I Used to do That for a Living; Landing and Leaving 108 Jobs Introduction, Chapter 1, Chapter 2 - Page 35

I Used to do that for a Living eighteen-year-old divorcee, at a dance hall in Wichita while on leave before shipping out to Europe. They fudged the year of their wedding so they could make out like their first-born was not conceived out-of-wedlock. On June 11, 1946, the date from which they computed their anniversary, Jack was still in Berlin. I never asked my folks why they lied. Hell, everybody lies. I know I do. Some folks will lie when the truth would work better. Of the kids, I, the youngest, was the only one who took an active interest in Jack’s work. When he was driving a cab he would sometimes come by and pick me up after his last run. Carrying non-payers was a firing offence, and a violation of city ordinance. He’d drop me off where he’d parked the family car, and I’d wait while he cashed out. We might stop for a doughnut on the way home. Later, when he was a truck driver, in Houston, I would occasionally accompany him to his job hauling composted trash to a dumpsite twenty miles out of town. At age twelve I went along on a run to the Panhandle and back. We drove for twenty-three hours straight, except for eating, fueling, and unloading; I perched on an overturned five-gallon bucket the whole time, since there was no passenger seat. The was no 26