By Gregory Alejandro Ruda

I’m going to begin with a disclaimer:  98% of what I have written in the past never happened. I’m sorry for lying to you, but it’s true.  A rodeo team sponsored by the Young Republicans club coming to NA?  Panic Switch playing polka music?  (Maybe not so unrealistic…) Come on. The 2% that is true is that my name really is Greg, and I do attend Newark Academy.  But, I promise, what I am about to write is completely true….

How does one end up wandering from the dine-in-theatre industry, to the flower-watering industry, to the driving-your-dentist’s-son-to-robotics-camp industry, to the philanthropic-carpenting-with-70-year-olds industry?  Here’s how.

I had my first job!  In late May I applied to the AMC Dine-in-Theatre at the Bridgewater Mall and they hired me.  I’d been offered a flower-watering job that paid better, but didn’t think that it would look as good on my resume and wanted the experience of a “real job”.

I wanted to be a waiter, but was told I had to pay my dues as a bus boy first before climbing the corporate ladder.  So I arrived to work and met my coworkers.  It was a tough crew… they made the crowd in the Starsky and Hutch bar scene look tame.  They would make fun of me because I couldn’t carry ten glasses on a tray, while gawking at my shampooed locks that I’d styled a little overzealously to impress customers.

For 48 horrible hours I worked constantly lugging around food and drinks, and cleaning up things that never should have happened. After what felt like 8 months of cleaning toilets and mopping floors, I quit.

Realizing that the flower-watering job paid better, required one hour of work a day, and would let me sleep past 6:30 when I normally had to schlep to the Bridgewater mall to mop the bathroom, I took the second job on my original list.

And it was glorious. It was a hot and humid summer – the flowers needed me to water them, and I needed them to preserve my sanity.  Everything was going swell… until the rain came.  I was soon replaced by the needy, abrasive Mother Nature, doing a job that barely deserved pay.  Unemployed again, I regretted quitting the job with the 12-hour workdays with no breaks (which I’m pretty sure is illegal, but I will have to ask mock trial on that one).

As luck would have it, my dentist’s son needed to go to robotics camp. And he needed someone to drive him there.  The prior driver realized that he wanted a life and quit, so I soon got my golden opportunity.  Each day I would drive Stanley off to robot camp, occasionally walking in to find five year olds playing with dangerous wires and sharp objects.

For awhile, life was good: Stan would get dropped off for his day of fun and I would sunbathe in my banana hammock for the peak sunlight hours.  But then I got the dreaded phone call: My dentist finally asked himself two questions I had hoped he never would: “Why am I paying a kid to drive my son to robotics camp?” And… “Why is my son going to robotics camp?”

Unemployed for the third time this summer, I had the blues.  I hit rock bottom, and even considered calling Christian Pinto up to see if I could get involved in his 6^th grade (somewhat frowned upon) gum-selling business. But realizing that paid work may not be for me, I tried to get involved in Habitat for Humanity.

I headed off to New Brunswick, expecting a vibrant and youthful group of youngsters like myself to show me the ropes of carpentry.  What I found was Civil War veterans and the cast of Golden Girls building a house.  I was astounded that any of these people could climb the step ladder to get on top of the foundation, never mind construct a home.

So I got a little cocky.  Bertha, a 75-year-old gem who could be mistaken for Betty White, was about to take apart some two-by-fours when I insisted on doing it for her.  I walked over, not very experienced, and threw my hammer down onto the wood.  I put the back of the hammer on the nail and pulled. But… It wouldn’t come out. Bertha, Seymour, Gertrude, Velma, Irving, Virginia, Ira, Winifred, Calvin, Gladys, Merriam, Myrtle, Hilda, Lucille, Albert, and Sheldon all looked at me in shock, astounded at my inability to accomplish a very menial task in comparison to the finer points of rough carpentry.  Finally Maybell, the feeblest woman I’ve ever seen, hobbled on over, jammed the hammer under the the nail, and yanked it out.  I looked her in the eyes, and behind folds and folds of wrinkles, veins, and wisdom, I saw a grin. A grin that radiated with motivation.

Finally I was able to hold onto a job for the rest of the summer, learning about Victorian Style building from its founders.

All in all, I learned a lot. What exactly? Well, I couldn’t tell you, but if you ever need a plant watering busboy that is well versed in medieval carpentry, to drive your somewhat misunderstood son to robotics camp, I am your man.