Ah yes, the part time job. Now that I think of it, most of my jobs were part time jobs. As an adjunct faculty member at a community college or even a full-time lecturer at the university (my highly esteemed job titles) I wasn’t really “full time.” Full time is tenured and it meant “You really work here! Wow!” Still, as a full time lecturer I had an office — which of course I had to share because only tenured faculty got their own offices. There were so many little things like that, almost militaristic in the way they spoke “rank” no not rank as in smells bad, but rank as in Colonel vs. Sergeant. The irony of it was that a tenured faculty member taught 3 classes. I taught 5. Saved the university money, though, not having to pay me the same six figures they paid tenured faculty. They got almost twice as many classes/semester out of me for only 60% the cost.
Life’s full of stuff like that. Another was at K-Mart where I had a short tenure working on the grill. Full time was 38 hours/week. I usually worked 36. Saved the store money. If I went over full-time? I don’t know what would happen. It never did. The only place I had a part-time job that was REALLY part-time was the sainted A&W Drive In in Colorado Springs. 20 hours/week, max. After all, we were all still in high school.
Now I’m legitimately part time. I thought about that yesterday when I had my second (to my knowledge) “senior moment.” The first was 8 years ago when I found the Windex in the refrigerator. Yesterday? I made enchiladas. Preheated the oven, which, after being preheated does its thing by itself, assuming the cook is as smart as it is. When it told me dinner was done, I went to check and found the oven empty. I hadn’t put the enchiladas in the oven. They were on the counter — thankfully NOT right beside the oven, but… So… They were good, though, when they were finally cooked.
In other news, Bear and I sneaked out for a short, sweaty ramble before the predicted storms hit. They never really hit, but… It was noon, hot, muggy, but the clouds offered some cover. It LOOKED beautiful out there and felt horrible, but if you’re going to love something, you have to take the bad days, too.
On our return, we encountered some nice bird tourists from Ohio to whom I gently made the point “The rangers had to put up signs and barriers everywhere because people went kind of crazy to see the Yellow Rail.” Then I told them what I could about where to see what. They were jazzed to see a yellow headed blackbird, and they loved Bear who jumped gently onto the driver’s side door to say hello. Bear loves that. It’s why she’s such a good member of the Monte Vista Crane Festival Unofficial Welcoming Committee. It’s a part-time job.
The tan band in the distance of the featured photo is Great Sand Dunes National Park, about 45 miles away.
In honor of my beans and to cheer up an otherwise kind of dull post…