Stolling Down Memory Lane #memories

About the best thing about not having a life is tripping down Memory Lane.I do a lot of that lately, and today recalled one of  the worst jobs I ever held. I had to share my memory with you.

borrowed from Google.images.com

After moving to Northern California and relocating to Dixon, there was a time during my first marriage that I actually stayed home and was wife and mother. A couple of friends and I became bored and decided that a "seasonal" job that led to unemployment befits the remainder of the year wouldn't be such a bad gig. So...we trouped down to the tomato processing plant and applied. Surprise, we all got hired.

The first thing employees did when they entered, which should have been a negative sign, was don a yellow plastic outfit, a hairnet, rubber boots and headphones. If you're into beauty...this isn't the look you'd want.

I was assigned to the highest rung of the 'catwalk', the unloading table. This was the first stop for the tomatoes coming directly from the field by truck. My mission, should I choose to accept it, was stripping the tomatoes from any vines still attached, weeding out any rubble...which I soon found included snakes, dead rabbits, and other assorted pests. I didn't last long at the task because my screams kept interrupting the flow and I couldn't master the wrist fling that freed the fruit. Instead, I continually pelted those around me with maters. I got moved when, suffering from human contact and humor, I started displaying obscene tomatoes to my neighboring workers.

From there I went to the sorting table, two rungs down. This table held only the roundest, plumpest tomatoes, headed for the steamer. My job was to make sure there were no rotten spots, stems, or other problems. I would have probably been awesome at the task had I not immediately been hit with motion sickness. I felt as though I was moving and the table stood still. My pasty pallor and drunken swagger attested to my nausea and I was relegated to the steam table at the bottom. I'm sure you can see where my career is headed.

You might have heard that steam is good for the complexion. Wrong...especially when it opens your pores to tomato juice splashing from the table onto your skin. I thought I'd finally found my niche, but soon looked forward to a break in the monotony and heat.

Some ten minutes that was. From the top, it took eight and a half to climb down the metal scaffolding, wash off, and find a place to sit. By the time I did that, it was time to get back to work. This is definitely not a career for someone who needs a break from standing.

I finished off the day there, but went home with the worst case of hives ever. I woke up the next morning with a severe head cold, called in sick, and got fired for poor attendance.

As if that wasn't enough...I lost my gold nugget necklace somewhere in the fray. Somebody, some place found a nice reward in their ketchup, soup, or sauce. Believe me, that piece of jewelry was a real prize compared to the other strange things that end up in those products. I couldn't eat anything made from a tomato for over a year. There is no way you can get ever 'dead' thing off that conveyer belt...trust me. So...that was my worst, and shortest job ever. There are just some things I'm not cut out for and that was one of them. :)  Any wonder why I became an author?  You can sample my wares which are a lot safer than tomato products at Amazon.

Mama Went to Buy a Cow

I grew up in a strict Catholic home during the mid to late fifties, with three older brothers, an older sister, and a younger sister. We attended the Catholic School across the street from our house.  My mother, like all good mothers, was involved in the church and school, and knew the teachers and nuns well.  Our next door neighbor, and Mom’s best friend, Rose, often drove the nuns to the store, bank, or ran errands for them. Naturally, she knew a lot of what was going on at the school, much more than my mother did.

Two of my older brothers were notorious for getting into trouble, always playing silly immature pranks. It wasn’t unusual for them to receive a swat with a ruler.  Back then, corporal punishment was the normal manner of discipline in school.

 Our mother didn’t put up with disrespect or monkeyshines at home let alone in school. We were there to learn, and we had darn well better pay attention. So when she found out someone had gotten into trouble, and she always did, they paid for it at home, also.  We used to think she had eyes in the back of her head. Later we learned most of her information came directly from the nuns or teachers themselves, and sometimes from Rose.

We all knew if we misbehaved, it wouldn’t take long for her to find out. I tried to stay out of trouble - besides, it wasn’t in my nature to act up – at least not much.  My brothers did plenty of that, and I didn’t want to suffer the repercussions. Not that I was a perfect child, far from it, I got my share of spankings, but in school I tried to do what was expected of me. Maybe because of a lesson I learned early on.

My dilemma began in the first grade.  My teacher, Sister Roseanne, was a young and pretty nun. Everyone loved her. Besides, she bore the same name as me, which made her extra special. I loved school and every morning I willingly followed my brothers and sister.

Except for one day.

That day my sister, Mary, didn’t have to go to school. She had to stay home and baby-sit our younger sister. Not that this was normal, but whoever was supposed to watch Gloria couldn’t do it and my mom couldn't cancel her appointment. At any rate, I wanted to stay home, too. Naturally, she said no. I was angry and upset.

So upset, in fact, I didn’t even kiss my mother good-bye that morning, and off I went pouting, mumbling and grumbling about how unfair it was. My brothers laughed and teased me on the way to school, which didn’t help the situation.

 I’d never left without kissing my mother before, so, by time I got to school, I felt so bad that I sat at my desk and cried. Every time Sister Roseanne asked what was wrong, I cried harder and refused to answer. Feeling worse by the minute my tears soon turned into sobs.  I couldn’t even do my work.

Finally, at wits end, Sister spanked me for being insolent. This, of course, made me cry harder, and my little heart was crushed. My beautiful teacher, who bore my name, spanked me.

Since I still wouldn’t stop crying, she sent me for Mary, hoping, I guess, to find out what made me so upset. By this time, I’d forgotten Mary stayed home. I stood outside her classroom, tears streaming down my face and knocked on the door. Sister Mary Francis answered my knock.

“Sister Roseanne wants to see Mary,” I said, choking back sobs,.

“Mary isn’t in school today.” Sister Mary Francis gave me a quizzical look.  “Is she sick?”

“Oh, that’s right,” I wiped my tears, “I forgot she had to stay home to watch Gloria.”

“Oh and why is that?”

“Because my mama went to buy a cow.” I answered and hurried back to my classroom, for some reason the tears forgotten. I made it through the rest of the day dry eyed, but I couldn’t wait to get home to give my mother a kiss and hug.

Later that day, I sat outside the window as Rose and Mom talked. I was worried, sure that Rose knew about the spanking. Of course, I hadn’t told my mother, I didn’t want her to know.

 “Wait until you hear the story Sister Mary Francis told me.” Rose told my mother. “She said Rosi came to her classroom looking for Mary and told her the most fantastic tale. She could hardly stop laughing. Rosi told her that Mary was babysitting because you went to buy a cow.”

I held my breath, listening and waiting for her to get the part about the spanking as she told the story.

“But, Sister, I told her." Rose continued. "It was true. Her mother did go to buy a cow. They just purchased a freezer so she went to buy a side of beef. Julia, you should have seen the look on her face as the reality of it made sense, it was priceless.”

I let out a sigh of relieve when my mother laughed. She never did ask why I went to Mary’s classroom. Maybe she already knew and thought I had been punished enough. I never got in trouble or spanked in school again.