Ten years ago, I wrote “Service of Seeds: What You Admired As a Kid May Be What You Do For a Living.” I remembered it when Father James Martin, SJ suggested his audience think about what they learned especially from their early jobs that helped them become who they are.

He spoke at the launch this week of his new book, a memoir, “Work in Progress, Confessions of a Busboy, Dishwasher, Caddy, Usher, Factory Worker, Bank Teller, Corporate Tool, and Priest.” Father Martin is a Jesuit priest, editor at large of America magazine, consultor to the Vatican’s Dicastery for Communication and author of New York Times bestsellers such as “Learning to Pray,” “Jesus: A Pilgrimage,” and “The Jesuit Guide to [Almost] Everything.”

I loved the quotes placed in the book right after the dedication to his sister “who put up with me.” His mother said, “Well, you’re not going to sit inside all summer.” His father said “Of course it’s not fun. Why do you think they call it work? If it were fun, they’d call it play.” Sound familiar?

The former GE Capital executive called out his gig as a dishwasher saying that he learned what it feels like when someone treats a worker with disrespect because they rank the person’s job at the bottom of the totem pole–so you never do.

He shared, in the reading, how his Wharton freshman college dorm friends, mostly Protestant and Jewish, [he was the only Catholic], accused him of killing Pope John Paul I. One night he’d been carousing with them and after too many beers shared a slew of Jesus jokes he found to be hilarious. On his return to the dorm a friend told him that the new pope, John Paul, had died after only 33 days in office. “My drinking partners looked at me with a mix of horror and wonder.” He writes that he felt like “the Worst Catholic Ever.” He even cried in private.

His friends never let him forget it. When, 10 years later, he told a gathering of them that he was joining the Jesuits, one of them said, “Do they know you killed the pope?” They reminded him of this at appropriate markers to priesthood as well as when he returned from meeting Pope Francis in 2019. His friend asked, “Did you tell him you killed that other pope?”

Babysitting was my earliest paid job—if you don’t count what a neighbor paid me to dust table and chair legs that were hard for her to reach–and only during the school year as camp and trips abroad took up my childhood summers.

Needing extensive dental work the summer before college, [here’s where my mother quoted Father Martin’s mom about not sitting around], I worked behind the scenes in the basement of Lord & Taylor putting price tags on clothes. The manager accepted the quirky hours I was free so as to fit in those doctor appointments. The experience confirmed that I had to go to college so as not to be relegated to such work for the rest of my life as all the lovely women I worked with had done. One stood at her post dressed to the nines, in three-inch heels.

The semester after my freshman summer I took on a range of menial jobs to pay for the flight to Argentina to see a boyfriend [my parents disapproved of]. They feared I’d flunk out due to the many distractions from my studies. Instead, I made Dean’s List. I learned I am a job juggler. [I never went back to Argentina.]

My last semester of college, I was the token Catholic working at Episcopalian Headquarters in Boston. I was the assistant to the right-hand of the enlightened director, The Reverend Shirley Goodwin, [a man]. The happy work environment they created made them model bosses and colleagues. I still think people thrive in a cheerful, supportive environment.

Most supervisors at my first job after college as a reporter at Dun & Bradstreet were fine. One was angry and nasty. He ran his team by fear and got from me the minimum required. Any reports over my quota I saved for the next week. I went above and beyond for the other managers as they wouldn’t crucify me if I didn’t meet the minimum one week. At the end of the month they came out ahead production wise. Lesson learned about how fear can crush productivity for some hard workers.

What jobs–early or not–stand out and what did you learn from them?

   

I’m the one who forgot. Shame on me. I started to write this post–how NYC did after the big snowstorm– when the obvious hit me: NYC isn’t just Manhattan. Plus, not everyone is able to negotiate a small walking space.

Back to my shortsighted review. I noticed more good than bad. But my view is distorted because I hunkered down for a few days before venturing out. The day after the storm some people couldn’t get to work. Their buses weren’t running and the second day, others had to take car services and taxis to get places.

