In the summer of 1992 I worked at a cemetary for $5 an hour. It was a mostly solitary job where I spent most of my time on a riding grass mower trying not to hit the headstones and their accompanying adornments. Other duties included sweeping the mausoleum and an occasional cremation. Once in awhile when I was lucky I got to ride on the big combine and try to steer and while changing gears.
Like most of my odd jobs the most interesting part was the people I met along the way. It was an opportunity for a young greenhorn like me to see and hear how adults were in the real world. The two men I worked with were both drug burnouts but they had a dignity about them. Paul was the smarter and more charismatic one, who loved to do a hearty smile and laugh where he forced himself to show his teeth. Dave was quieter, reserved, and slower, but would occasionally say something funny. They were like a Midwestern version of Jay and Silent Bob. Dave also had a half-brother Carl who was on some form of disability (although I think he was just lazy) who would visit us daily in the garage. His stories were forgettable but he had a way of telling them that kept me hanging on his every word.
Occasionally I get nostalgic about these old jobs and the people. Perhaps it was just my age and inexperience but I found these people much more interesting and entertaining than the people I work with in the white collar world. The slow pace, the unpretentious conversation, and one sunny day after another made this one of the better odd jobs I had.
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