Work history includes cards and crabs and diapers, oh my

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on April 19, 2017 7:07AM

I’ve done some odd jobs over the years — some odder than others.

The first time I recall earning money, I wanted to buy a baseball mitt. I saw a small advertisement in a comic book and asked my parents if I could sign up to sell greeting cards.

We lived in rural Kern County, California, and I straddled my Stingray bike and headed out to hit up the area farmers. Honestly, I don’t know if they really wanted the cards, but it seems they couldn’t resist a little tow-headed kid on a bike. These same farmers also bought Kool-Aid and iced tea from the stand I set up at the end of our driveway.

Later, while living near Medford, my entrepreneurship continued. A neighbor up the street had a fruit stand, so I went out and picked wild blackberries and sold them to her by the flat.

The neighbor lady seemed to have the best end of the deal. She made a profit, while I toiled in the sun and got purple fingers. Instead of being the middle man, I later sold them myself.

My sales experience came in handy when some college roommates and I hooked up with a fishmonger in Newport. We convinced him to let us sell fresh crab on the street corner outside of Portland.

We picked up a load of live crab on the coast and the roughly two-hour drive home featured the sound of clacking claws. The little suckers seemed to know their demise was soon to come. But that was nothing compared to the first time I thought they were screaming when we threw them into boiling water.

I freaked out!

“They screamed, they screamed,” I exclaimed. “We’re hurting them.”

My friends, who seemed to know a little more about crustaceans that I did, said the high-pitched sound was merely steam escaping from their shells.

Having only eaten crab on one prior occasion, I wasn’t totally convinced we would be able to sell them. However, once we got set-up on the street corner, they sold like hotcakes.

Evidently, I was much more suited for sales than babysitting. I’ll never forget the time I watched a toddler and baby for the youth pastor and his wife.

This is back in the day when cloth diapers were the standard. Rather than merely disposing of a soiled diaper, you had to rinse it out so it could go in the washer.

Angie, an inquisitive 3-year-old, was right there watching my every move as I changed her baby brother’s diaper. She later gave a play-by-play to her parents.

“Tammy got sick,” Angie said. “She barfed, she barfed lots.”

Yup, I was 23 years old and married and wretched my guts out changing Chad’s diaper.

However, that experience came in handy when I worked in a group home for emotionally disturbed adolescents and later one for adults with developmental disabilities.

I became so skilled at dealing with a variety of body fluids, I could list it on my resume — now, that would be odd.

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Tammy Malgesini is the community editor. Her column, Inside my Shoes, includes general musings about life. Contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

Scalper strikes out while swinging for the cheap seats

By Tammy Malgesini

Staff Writer

Published on April 19, 2016 1:56PM

A pair of $20 bills were pulsating in my pocket as a young man demanded his money back.

The 20-something guy was a ticket scalper outside Turner Field in Atlanta — and I had just played him.

My frustration with scalpers had been brewing within. A longtime baseball fan, I was looking forward to attending the 1998 All-Star Game in Denver. However, due to the antics of ticket scalpers, my husband and I couldn’t get decent-priced tickets. Evidently, that disappointment gave me the resolve to put one over on the unsuspecting Atlanta scalper a few years later.

Scalpers obtain tickets — or even make counterfeit ones — with the purpose of making a profit by selling them for ridiculous prices. At the time, they tried not to draw attention to themselves because Georgia state law made it illegal to sell tickets for more than face value. They often held signs that said, “Need tickets.”

Part of the perk of purchasing reserved tickets on the official Atlanta Braves website was receiving a couple of cheap seat tickets for any game. They had no cash value printed on them, but I later figured they were worth maybe $5 each.

I told the dude I had tickets, good for any game. He obviously didn’t listen, glanced at them and offered me $20 each. We never stopped walking — the conversation and transaction was on the fly as John and I continued toward the stadium.

I shoved the $40 into my pocket and the guy turned back the other way. Then half a block later I could faintly hear, “Hey lady.” I kept walking — there were lots of ladies on the sidewalk. Then louder, “Hey lady, I don’t want these tickets.”

Soon, the guy caught up to us and said he wanted his money back. He said the tickets weren’t for that day’s game. I reminded him I said upfront they were good for any game and he made the deal.

He quietly protested and continued to follow us. Little did this guy know, I wasn’t easily intimidated. Back in the day, I wouldn’t give up my Pepsi and Pizza Rolls to a knife-wielding dude outside a 7-Eleven in north Portland — but that’s a story for another column.

Holding my hand, John quickened our pace and we soon disappeared into the crowd at the stadium — leaving the guy in our dust.

I had just scammed a scalper — and I didn’t feel bad about it.

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Tammy Malgesini is the community editor. Her column, Inside my Shoes, includes general musings about life. Contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.