Actually, it wasn’t long ago. In the mid-1970s I was a college kid working various and sundry summer jobs. Unloading rail cars of cat food. Working (and hiding) in a vast warehouse. At a small metal stamping shop I stood by my machine and punched out rivets all day long. No goggles, no ear plugs, no face protection. Man, am I dating myself.

 Summer jobs opened my eyes to unfamiliar lives. Where you get dirty, talk dirty, and the hours drag. Once I was an apartment construction site “cowboy,” roaming the grounds, rounding up trash and debris. Time moved slower than watching grass grow. Took forever for the blessed morning break. That cut down the time to lunch. The afternoon stretch was a chore. Then after clocking out, you’d lie around an empty apartment with new carpeting, you and a few fellas, drinking from somebody’s six pack.