Job #3 Wendy's Old Fashioned Porn

Let me start this one out by saying I have earned very few jobs on my own merit.  I believe it to be nigh impossible.  You Must Know Some One.  The best evidence of this I know is that even to get a job at Wendy's I had to know Wilson, who's mom was in management there.  Thus I got a job.  So did a few more of our friends.  It didn't take long for nearly our entire group of friends to be employed here and it was a misfit operation. 

This was a fairly enjoyable job, what with good friends always around, the understanding that work could never really get worse than this (at least in this country).  Minimum wage and every day you left work wearing clothes and skin that shone with grease.  I shared a house with Neal who also worked at Wendy's and every day when we got off work we would toss our clothes down the stairs into the cellar.  If we could have afforded a containment unit we would have had one.  No amount of washing can take that sour smell of used grease out of cotton and polyester.  I believe we burned the clothes and the shoes our last day of employment.  If they were looking, astronauts probably saw the flames lick the sky from space.

There were all kinds of shenanigans to be had while working at Wendy's and each of us seemed to take special delight in one particular activity.  Whether it was throwing pickle slices onto the ceiling to see how long they would stick up there above the front counter or hiding meat in the fridge to see how long it would take management to discover where the smell of rotting flesh came from we all had something to bring a smile to our faces.  Half the management was utterly clueless and often raised our ire.  I got scolded one day during the lunch rush for putting the onions on a burger before the tomato.  I looked at Debbie like she was an idiot and asked if she was serious.  She informed me that she was very serious and that I was making the sandwich wrong.  I bit my tongue until the rush was over then found her at the manager's desk and informed her that that was the most fucking ridiculous thing I had ever heard.  "Do you really think the customers give a shit if their onions or their tomato is on top?"  "Yes, I believe some do and there is a right way to make a Wendy's burger."  I let her know I felt she was an utter moron and went back to the line. 

At Safeway presently we have just started offering the Shanghai Dinner for Two which comes with noodles or rice plus two sides and 4 eggrolls.  Most Safeway's don't have a self serve buffet and this is obviously designed for those stores where the deli workers are already dishing up what the customers ask for.  We however have a self serve buffet so when a customer wants the Shanghai Dinner for Two they come up to the deli counter and ask a deli clerk who then has to come around the counter and dish up the customers food for them at the self serve buffet.  I told my former boss and present District Merchandiser that the concept was completely ridiculous and asked if she'd thought about what she was telling me.  She looked stunned and said we simply had to do what corporate told us to do.

Which brings me back to Wendy's and my favorite story of unruly employees which involves Wilson and the head manager Kevin.  Kevin asked Wilson to take out the trash one day after lunch rush so Wilson grabs a broom and starts sweeping up the kitchen.  Kevin notices this and asked Wilson "What are you doing?  I asked you to take out the trash?"  To which the eloquent Wilson responded "Are you fucking Stupid?  Think I'm gonna take out the trash without sweeping first?"  He then went back to sweeping and Kevin stammered a few bits of nonsense before awkwardly turning around and walking to the back room.

There are so many beautiful Wendy's stories to tell it's hard not to tell them all.  Like when a customer found a dog biscuit in his Chili and asked one of the staff "What is this?"  "Well, sir, that appears to be a dog biscuit."  Or when a few unnamed staff members stole a few of the training videos and dubbed over short clips of hard core porn at opportune moments.  Such as Dave Thomas saying things like "And this is how you stuff a pita...."  Cut to porn.  Or "and while you're learning the four corner press I'll be..." Cut to porn.  After the editing process they then returned the videos to the training room for some innocent young new hire to discover.

My favorite day of working at Wendy's though had to be the night of some formal event at the University.  Three or four couples came in for dinner before attending.  Men in tuxes and beautiful women in elegant black dresses.  I was working the front register and shortly after they left they returned.  One of the lovely young ladies approached me to ask if she could dig through the garbage can for she had apparently dumped her keys in when she threw her trash away.  I refused to allow this lady to go through an evenings worth of trash looking for her keys knowing they surely fell all the way to the bottom.  Luckily she remembered which can she had thrown them into so I pulled out both cans and began transferring the trash from the one into the other.  Before long I was down to about three or four inches of sludge (ketchup, frosty, soda, grease, fries, and hamburger bits at the bottom.  I dove my hand in and swirled it around through said sludge until I came upon her keys.  I pulled them up and held them at eye level where they dripped goo into the can.  "Let me wash these off for you."  After returning her washed keys she thanked me and her boyfriend slid a five dollar bill over to me.  I pushed it back to him saying "I'm sorry I can't accept that.  Just doing my job."  He looked at me like I was a lunatic and pushed it back "No, take it.  Really."  So, with hesitation and apparent regret I took his bill and thanked him for his generosity.

