“One day you’ll hold millions of dollars in your hand.” I could imagine a psychic telling me this right before I laugh myself to the floor. Not only has money never been high on my agenda, but I resent its intrusive necessity. The very concept is offensive. This system is FUBAR.

Some of the dozens of roles I’ve played: a live theater usher, a wallpaper painter, a film festival concessionaire, a classified ads editor, a janitor, a plant nursery laborer, an actuary proofreader, a tattoo artist’s assistant, a retail clerk, a waitperson, a housecleaner, a pet sitter, a museum maintenance worker, an offset printer’s assistant, etc. Does that make me a jack-of-all-trades? I can’t even remember all the jobs I’ve had. If I counted the ones I started in the a.m. & quit later in the day, the list would boggle the mind.

By far the most unlikely workplace for me: a brokerage firm. In an office! I can’t say “Yecch!” emphatically enough. Of all jobs, this one made me feel the most sullied.

I was currently (happily) collecting unemployment benefits. I’d applied for & been granted a full financial aid package & was set to start classes in 2 months. A requirement for continued benefits was that I apply for any jobs my caseworker had listed. I was so repulsed by the idea of ‘let your money make money for you,’ that my thoughts turned immediately to sabotage. ‘It’ll be a cinch to look undesirable for this office’ I thought, ‘just be myself.’

The job: mailroom clerk. I showed up 20 minutes late for the interview, in holey jeans, motorcycle jacket, pierced nose, visible tattoos, & sunglasses. I felt I met all the requirements to continue to collect my unemployment. In the bass-ackwards twist of fate, the office manager said I was the best candidate for the position(!) & offered me the job on the spot. I wanted to ask if the other applicants were recently exhumed, or maybe on life-support?

As with any catch-22, I had to accept. I did not own office attire, nor could anyone make me. I told the guy “I guess I’ll take the job” with a definite dearth of enthusiasm. He then said “Can you try not to wear holey clothes & take out the nose ring?” Sigh. The lengths I go to!

Fortunately it was a temporary assignment. Their usual mailroom clerk was a craggy 60-something guy who was having surgery soon & subsequent recovery time. It would fill the 8 weeks until classes started, so I could grin & bear it. As he trained me in the job particulars, I kept chanting in my head ‘only temporary, just some weeks,’ to keep from audibly going “Ugh!”

It was simple work. Pick up the mail from the loading dock. Run the envelopes through the slicer (machine that opened the mail). The rest was buttling: remove the contents, deliver them to the brokers addressed, pick up their outgoing envelopes, stuff them with the proper prospectuses before sealing & loading them into the postage machine. I found it lame the brokers couldn’t be bothered to open their own mail. It’s not like any one of them got the equivalent of a movie star’s fanmail. Most only received a few envelopes.

This is how I came to hold fortunes in my hand. The checks that came in to buy stocks, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, quarter of a million & more passed through my mitts. The lowly mailroom clerk, paid a mere pittance, was the one entrusted to direct these funds appropriately. I could think of any number of charities where they should go, ones my meager dollars supported & others I only wished I could help.

My writing at this time was still pretty raw & having a hard time finding a publisher. As has ever been so, I guess. It was expensive to keep sending out Xeroxed manuscripts with self-addressed stamped envelopes to publishers. I could only afford to send out a few a month. At hand now was a copier & a postage machine. Conveniently on the company’s dime. I had found a reason to be working in this den of iniquity! What’re they gonna do if I get caught? Fire me? Mwahahaha!

About 6 weeks in the unthinkable happens. The curmudgeon I’d temporarily replaced decided he would rather retire. I get called into my boss’s office (hoping for news of being let go) when instead I’m offered employment permanently. That hit like ‘eternally’ to me. Inwardly reeling while he goes on about how the mailroom has been run so efficiently with me at the helm, then finally I cut in with “It’s good you think so, but I’m not going to forego school.”

The next day he calls me back in & counters with “What about part-time? If you could train someone to do the mornings, you could still come in in the afternoons. Just think about it.” I didn’t want to think about it. How could it be so hard to find someone else to do this job? Why was he fixated on me? I could do this job in my sleep. In fact it was so boring I already practically did. Maybe that’s why the position was hard to fill. This job brought on torpor.

I did stay for another couple months part-time. The boss was so desperate for me to continue working there that he’d given me a raise & was more lax about my appearance. Apparently, if left alone to do a job, I have a stellar work ethic. Eventually a work study job came through for me that I really wanted. The investment firm couldn’t compete with working in the college’s greenhouse. Plants beat piles of dough in my book.

My boss said “I’m sad to see you go, but then you’re overqualified for the position anyway,” to which both he & I looked surprised. I was going to miss the postage machine & copier, but that was all. I didn’t feel the work was beneath me so much as I just really loathed the kind of business it was.

Pulling those huge sums from envelopes gave me dark urges as well. Not to abscond with the funds, as might tempt another. But to gather the obscene checks in a pile & light them on fire. That fantasy felt deeply satisfying.