Read a few pages from the book of my life.

The Meat Man

It was just this past summer that I spent 40 hours a week standing in a freezer packaging meat. This job was anything but ideal, for I thought my purpose in life was beyond boxes of veal. Just outside it was 80 and sunny, but I was stuck in an ice box with my nose always runny. Spending eight hours a day making sausage, burgers, and salami had me thinking, “I don’t want a job I’ll just move in with mommy.” I didn’t like this job; no not one bit, and there were so many times I just wanted to quit. I thought to myself, “you can’t quit even though that’s what you want, because the one who got you this job was your girlfriend’s aunt.” So I spent the whole summer thinking I might freeze, and spraying meat odored clothes with heavy duty Febreze. There is one thing positive that I have to say. This meat was quality and I walked home with free samples about every day. I would pack over a thousand pounds of meat in a day thinking what could anyone use this much pork for anyway. Then one day I was out for a walk on the street. I ended up meeting a guy that purchased our meat and he told me he fed it to his dog as a treat. Was all this time I spent laboring just for some pets, when I thought I was providing ravenous consumers with the good ole meat sweats? That made me upset for the rest of the night, but the next day I got paid and thought maybe this job is alright. 

The Last Pitch

It was the bottom of the ninth with runners on every base; as I walked to the mound sweat rolled off my face. We were winning by a score of six to three, and now the fate of the game had been left up to me. We had two outs but the coach wanted no doubts. He turned to me with a stern look on his face; for this last batter he wanted his ace. I wound up on the mound and let fly my first pitch, “Strike 1!” the ump yelled after a swing and a miss. I was beaming with confidence knowing few third graders could connect with the pitches I threw. Then I pitched again the count was now 0-2. I then threw a few balls not wanting to give up anything easy to pull but now all the sudden the count was full. The next pitch I threw was my max heat, but sadly that pitch would be our defeat. This shot must have been heard all the way down the street as the ball went flying sky high and deep. I looked out to center as the fielder ran back, and then saw him stop near the warning track. I thought to myself there’s no way he hit it that hard for no third grader ever had taken me yard. But then the ball landed far out of sight. I had given up a grand slam that would put an end to our night. I sat there on the mound with tears streaming out of my eyes; for it was my pitching that was our demise. I slammed my helmet in the dugout and begin to throw and fit, still in disbelief that I had given up such a hit. On the car ride home my dad said there’s always next year, as I wiped away one final tear. Then I replied “No, I think that’s my last pitch. I’m done with baseball. This game is a bitch” He was like c’mon just give it a day and I said, “Nope I like basketball better anyways”. After being a little league star and making crowds cheer that single pitch ended my baseball career.

Stuck in the Sky

I was eight years old and for the first time in my life been at Disneyland. For nothing could go wrong and this trip would be grand. I dreamt of the Disney castle being my house as I posed for a picture with Mickey Mouse. I was in love with the rides, and there was nothing but good times in sight; but then I would be exposed to my fear of height. The tragedy would take place on the big ferris wheel; for this was the ride that would make me whine and squeal. It was all fun and games as we rode up. I was more than content with a rainbow slushy in my cup. I yelled in excitement “Hey I spot Donald Duck!” Then the tragedy happened as the Ferris Wheel got stuck. Something went technically wrong so for now the ride had to stop, but why oh why must it be while I was at the very tip top? It was windy and our cart swung with the breeze. My stomach was anything but at ease. For I was supposed to be smiling all day in my Mickey Mouse ears, but now my eyes began to well up with tears.  I screamed and I cried as we were stuck in the sky; my eight-year-old self thought I might die. It was a terrorizing 10 minutes where that wheel didn’t go round, but it didn’t take long till we were back on the ground. My mom asked “Did you really have to cause such a scene?” I played it off cool and said “Oh please, what do you mean?” This one scare would not ruin the day, and I had a great time the rest of our stay. Sure, It might have been the first time in my life I said fuck, but I went home with fond memories and a stuffed Donald Duck.