Job #2 Bakery Clerk circa '94-'96

This was my longest term of employment. I spent 3 solid years employed at the Hy-Vee bakery in Macomb, Illinois as a Wrapper during high school. Good times. My sister got me the job, as she worked there too. I, in turn, got my buddy Wilson a job there. The job entailed wrapping/bagging all the baked goods that the bakers Pat and Juan had baked during the day and then cleaning the place up. I'd come in after school and work a 4-8 shift and work one 7-3 shift on the weekend. Usually Sundays. The evenings were all right. Work by myself and just get shit done but Sundays now that was a fun time. I'd work with Juan Guzman and sometimes both Wilson and I would be working. We got to help bake and then as the bread cooled we would wrap. Spent a good part of the day bullshitting with Juan at the big, wooden baking table rolling out, kneading, and forming bread, bagels, and donuts. And we'd have the occasional dough ball fight.



One Sunday morning the doughnut fryer was still there and the four of us were sporadically placed throughout the bakery in defensive positions winging little dough balls at each other. Generally our doughy missiles were quite well aimed, as we were well practiced, but occasionally there was an errant throw. That morning one dough ball flew through the bakery, into the deli, and straight into the hot case where it rested next to the mashed potatoes. While another flew out into aisle 1, narrowly missed an old lady, and tagged a bag of Wonder Bread. It's a good thing Juan was the Bakery Manager at the time or we might have gotten into trouble.



There was all kinds of bullshit with the job though. When I first started working there we wore polo shirts as uniforms but it wasn't long before they started making us wear black dress pants, a white dress shirt and a tie. At a fucking bakery? Still can't believe it. The ties were a complete pain in the ass. And black pants were immediately white with flower, dress shirts covered in dough. It was ridiculous. We always joked that somebody's tie was gonna get caught in the giant mixer and they'd be sucked into the bowl and become the finishing touch on the french bread.



The assistant store manager was an utter moron by the name Jim Heschke, I believe. Got his job by marrying the district manager's daughter. We were on strict orders by Juan to just smile and nod at anything Jim said or asked us to do but never to actually do it. This was because he had me put bread crumbs in the oven over night with the intent to dry them out for stuffing. It was a ton of bread that we had shreaded to make crumbs for dressing and Jim told me to put it all in the oven overnight, so that the heat from the pilot lights could dry it and we'd have stuffing in the morning. So I did it, knowing what would happen, because the assistant store manager told me to, right? Next morning Juan came in to find all the stuffing we had made the day before charred to blackened bits in the oven. That was one pissed off Mexican.



They made him Bakery Manager and then worked him to death, treated him like shit, and pushed him around. For the longest time they wouldn't hire him a second baker so he had to bake 7 days a week plus do all the management duties. Then they finally hired him a baker but pulled that guy off into another department the week before Thanksgiving. That was the final straw for Juan, he walked out, called us and let me and Wilson know. So we went in together, grabbed a free doughnut and found the store manager in the back room. As we ate our free doughnuts we told the guy we quit, weren't coming in for our next shift and that he needed to learn how to treat his employees with respect. The fryer quit too. I've never felt so good to be quitting a job. That time I felt perfectly justified to fuck them during the busiest week of the year.

My First Job- Corn Detassler circa 1992

So, I was telling an old friend about my current miserable employment at Safeway cooking food in the Deli and she suggested I write about the different jobs I've worked over the years. I've found myself in many different professions and never settled into one for very long. I kind of liked the idea so I figured I'd start it off in this here blog. My first job was detassling corn for Pioneer Seed Company. This is a job for migrant workers or 14 year olds which is what I was. Either way you're supposed to get proper paperwork from the government to attain employment but not all of us did. For those who don't know the tassle is the business end of the corn. When the corn is mature pollin from the tassle gets released into the air and blown across the field and thus corn pollinates corn. That's the simple version. Well Pioneer didn't want corn cross pollinating they wanted to do the pollinating themselves, the selfish pricks. So, our job was to pull the tassle off every stalk of corn. If you've ever been to the midwest you would know this is a very big job.

