101 Jobs

By Carmen M. Ruiz

A history of the author's general employment throughout her living experience.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9780359911097

Book preview

101 Jobs

101 Jobs

By Carmen M. Ruiz

Dedicated to all the humans that worked by my side during this experience of various employments.  Whether, it’s been good, bad, strenuous, an occupational hazard, degrading, rewarding, educational or depressing.  I have walked away with knowledge and compassion no matter what area or field I stepped into. 

I am thankful for the opportunity and the people I came across all these years.

I hope you enjoy these short experiences and scenarios and are able to smile or laugh at all the employments I’ve had.

Thank you for the opportunity to share this with my family and friends.

Preface

Who am I?  I am the child that looked in front, to the sides, up and behind.

I am the child that grew up in the Bronx always fearing of being hurt by a stranger waiting around the corner or looking away and pretending I saw nothing.

I am the child who climbed five flights of stair two, three and sometimes four times a day as fast as I could to the point I’d skip two to three steps to hurry up to get to the top or bottom.  We always lived in the last floor.  I walked five blocks to a public school, than junior high school and finally high school.

To get to high school I had to take the bus and the train. I admired the nurses that would visit my grandmother and at a young age I knew some day, I’d be a nurse because I cared.  When I started writing about the 101 Jobs I’ve had, I could only mention the ones that left an impression.  So here I am reflecting on a long history of my nursing career.

Chapter 1

The Early Years

I have worked since I was very young. In my estimation, I’ve worked at least 101 jobs. So, sit back and relax as I take you on a journey through my experiences of the many jobs I have had. Let’s start with the first unofficial job I had when I lived in the Bronx, NY.  At the age of 14 or somewhere thereabout, there was:

Mr. Lee’s Chinese Laundry owned by Mr. Lee. The laundry was in a basement around the block from the one-bedroom apartment we lived in.  We made the most of our accommodations, but as you can imagine a family of five in such close quarters, there was very little comfort albeit practical.

My mother used to bring some of my father’s shirts and pants to Mr. Lee’s since my father was very particular about his shirts being starched and pressed.  My father’s father owned a laundry business himself, so he had a long history of doing laundry. During Chinese New Year, Mr. Lee, would give my sister and me a $1.00 bill for good luck.  A whole dollar for me, Wow, thank you so much Mr. Lee, I’d shout over the counter. I had already planned on buying a pair of nylon stockings for twenty-five cents and candy with the remainder. In my mind I had already set a budget and how I was going to spend the money. I could almost taste the chunky chocolate bar I was going to enjoy.  One day, Mr. Lee asked my mother, if she’d mind if my sister and I took some of the cotton clothes he had washed to the local laundry mat to dry.  My mother agreed with her broken English to have us do the job. So, my youngest sister and I carried the wet garments in large laundry bags on our backs approximately three blocks away from his place of business. Walking to the laundry mat with the wet clothes in large linen bags wasn’t easy.  Especially if it was thirty-two to forty degree weather and you’re wearing hats, gloves, boots and a heavy winter coat. Apparently, he didn’t have a dryer and he’d give us the exact change to deposit into the dryer. I didn’t mind at all until my mother started taking the money earned to help with the costs of groceries.

We had no choice on how the money would be spent because our mother needed the money to help support our family. What I earned was enough to buy a slice of pizza or an ice cream cone, but I didn’t argue and just handed my earnings over. That went on for three years, three times a week, faithfully.  It was at the laundry mat where I would do my homework and watch from the inside the drug addicts passing by and doing their dealings and the drunks and homeless warming up from the cold weather by a trash can set on fire. I’d jump and skip over the sidewalk that was splattered with emesis which caught me by surprise if I wasn’t careful and looked where I was going. Sometimes, I’d be tempted to really look at the contents and guess what they had probably eaten. I’d hold my breath for a minute to get past, so I didn’t have to smell the vomit or the urine.

Inside the laundry mat, I seemed to entertain myself with the sound