Labor Day is a good time to think about the jobs I’ve had.

Among the good ones were being a demolitions expert in the Army, working for a nonprofit data firm, producing sports shows at a radio station, and working as a newspaper reporter.

In contrast, here is a sampling of some not-so-good jobs, mostly from my early years.

As a child, I shined shoes in the Masonic Home for the Aged in Guthrie, Oklahoma.

Toting a sturdy wooden box with a slanted top, I made the rounds asking (with much nervousness), “Shoeshine, mister?”

If a man said yes, I’d write his name in a small notebook, then ply my trade. First, I applied polish using a small, round brush. Next, I used another brush – a larger, rectangular one – to coax the polish to a sheen. Finally, I worked the shoes over with a buffing rag, bringing the sheen to a bright gloss.

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The Home paid me a glorious ten cents for each name in my notebook.

In my late teens, I worked one summer painting water towers. Up to that point, I wasn’t aware I had a fear of heights. The fear manifested itself on the first day when I forced myself up that tall, tall ladder and undercoated and over-coated along with the rest of the crew.

I stuck with it for the eight-week span of the contract but solemnly vowed never to climb so high again.

In my early 20s, I worked at a burger place. It wasn’t part of a chain, just a small, old, independent. After we closed and everyone went home, I stayed behind to count the money and prepare a deposit.

The money was counted downstairs at a desk in a creepy, dirt-floor basement. The stairs leading down were old and open-slatted. One evening as I carried the cash register’s tray down, I stumbled. In an effort to save myself, I let go of the tray, which flew upward, hit a joist, flipped over, and showered the basement with coins and paper money.

The lighting wasn’t good, just a single dangling bulb over the desk. I spent an hour rooting around for nickels, dines, quarters, and elusive pennies, trying to avoid spider webs or reaching into places where webless creatures might be lurking.

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I was young and earnest, but not very assertive. The next day, rather than explain to the owner why the total was $2.37 short, I made up the difference out of my own pocket.

Other jobs I had were catching chickens, gluing boards together in a furniture factory, picking eggs, and selling fire alarm systems door to door.

Of those early jobs, the bottom three (from bad to worst) were painting water towers, catching chickens, and doing door-to-door sales. Even to this day, I’d rather search for pennies in a dim, creepy basement than knock on a stranger’s door and try to sell something.

Nonetheless, all those experiences are now cherished Labor Day memories.

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