It wasn’t the first time young “good boy” me was entrusted with more responsibility than adult “aware” me would have done.

It also wasn’t the first time I was the unwitting subject of experimental practices in policy and procedure by those with authority.

And it wouldn’t be the last.

That summer job that wasn’t bringing in the money I’d expected, was one such time. I was hired by Rochester’s local franchise of The Holsum Bread Company as a relief driver. The drivers with regular delivery routes had to have vacations and I don’t know how they’d been taking up that slack before, but Clyde (the man in charge) had decided to try hiring a college student to do it.

Me.

Anyone who has ever been to a grocery store, restaurant, convenient store… etc., has seen these people who deliver our fresh baked goods every day. Usually very early in the morning. They pull up and park where ever they can (as close as possible to the drop off location) and replace and replenish whatever stock is needed for that particular business. No doubt today’s technological toys and socio-economic and corporate realities have made the experience of doing this task quite different than it was back in 1980. I have no idea if it’s easier now or not.

What I do know is that the job these men were doing (only men were doing it back then) was far from simple. They would arrive at the bakery sometime between 3:30 and 4:00 am and load their trucks. The trays of bread, cakes, pastries… etc. they needed for the day, would be neatly stacked nearby. Those with the job of doing that, had worked all night getting it right but of course the driver had to double check everything before he’d risk leaving the bakery. Besides the specific details of prices, the placement of products, changing sales records and the like, every location on each driver’s route also had a gazillion different needs, concerns, personalities… things that had little to do with simply delivering bread.

And all these things each driver had been dealing with for every stop on his route (to however much success or not) for however long he’d been doing this (sometimes for a month or two, sometimes for many years) all this…

I had to learn. In what… a day? It took the better part of a week to get the basics of whatever route I was trying to cover, and by then I had to go to a different one and start all over again. It was insane!!

Now perhaps a brighter, smarter, more of a go-get-er twenty-year-old college student could have done it just fine. Perhaps I’m just making excuses for the fact that I didn’t pay attention enough when Clyde would try and explain things. Or perhaps it was simply that my inner rebel was taking over every time he’d look over his glasses at me and ask curtly “You got that kid?”

Or perhaps it was a mistake for Clyde to think anyone could do what I was being expected to do. Clyde eventually gave up and I was let go, but somehow I made it through most of the summer. Somehow, Clyde gave me enough of a chance (because I was a good boy? or because he knew he was expecting too much?) I have no idea how it happened but somehow, somewhere in the middle of the summer of 1980, young and not-so-good-boy me found myself living on the road in rural southern Minnesota. I had a company van, far too much responsibility, far too much opportunity for troublesome mischief, and far too little scruples.

It was the wrong road, for sure.

And when I decided to use some of my new-found opportunities to facilitate a clever plan to double my student loan money as suggested by that sketchy drug dealer dude character (“Guy”) that I met in Iowa City.

That wrong road got wronger, for sure.

To be continued… for sure.