WORKING (I Did It for the Money)

A chronological account of my varied employment history, and in part, why I am the way I am.

Getting the Worm

The Province Newspaper - 1970

My introduction to the world of work began at the tender age of 12, or was it 13? It was then that I inherited a morning paper route from, I think, one of my older brothers. (One of many things I was handed down over the years.) This required rising from my bed at 5:30 a.m. to mount The Beast, a bicycle unlike any other. With a frame too large for my own, and a massive steel cage on the front end to hold my daily load of papers, The Beast required a double kickstand to ward off the effects of gravity. So off I would go each morning, pedalling a couple of miles to join a cast of scruffy characters in a wood shack where we were given our supply of Vancouver’s morning daily. Aside from the advantage of earning a little cash, the aforementioned characters also expanded my vocabulary, and began to teach me the ways of the world that you don’t learn in school.

It's 5:30 a.m. Do you know where your child is?

Citizen Boy

The Citizen Newspaper - 1971

After too many early mornings, I changed jobs to delivering a weekly local paper in my own neighbourhood. The highlight of this experience was being assigned the moniker “Citizen Boy” by a neighbourhood teen each time I arrived at his door for collections. With Orson Welles in mind, I wore this as a badge, until I realized it came from someone whose nickname was Fish. I never knew why.

As well, this job gave me the unique opportunity to be slugged by the local bully. “This is for your older brother!” he exclaimed one day as I made my rounds, just before his fist met with my cheekbone.

“Which one?” I mistakenly replied,” I have two.” SLAM! went fist to cheek again. It was then I decided to refrain from telling him I had a younger brother, too.

Hold On Tight

Hanlon’s Floor and Window Cleaning - 1972

I got this part time job from a friend whose father owned the company. Other than some pocket money, there was nothing significant about this experience, though I did learn the proper technique of using a floor mop (figure 8s) and how to handle one of those crazy spinning floor polishers, which was all about balance and concentration. Those occasions when either of those was lacking would send this humming machine careening wildly in all directions.

I recall going to my friend’s house at the appointed hour, where we would be loaded into the back of a van with various pieces of large equipment. Off we would go to the job site, hunched down near the floor to keep from falling over during turns and accelerations. Seat belts, or even seats for that matter, were not part of the experience.

Get ‘Em While They’re Young

Youth Crew Summer - 1972

At the suggestion of my mother, I applied to a program called BC Parks Youth Crew. This is a summer job where young men were given the unique opportunity to travel to remote locations and work hard for six days a week for a modest stipend. Sort of a summer camp for poor kids. Despite being exploited, it turned out to be a great experience. I spent two months at a provincial park called Bear Lake, located just north of Prince George, and way north of anywhere. The place was aptly named due to the proliferation of black bears, one of which greeted me one morning outside our cabin door. “Uh, guys...we have a visitor.” Generally speaking, they were harmless, unless you found yourself between mother and cub. Fortunately I never did.

Good friendships were formed, and experiences had, that I still recall fondly. It was not all work and no play, as we had more than a few adventures, (some well past curfew), such as a canoe trip where we constructed a plastic sheet sauna next to a glacial river. Imagine 16 sweating teenage boys ripping out of a large plastic tent, naked, screaming, and diving into an icy blue river. Yahoo!

The Crew, and I'm front row far left.

Fries With That?

Western Teak - 1973

For this part time job, my friend George and I had the task of assembling and delivering various pieces of teak furniture. It was then that I learned just how heavy teak furniture really is. Each Saturday began with a stop at McDonalds to pick up a couple of extra large orange pops for the boss, so that he would have something to mix his vodka with. This would not be the only time an employer had issues with the bottle.

I Can Handle It

Schlage Lock - 1973

Joining my friend George once again, I experienced work in a real live factory, where for eight hours a day, workers would place pieces of metal under a large punch, hit the button, and BANG!, suddenly a doorknob would appear. Fortunately, George and I were given the job of Material Handlers, which meant keeping the people at the machines stocked with, well, material. This allowed us to be on the move, and avoid the absolute and relentless monotony of the machine work. This would be the first of a few jobs that over time helped me to appreciate the better jobs I would later do.

Workin’ at the Car Wash

Shell Station - 1974

Nothing significant or particularly memorable about this short term job, which required operating and maintaining a mostly automatic car wash. I was, however, entertained by the opportunity to use the word nipple on a regular basis, that being the small steel receptacle for lubricant in large machines. Ah, the things that amuse the teenage mind.

Stitches and Itches

NorWes Building Materials - 1974-1977

This job kept me in cash for a few years of weekends and summers through high school and college. I was then what is now called a “Sales Associate”. I guess Clerk just wasn’t good enough. Any degree of ability and knowledge having to do with building stuff I owe to this experience. I also got a great discount on tools and things, some of which I still use more than 30 years later. No outstanding memories, other than discovering just how much a head wound bleeds when, while stepping backwards to check the label on a tall box, I tripped on one fork of a forklift and hit the back of my head on the other. Lots of blood, three stitches, and an itch I still feel.