Some fields we'd walk in groups. Each person taking a row and walking and yanking, yanking and walking. Others would be done in tractors with large arms reaching out over the rows with baskets hanging in between the rows. In the basket you would lean out into your row and essentially swim through the row yanking tassles arm over arm. Sweepers would follow behind yanking the tassles that the basket men would inevitably miss.

It was hard hot work under the Illinois sun and paid minimum wage, which at the time was $4.25 I believe. Miserable but I met one of my best and lifelong friends in one of those fields. The friend I would eventually move to Alaska with 6 years later in 1998. One day we were walking a field and bitching about our plight in life. Oh, the miseries of being a 14 year old working for 3 weeks in the summer. The Horror, the Horror....Anyway, there we were bitching about the job and coming up with new names for our boss such as "Dumbfuck Dom" for example. We were on a roll insulting Dom and detassling when what would you know Dom storms through several rows of corn like a blustering bull red faced and fuming, "This may be the worst fucking job in the world but it's the only fucking job you have!" and then he stormed off. We did feel kind of bad, for who knows how long he had been walking along with us just a couple rows to the side but almost 20 years later Neal and I are still laughing about the look on his face as he burst through that corn.

Every day we would all meet in the Hardees parking lot. I remember my dad driving me in to town every day at about 6 am to go to work. He'd drop me off in the lot. I'd sit off to the side on a parking block and watch the workers gather. At 6 am we'd all pile into an old school bus and drive out north of town to hit the fields. Most people would take the bus but there were a few that would drive themselves. There was one group of poor white trash that drove their beater every day out to the fields but they didn't last long. They hit the mother load or at least thought they did. They came across a whole crop of marijuana ditch weed growing alongside the field we were working. They couldn't believe their luck or that they were the only ones that knew what this stuff was. They quit work and somewhere found a bunch of big black trash bags and just went after it, ripping the ditch weed right out of the ground and shoving plant after plant into hefty bags, laughing and joking the whole time. Once they'd harvested the whole crop they jumped into their beater and headed off. Never saw them again. Problem with ditch weed is that it's a weed. It is marijuana but it's wild grown, not cultivated and thus doesn't have the THC content in it that the crop has. Grows all over Illinois, often in ditches, hence the name. Won't get you high, though I've heard you can get quite the headache. I remember it happened at lunch so the rest of us were all sitting in the grass watching the show. I'm not sure how but they seemed to be the only ones around that didn't know they were complete idiots. Some things in life just aren't fair.

Two summers I worked this job for a grand total of 6 weeks.

I nearly cried tonight as Annie G and I nosed our way out of town, coffee in hand, and nothing ahead of us but open road and hot springs. I let myself believe that when I got there I wouldn't have to turn around and come right back. I allowed myself to forget work in the morning. The road allowed me to forget everything else. All that existed was the possibility of the road, the promise of something new, and the freedom to pursue it. I had a few provisions in the seat next to me, two spare tires in the bed that may or may not hold air, a fresh pair of socks, and my Australia '00 mix tape.

I had been forced into the passenger seat for so long, deprived of that certain freedom that is only provided by a truck and road, that I had become numb to the absence of possibility. Only able to go where a bike could take me and having to beg friends to take me to the cabin had restricted my mind, my imagination, and deadened by dreams. Tonight, all I was missing was a cigar. Suddenly the world was there again...No clouds cleared, no curtains lifted...One second there was nothing but grayness, and the next there was a world of possibility spreading out before me, unrolling like carpet, revealing dreams I had forgotten.

For the last several weeks it's been hard to pull my bike into the Safeway parking lot, and walk through those doors. A couple days ago I very nearly rode right on by. What was nearly impossible, just became infinitely more difficult. Tomorrow at 6:45 am I could drive to Safeway, work a 7 hour shift, and hate most every minute of it. Or, I could drive to Seward.

Underage Dance Party

So there we were... Standing on the stage of the UAF Carol Brown Ballroom looking out on a sea of sweating, grinding, pulsing bodies wondering "What the fuck?" Alex and I stared slackjawed on this bizarre jungle themed extravaganza of students desperately reaching out, clinging to, and grinding on any body within their grasp through the thick sweat and pounding, pressing beats. The ballroom had maxed capacity at 350 and DJ Double X had the college kids lined up at the door desperately waiting to get in on the action, to get in to the clothed orgy of raw dance party excused public all but sex. There were grinding threesomes, foursomes, dry humping on the stage, writhing bodies with blurred lines where the concept of groups or couples had become indecipherable. The dance floor was a mass of bodies, a sucking vortex of grind, where at the center the crowd was simply grinding on itself. Embarrassed to be watching we couldn't help but stare, feeling our age and only slightly uncomfortable with our voyeurism, I found myself waiting to see which individual would get naked first or if as single sentient being the crowd itself would suddenly shed it's clothes.