A segment on the news on NPR Saturday morning made me feel ashamed and tossed me back to reality. I forgot what it was like living in one of the five boroughs which is nuts because I lived and loved Brooklyn for decades. According to the reporter, there are places that had such a thin path from sidewalk to street that lines of pedestrians waited to negotiate it. Speaking with people who live in deep dish Brooklyn yesterday, the sidewalks are still skating rinks and paths few and nonexistent.

And even in Manhattan, where things are relatively rosy, the paths aren’t wide enough to accommodate a wheelchair.

At every bus stop I observed in Manhattan from midtown to the upper east side on Second Avenue there was a path cut into the pile of accumulated snow which wasn’t the case for too long in past bad storms. These paths are crucial. I remember climbing up and down slippery snow hills to get into a bus or dashing to the end of the street then quickly making my way back to the bus door–if there was room for me between a snowbank and the vehicle.

Our buses have two to four doors. Passengers had best plan to enter and exit by the driver where the path will be even if the bus announcement advises passengers to exit by the rear doors as it always does.

Fear of ice, glacial temperatures and a deadline forced me to wait a few days before venturing out. When I did, I was amazed at how clean sidewalks were both in midtown and on the upper east side.

It’s not all perfect. Drivers are exasperated and some of the space-greediest and most impatient cause gridlock and challenges for pedestrians to cross streets. On 34^th Street on Friday we had to venture well onto Third Avenue with cars zipping uptown as there was no other way to cross and too cold to hang out until the tangle disappeared. A young man coming up from behind me said, “I’ll protect you,” as he walked to my left, taking the traffic side. Gallantry. I loved it.

Only a few minutes before I’d seen an older man with angry grimace plow past others in front of him to grab a place on the snow-restricted sidewalk. He hogged the narrow space cleaned for walking almost knocking over a woman of a certain age coming in the opposite direction. Fortunately, there was a tree her shoulder slammed against that saved her from a nasty fall.

Some paths were wider than others at street corners but there nevertheless was one at every one I passed which wasn’t always the case after past storms. I appreciated the man who let me go ahead of him so that I didn’t need to grapple for a turn with impatient fellow citizens in super rush mode headed in the same direction.

As cold as it was—my iPhone said with windchill it was 3⁰ when I first ventured out—I still saw young men on the street wearing shorts. The one in the photo happened to be waiting for the elevator in my building on another day, but you get the idea.

Mother nature isn’t helping melt the snow which by now is igloo hard. And thousands of vegetable/fruit vendors haven’t been able to set up their carts for too long. Staten Island Chuck–our local groundhog whose forecast record is excellent–predicts six more weeks of this.

What were your experiences and observations in the aftermath of the storm? Have you been guilty of blocking negative experiences that others might still suffer from?

   

Some days start out jinxed. Then a lovely gesture or kind word turns around a sinking feeling.

On a recent morning, I scoured the apartment for a check I removed from my checkbook and was about to use and had misplaced. Didn’t find it. Still haven’t.

Next, I went to the bank to deposit a check in the ATM machine. The machine refused it. That never happened so I dashed inside to a cashier realizing as soon as I arrived that I’d left my bank card in the machine outside. It was still tucked in the machine when I arrived.

For goodness sakes, I thought that morning, I need a leash.

I was off to the post office to buy some stamps that are perfect for Valentines cards and fun to look at and use. They’d run out.

So that was three negatives. The rest of the day had to go well I thought. And it did.

I decided stew was the perfect plan for cold weather and as I stood in front of the stew meat sign and empty shelf at Trader Joe’s—there were all sorts of other options within close range–a young employee asked if I was looking for stew meat. Hearing my response, he said he’d check in the back. He returned and apologized as there wouldn’t be more for a few hours. I took an expensive cut instead and moved on to the milk section. Soon the young man was by my side with a glorious smile. He’d found a package of stew meat. I had fun that day chatting with the cashier who was also a delight.

My mood had turned from frustration to downright cheery.

At home, the mail woman was filling the 510 boxes in the apartment. I asked if she was Linda–Kirk, who was a spectacular mailman I’ve written about before had retired late last year–and introduced myself. Yes, she said, and “thank you for the card.” I was bowled over. I always give a Christmas card with modest cash gift to the mailman or woman. I was shocked that she remembered my name.