Don’t Look Up

Paper Recycling Mill - 1977

With plans of “finding myself” in Europe, I took a full-time job as a forklift operator in a paper recycling mill. Obviously I didn’t hold a grudge toward the machine. As luck would have it, I was assigned the biggest and fastest forklift, which meant I always won when we raced through the towers of baled paper. I appreciated the bulk of my machine the day one of these bales, weighing hundreds of pounds, fell on top of it while I was operating. Whew! The smell of wet cardboard still recalls those days.

Gravity, The Scene Stealer

Severins’ Restaurant - 1979

Feeling a bit lost after six months in Europe, I began what was to become a series of jobs in the food service industry. After a few months earning my stripes as a busboy, I graduated to waiter. On the first night in my new role, I had served half of a party of twelve their main course. After loading and shouldering my tray in the kitchen with the other six plates, I wound up to kick the door open, only to discover that friction was not my friend that night. The floor was wet and my shoes were smooth, and I suddenly found myself flat on my back with food and plates everywhere. Then, to my dismay, the chef replaced the meat onto new plates, served out some fresh vegetables, and sent me on my way. My perspective on restaurant kitchens has never been the same.

Vertigo

Cargill Grain Elevator - 1980

I was A Man with a Plan. I had applied, and was accepted to the photography program at Ryerson Polytechnical Institute, in Toronto, a long way from my home in Vancouver, and a long way off financially. In search of quick cash, I travelled, in deep winter, to Alberta with my friend Ian to work in the oil patch. While waiting for an opportunity to open up, we took a job helping to construct a grain elevator in a town called Lacombe, where my grandmother lived. This required rising very early, donning all available winter clothing, and heading out in the cold morning light to slam nails into large planks laid horizontally atop one another high above the ground. Not a particularly pleasant experience, and fortunately short-lived.

Well, Well, Well, Well...

Beta Well Service - 1980

A few weeks later, opportunity knocked with an interview and training with an oil well service company. Soon I had joined a crew and began to discover just how dirty and dangerous this work was. Our job was to go to an existing well, park our rig over top the hole and service whatever problem existed. My job as a roughneck included attempting to pound stakes into frozen earth (terra extra firma) with a sledge hammer to secure the rig. On other days, I had to keep the oil from getting into my facial orifices as it spurted from the well on occasion, and I had to regularly keep reminding myself that it will be worth it. And thanks to my mostly Newfie crewmates, I learned all manner of new words and phrases that I haven’t been able to use appropriately since.

After about five months of cheap small town motels, laundromats with “No Oil Clothes” signs posted, and a considerably stronger physique, I left Alberta, bound for Toronto, with a reasonable amount of money in the bank.

My parents came to visit the rig one day.

Dad took the photo while Mom posed next to me.

The Things We Do...

Security Guard - 1981

Yes, it’s true. I was a night watchman, hired to, well, watch the night. The combined expenses of the photography program, rent, and sometimes food, left me in need of income...desperate need. So desperate, in fact, that I took a job working weekend nights in adjoining apartment buildings in a less than desirable part of Toronto. And so I would arrive on Friday night wearing my stately blue uniform, with a bag of books and a head full of wishful thinking, intending on using any available time to complete my homework. In reality, I would too often wake with the impression of book edges in my forehead, wondering how many of my hourly rounds I had missed.

Lemmon and Matthau?

The Coach and Four Restaurant - Summer, 1982

In search of adventure between school years, my girlfriend (now my wife) and I crossed the country to Victoria, B.C., where I got another restaurant job. This time, in keeping with the city’s heritage, it was a “British” place. Chips with that?

Not a particularly fine restaurant, operated by two gay men, one of whom would swish through the dining room while his more rough-edged partner drank from his beer hidden in the paper towel dispenser in the kitchen. An odd couple indeed.

All Greek To Me

Anesty’s Restaurant - Summer, 1983

This restaurant experience turned out to be brief, but significant, as it was the first and only job I have been fired from. Anesty’s was a busy Greek restaurant in downtown Toronto. I was hired to wait lunches, and so I set about familiarizing myself with the menu. Apparently I didn’t become familiar enough, as one very busy lunch I ordered keftedes instead of dolmathes, and the chef went ballistic on me, cursing and shouting at me in unintelligible Greek. At the end of my shift, I was fired, after helping myself to a generous serving of humble pie.

Hip and Happening

Earl’s Tin Palace - 1983

In a predominantly young and cool uptown neighbourhood, I got another waitering job at Earl’s Tin Palace Restaurant and, after 10 p.m., night club. Wine spritzers, big hair and 99 Red Balloons (remember that song?). This job kept me fluid (in more ways than one) through my last year of school.

Another Serving of Pie?

The Bay - 1984

After graduating from the photography program, I returned to Vancouver to stake my future. My future, however, wasn’t quite ready for me, so I reluctantly took a short term job selling pens at a department store. Somewhat higher on the food chain that security guard, but definitely not where I wanted to be. I didn’t last long.

