket and Golden Gate Park to admire the flowers.
Don't you think I can hear you saying "Oh, Ben has it SO easy, while we are here in our windowless cubicles entering line after line of encoded data into a black and green IBM computer (circa 1988) for 8 hours a day so that we can have our two weeks off a year to go to Fiji and our two weeks off at Christmas and then go back next year and do it all over again."
It will not, then, surprise you to know that as with any job, this one is not without its downfalls. I've left out the other burdens of my daily grind. There's the being taken out to lunch. And the fact that I've never worked a full week- oh the humanity. Then there's the continuous stream of other acts of generosity: home furnishings, vintage clothing from my employer's youth (which as it happens, I look GREAT in- and here's another chance to plug the boots), being driven around in 'The Jag", and the fact that I've had an array of guests, one of whom has been living on my couch for two weeks. All the tangible and material things, however, pale in comparison to Mike's overall friendliness, caring nature and approachability, and that's where I've really lucked out- who would want to work so closely with someone unbearable?
As it turns out, my fears that my employers would morph into the Bundys or the Mansons were completely unfounded (and as some psychologists might argue, irrational). My job involved a short day that most full-time workers dream of, consisting of what most able-bodied people would call remedial tasks: washing laundry, drying laundry, folding laundry. Then of course there was the major task of chaperoning my employer to: the drycleaner's, hardware store, dump, supermarket and Golden Gate Park to admire the flowers.
Don't you think I can hear you saying "Oh, Ben has it SO easy, while we are here in our windowless cubicles entering line after line of encoded data into a black and green IBM computer (circa 1988) for 8 hours a day so that we can have our two weeks off a year to go to Fiji and our two weeks off at Christmas and then go back next year and do it all over again."
It will not, then, surprise you to know that as with any job, this one is not without its downfalls. I've left out the other burdens of my daily grind. There's the being taken out to lunch. And the fact that I've never worked a full week- oh the humanity. Then there's the continuous stream of other acts of generosity: home furnishings, vintage clothing from my employer's youth (which as it happens, I look GREAT in- and here's another chance to plug the boots), being driven around in 'The Jag", and the fact that I've had an array of guests, one of whom has been living on my couch for two weeks. All the tangible and material things, however, pale in comparison to Mike's overall friendliness, caring nature and approachability, and that's where I've really lucked out- who would want to work so closely with someone unbearable?
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