This morning my alarm rang at 7:30 am. In half an hour I was on
my Mom’s bicycle, peddling to the warehouse.
I spent an hour sticking tags on bags of grass seed at the going rate of $0.50 a pallet, which can earn me a few dollars more than minimum wage if I go fast enough. I peddled back home, then, with just enough time to
shower bathe, pack a lunch, and drive to my neighbor’s house to put in a 12-hour shift driving combine.
So as you can see, I actually have a good excuse to neglect my blog.
Not that I need an excuse beyond “It’s my blog.”
I looked for a job this summer, but as I don’t actually need a dime until my quarter tank of gas runs out, I didn’t sweat it when nothing worked out. I figured I would spend the summer writing a novel and designing a clothing line.
Maybe tagging a few bags in Dad’s warehouse here and there.
One evening, about a week ago, Dad said, “hey Emily, want a job?”
“Sure!” I said. “Do you have some bags for me to tag?”
“Actually, no,” said Dad, and he proceeded to inform me that our neighbor’s combine driver had just quit, and he was looking for a replacement.
Well. After my experience a couple months ago of joining the ROV club on a whim and having such a jolly good experience, I decided that I should stop turning down opportunities.
So I said, “sure I’ll drive combine!” and started the next morning.
Now, in case you didn’t know that chatty little Emily has an introverted side, it’s true. Sitting alone in a big air-conditioned cab, inching along at 2.3 mph, sipping iced tea and listening to NPR all day, well, that suits me just fine.