Occasionally, I found it necessary to shake my head, regroup my thoughts, and let my gaze wander to the outskirts of the dance floor to the lonely outcasts. Those who were not accepted by the mass or perhaps those who simply found the scene a bit forbidding. There was the muscle head in a wife beater with fake dreads attached to a head band who hadn't spoken a word to anyone all night. Instead he had been alternating between whipping out the same four step dance move and staring with his arms crossed. Crushing him for best terrible dancer was a gangly tall nearly undoubtably computer geek with awkwardly flailing extremities and sweat soaked shirt. Waiting to request a song earlier in the night were three girls giggling and pointing at this quintessential example of flamboyant awkwardness. As the night wore on the dancefloor had necessarily engulfed all the energy in the room and those who had managed to remain outside it's dominating influence stood gaping and defeated, staring in awe at the pulsing, pounding, pumping being.

I sit here trying to think of some insightful observation to make about life, some simple statement that could succinctly tie this into a lesson about humanity but still several days later all I want to do is raise my cane menacingly over my head and yell at those youngun's to watch where they're putting their hands.

By Special Request

Seems I've been lazy for the past 5 or 6 months with my posts and the tiny fan base is getting restless so here is a bit of a quick catch up on the life of a Hupp.

Hmmm, lets see where I left off. Somehow I managed to miss posting what I found out about the last seizure a year ago so let's wander on back into the not too distant past. After returning to Fairbanks I made a visit to my neurologist and the good doctor informed me of a few good bits of information. Backstory... the ER doc put me on Dilantin. Please enjoy the following:

1) Dilantin will, if anything, cause me to seize

2) Any ER in the country, by protocol, will put me on Dilantin if I come in to the ER for seizures

3) The side effect of my skin peeling on my hands was most likely the early beginnings of a fatal skin rash. When I asked how is a skin rash fatal the good doctor replied, "Well, you're skin just kind of peels off until you die."

4) I need his okay to drive again and without going on meds he may not let me drive again.

So that's the update on the good seizing of 2009. Shall we move on?

I am presently working at Safeway in Fairbanks, AK as a Chinese Buffet cook. I work with a guy named Michael who's a third short of a fifth if you know what I mean. He's a bit strange, makes odd comments referring to psychic abilities, sings loudly in what might mildly resemble Spanish but is actually not a language in this world. He also speaks in tongues during much of a shift because, he reports to management, there are demonic spirits (namely one Michael Hupp) in the department that need exorcising. Makes for an interesting though slightly creepy working environment. One day perhaps I'll be exorcised. And then I can get on with the lord's work and get some shit good and done.

Shades of Grey

This entry is about faults and wrongs and wrongs committed against those we love and how we perceive these same wrongs committed by others. We are very quick to designate people good or bad, kind or mean, angry or passive. Very black and white designations for people who are neither. This is a very common and base thought, I know, but allow me to elaborate. 

No one is wholly good or evil, we are all shades of grey. Some have a callous and gruff exterior hiding a soft side, others of us are just the opposite and there are makes and models to fit all the spaces in between. The key to understand is that we all fuck up. We all commit acts which bring pain and suffering to others. Sometimes these acts are conscious and sometimes we do them without a thought to the outcome or to the pain it may cause others. Sometimes we are just too selfish to even consider that our actions affect anyone other than ourselves. 

At times we are all callous, mean spirited, self serving, vengeful, and more. We are also all adept at forgiving and rationalizing the inhumanity in ourselves, even while demonizing the same in others. We must forgive it in ourselves, we must rationalize and forgive for it is the only way to survive. If we acknowledged these actions not a one of us would be able to face ourselves day in and day out. The only option is to forgive. 

And if we are to forgive these faults in ourselves, how, tell me how, we could not forgive the same in those that we love? I am not a good man, but I try to be forgiving for the single reason that I am not good. I try and I fail. If I cannot be the man I aspire to be how can I condemn others for the same?