Labor Day 2022: A working retrospective

Kirk Ericson | Sep 01, 20220

My paternal grandfather, Eric Ericson, came to this country from Sweden with his parents in the early 1900s, maybe to escape a herring famine or something. We’re not sure why they came, but we do know those Swedes love herring.

I know of two jobs my grandfather had. The first was as a teen in Spokane selling shoes in a store. He told me he was fired for telling a woman her feet were larger than the shoe size she insisted she had.

He said he walked down the street to the Old National Bank, where he asked for a job as an errand boy. The hiring fellow asked whether he was married. He said “no,” so they started him at a lower wage than the married lads. He retired from the bank 40-some years later as vice president.

My grandfather beats me in the persistence and the work-your-way-up-the-ladder categories, but I win in the number category.

I recently found a piece of paper dated August 1991 on which I listed all the jobs I had had up to that date. It’s since grown to more than 30 jobs. I’ve drawn a paycheck from 10 newspapers and washed dishes in four restaurants. It looks industrious, but it doesn’t feel that way. It’s like walking: One step at a time, and the next thing you know you’re 500 miles from where you started.

For this Labor Day, consider writing your own list. You might enjoy the reverie.

Here are some of my working highlights:

Job No. 1: Worm farmer. I was 14 and grew red wrigglers for fishermen in a backyard worm pit. I sold the worms to a country store 2 miles away — a dozen containers, filled with a dozen worms, for $4.20. I made myself president and founder of my worm enterprise, which looked good on a young fella’s resume.

Job. No. 2: I wore a Winnie-the-Pooh costume at the NorthTown Mall Sears in Spokane. I was 17 and did that job after school for three months before the suit was shipped to Arizona. The company had two Winnie-the-Pooh suits, one for east of the Mississippi, one for west. I was a good Pooh — I poured myself into that role. My boss asked me whether I’d move to Arizona and wear the suit down there, but I told him I probably should first finish 11th grade.

Job. No. 9: Phone solicitor: I was fired from this one. We sold carpet cleaning by calling people at home. I sold zero my first two days, and while maintaining my unblemished sales record on the third day, I tipped back in my chair. The boss walked up and asked, “How many legs does a chair have?” I thought it was a setup to a joke. “I don’t know,” I said. “How many legs does a chair have?”

She summoned me to her office, where she sat down at her desk. I was not offered a chair. “We’re going to have to let you go,” she said. She wasn’t a jokester.

Job. No. 18: Weekly newspaper editor: The newspaper publisher was a West Point grad, and he was peculiar. He’d say things to me like, “Your ass is going to be grass and I’ll be the lawnmower” and “I just want to hear “yes sir,” “no sir,” “no excuse sir” or “sir I do not understand.” We clashed.

Job. No. 22: Copy editor, The Olympian: I stayed at this job for 20 years. I remained until they ran low on dough.

Job. No. 30: Copy editor, columnist, the Shelton-Mason County Journal: And here I am, 500 miles later.