But What Does It Mean?

QED - 1984

As I edged closer to my chosen profession, I took a job in an audio-visual company called QED. And I never found out what the acronym meant. Well before the digital age, much of my time was spent preparing title slides for slide shows (remember those?), and duplicating training videos for McDonald’s. Everything at McDonald’s has a correct procedure. And I wasn’t lovin’ it.

Working for The Big Fish

Derik Murray Photography - 1985-1987

After many months of hounding, I was hired as a photographer’s assistant, and eventually became studio manager (bigger title, slightly bigger salary), at a busy photography studio in Vancouver. “I’m a big fish in a small pond”, was how my employer described his business. In addition to working on some big budget photo shoots, and gaining some really good experience, I survived an intensive six month project coordinating the documentation of the ‘86 Expo, later to become a coffee table book. I signed off on so many documents that my once legible signature became a slightly wavy line. Unfortunately I eventually became burned out and decided to depart on a new adventure.

After editing thousands of images for the

Expo book, I went a little crazy.

And Now For Something Completely Different

Berlitz, Japan - 1987-1989

The fall of 1987 found me on a plane bound for Nagoya, Japan, where I was to become an English teacher to all manner of Japanese people: businessmen, housewives, and students of all ages. Over the course of a year and half spent as a gaijin (foreigner), I developed a rudimentary command of the Japanese language, a constant fascination for the sometimes bizarre culture, (every day was a wide-eyed adventure), and a decent income. It was a great life experience, and for at least six months following my return, most of my sentences began with, "Well, when I was in Japan..."

This experience provided me with two memorable opportunities. The first was spending twelve days crossing the Pacific on a cruise ship, while teaching a small group of Japanese students. Sailing from Tokyo to San Francisco, it was twelve days of nothing but horizon, punctuated only by the rescue of sixteen Taiwanese fishermen, whose vessel was slowly sinking. And secondly, living in Japan turned out to be a great springboard to adventures throughout South East Asia, where I spent six months following my teaching time in Japan.

From The Japan Times Newspaper,

and yes, that's me.

Once a Giant

Bert Bell Photography - 1990-1992

I returned to Canada, and Toronto, to get married, and to try to resume my photography profession. I was hired as studio manager for a photographer who, at one time, was a giant in the industry. That was then, and this was now. In a fickle industry, his reputation had unfortunately deteriorated, and was further tempered by an excess of Absolute vodka. Still, it was a very good professional experience, and gave me great stories to tell.

On My Own

Freelance Photographer - 1992-1994

After two (more) years in the passenger seat, I realized it was time to get behind the wheel, so I stepped out on my own. Over the course of two years, I worked on my portfolio, made a lot of calls, knocked on a lot of doors, and got a few good jobs. Just not enough. I was married now, and thinking of a family, and freelance income just wasn’t substantial enough. I never really rounded the corner to success in photography. Besides, I had been stung by the teaching bug in Japan, and that became my new direction.

Back to Class

Hansa School of Languages - 1995

For a few months, I taught ESL to young students from, well, everywhere. Unfortunately, this particular language school possessed no curriculum and no resources, other than a photocopier. I cringe now at the “lessons” I taught. A unique opportunity, however, did occur. While visiting Vancouver, I found a message in a bottle at the seashore. In this bottle was a plea from a young girl who had lost her stuffed animal, a whale shark. In her mother’s handwriting, she asked if anyone had seen her whale shark, to send a letter letting her know it was okay. I decided then to begin a series of postcards from her whale shark, written in my hand, which I then gave to a series of students returning to their home countries, to attach to a local postcard and send back to Canada. So, over the course of the next six months, this young girl should have received postcards from all over the world describing the wondrous adventures of her friend, the whale shark.

Each time I have visited Vancouver since, I have been tempted to call her, now many years later, to reveal the mystery. But, I like a good mystery.

Finally, A Real Job!

Toronto District School Board - 1996-2010

With the support and encouragement of my wife, I entered the Faculty of Education at York University. This event happened to coincide with the arrival of our twin boys. These were the two most difficult things I have ever done, and they occurred simultaneously. It was a very busy year, and continued so, as I was hired by the Toronto District School Board a year later. That was fourteen years, three schools, three grades, and about 400 students ago. And it has been an adventure, indeed. At times I long for more creativity, but it’s not a bad gig. Good benefits, good hours (usually), and a healthy amount of time off. This noble profession comes with many challenges and many rewards, though the rewards mostly tend to reveal themselves over time, with the challenges more immediate. I’ve found a teaching focus in visual art, and we’ve done some interesting projects such as murals, big sculptures, and so on.

But What’s Next?

Who knows? A return to photography remains an option. I do miss it, though the industry has changed radically. Everyone owns a camera, in one form or another. And lots of people call themselves photographers. Maybe when I retire from teaching, I’ll re-invent myself once again. Who knows?