By now you’re thinking, “boy, is she needy.” Maybe so. I am definitely grateful for small gestures and kindness. Do such cheerful instances change your mood?

   

When the fruit/vegetable carts disappear from Manhattan streets and school is closed by 9:30 a.m. the previous day you brace yourself for a signiicant weather event.

New York City feels uncomfortably cold when it’s 30 °F and humid. Saturday morning, I ran an errand six blocks away from home in 9℉ and didn’t feel the cold. No humidity, little wind, plus multi layers of warm clothes did the trick

Low temperatures and significant snow are unusual for the city. As I walked, I remembered a few previous super cold or snowy moments.

In the day, when school children listened for the name of their school read on a local radio station’s school closure list, it meant a day of theater for me. I rarely if ever went in the subway—we were bus people—but mom and I would duck below the weather and head for Broadway where we could see even the most popular shows because so many ticket holders couldn’t make it.

As an Air Force wife stationed in Minot, North Dakota the -60°F windchill was daunting. We kept a lit lightbulb in the garage in the engine of our car so it would start. Piles of snow by our driveway grew shoulder high. Even in the worst weather a local friend, my parents’ age, drove around in his rickety pickup truck wearing only a shirt and scarf. He could have died had there been a mishap that arrested his travel. Air Force people kept a blanket, canned food and candles in their cars were dressed appropriately.

Fast forward decades. We were packing the car on a Monday morning before catching the train to the city from upstate N.Y. I returned to the house and warned my husband to stay off the slippery flagstone walk and stick to the snow on either side. He didn’t listen, walked on the slick stone, flew in the air and fell so hard he knocked himself out. Emergency services were wonderful and whisked him to the hospital. He ached for weeks but didn’t break anything. I hate ice.

During the storm yesterday I was a zombie. I binge watched movies, starting with “Au Revoir Les Enfants.” TCM was celebrating Diane Keaton’s oeuvre, so I saw “Baby Boom” which I’d seen a few times before and “Manhattan Murder Mystery,” new to me. I topped off the evening with an episode of my favorite “All Creatures Great and Small,” on PBS.

What is one of your prominent winter memories? During a storm, stuck at home, what do you do?

   

I’m annoyingly pragmatic. When the reason for a cockamamie change is not obvious, I want to know why it was made. I usually don’t find out.

Credit Check

I was a guest at a lovely dinner at a great restaurant in upstate New York last weekend. The waitress came to our table to tell my host that his credit card had been refused twice. We are good friends. These things happen. He had recently paid his bill and owed nothing. He was concerned, as I would be. I always think someone has sucked out all the money I’m allowed to charge.

As we were leaving, he checked his emails and texts. There was a message from the bank asking him if he approved the charge. We didn’t hear the telltale buzz on his phone. He called the bank to make certain he’d not been charged as he paid with a different card.

If this happens again, he’ll know to check his phone. Had he been with a client this unannounced twist to security could have been embarrassing.

Round Trip Cancelled

I was warned but if not I might have easily lost the price of a ride upstate because Metro-North has eliminated the round-trip ticket. So, if a passenger plans to return home a few days after buying the first ticket, he/she must buy another single ride ticket on the second travel day.

Every ticket is valid until 4 a.m. on the day of purchase. I doubt that there are many takers at that hour or that trains even run then.

According to the notice I was given, “The new Day Pass provides unlimited rides from the time of purchase until 4 a.m. the next day within your ticketed zones. Weekday passes cost 10 percent less than two peak one-way tickets and weekend passes are the price of two off-peak tickets. Also valid for CityTicket and Far Rockaway Tickets. The Day Pass replaces the Round-Trip ticket.”

Got that? I don’t.

The 10-trip ticket I bought for decades when I took the train upstate and back to the city every week is also eliminated.

I’ve asked a conductor and the information booth clerk at Grand Central, but I’ve not been told why this happened only that it has happened. It seems to create a lot of extra steps but surely some marketing guru has it all figured out to benefit Metro-North. The passengers? What about them? Oh, them.

Have you come across any puzzling if well-meaning changes lately?