Dad was my agent in 1965. He represented me well in his negotiation with what was to be my first of two employers in my life, Mrs. Mabel Steward, the civilian administrator at the Ft. Leonard Wood Commissary. My first uniform was a crisp, white shirt, dark trousers, clean shoes and a haircut. On a bluebird Saturday morning, I reported to Mrs. Steward and began my two year gig as a Food Packing and Transfer Specialist, a self coined term for bag-boy. It was a wonderful teaching experience that I will never forget. (Girls turned their noses up at the title “bag-boy” and never understood being a transfer specialist, a win-win in the juvenile dating world!)
People are serious about two things above all else, food and money. My salary was in tips only, so my job was to turn handling folks food into a financial reward. This required affability, the ability to handle adversity and reading people. On a good day we raked in 30.00, on a slow day 15.00, on average. Paydays in the military are a big deal, folks are “flush” and we, naturally realized a greater profit the first of the month.
In a 27 year career as a State Trooper, my only other paying gig outside of the military, the customer relations lessons as a bag-boy resulted in my never having received a complaint over the handling of a traffic summons, and I handed out plenty of them. We bagged in paper bags in those days, carted the groceries to the loading curb and loaded them into folks cars. We worked in heat, cold, rain and snow. Care was the order of the day as carts and cars hate one another. A misstep could bring the two together and the results were not pretty.
Adversity existed. Folks eat all sorts of things and I began to understand the complexities in cultural differences. As an example, on a scalding hot day, I dropped a carton of chitterlings, “chittlins” to some folks, on the sidewalk. It broke open and I found myself standing in a pile of pig intestines. This resulted in a gag reflex I own to this day. My customer laughed at my green aura, I fetched another carton, cleaned up the mess and walked away none the worse. The lady tipped me well and became a prized customer.
The big reward? A work ethic and appreciation for those that have one today. This experience was the foundation for the energy I expended as an officer, the state was never slighted during my tenure. Another reward is an appreciation for those that work for tips. I over-tip, always have and always will. It is my way of showing appreciation to those who actually roll up their sleeves and carry their load.
As I look back, I recognize the foundation that dad and Mrs. Steward (still residing in Evening Shade, south of Ft. Wood) built for me. I developed a deep appreciation for the work-reward formula and used it throughout my career in law enforcement. In retrospect, I was simply a bag-boy, but am damned proud of this humble beginning. As an indication of my pride, I became my son’s agent and put him to work at age 15 at the Hi-Vee in Jefferson City as, you guessed it, a bag boy. Some things never change!
Have a good week!
SR
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