Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Things Jews Don't Do, PT.3

Three weeks after graduating Syracuse University in 19#*, I packed a duffelbag, got on a plane and moved to Los Angeles. For a month I literally slept on the roof of a frat house at UCLA (But that's another story.)

With a fresh sheepskin in hand, it was time to start a career. Unfortunately it took me a few years to figure what that career would be.

In the goofing off period in between, my father had secured me a job at his company's west coast distribution center in Gardena. That's where I joined a crew of ex-felons and card-carrying Crips and Bloods.

They taught me how to drive a forklift. And for longer than I care to remember, I hauled pallettes around and packed up trucks with industrial grade wire spools.

Once I sent out a truck with 200 spools of 20 gauge wire. Unfortunately the purchase order was for 20 spools of 200 gauge wire.

I never mastered the forklift like my heat-packing brothers.
But I was never as bad as this guy:

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