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
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