I think I would be willing for work for peanuts – again. I love them. Years ago, I worked in a nut house (both the kind that roasts nuts and the kind that caters to the mentally ill). My job was simple – roast and sell nuts.
There were a few times when the roaster oil caught fire and the fire department would shut us down, but this type of situation didn’t deter my bosses who would advise us to continue to roast regardless of the fire department’s concerns. Being that I was only making $3.35 an hour and living at home, I didn’t have a lot to lose by continuing to roast. Plus, freshly roasted nuts are hard to resist and one of my job perks was product knowledge, so I ate a lot of nuts. Chocolate covered, shelled, seasoned, the works.
My working for peanuts didn’t start at the nut house. Prior to this highly gainful employment, I would babysit for nuts, specifically pistachios, and chocolate covered orange sticks. At the time, it seemed like a fair trade.
I really wouldn’t mind working for peanuts again. I do, in a way, but it isn’t as carefree as it used to be. Now, when there are fires or fire drills at the office, they are followed with lengthy emails and memos about the process. People are often interrogated or disciplined. It’s nuts, really. Gone are the simple days of clearing out a mall because of a grease fire and, hours later, being back in business, working with and for peanuts. When I tell people I miss this, they often tell me I’m nuts. I guess we are what we eat – and work for.