Photo of me in high school, after a shift at the grocery store deli.
I was once the deli girl at a grocery store in a
nearly one-stoplight town. Which, was about
the same time I worked as a lifeguard, at the
indoor pool across the street from my rural
high school. In-door so we could swim
through frigid midwestern winters.
But, before that, I taught swimming lessons,
I think, before I was legally old enough to work.
Teaching the littlest kids to move their arms
and legs on land, while they got the hang of
the breathing, before they tried the real thing
in cold water.
In 8th grade I started taking tickets at the only
movie theater in town, where we didn’t have a
proper cash register and had to make change in
our heads. Being John Malkovich was playing when I started.
Detasseling corn was the next job and I worked
in agriculture until I left for college in New
Mexico. Where, I worked at the ski resort for
the free lift-ticket, organized sex-education
workshops for my college peers, did the night
(and day) shift at an emergency shelter, and
folded jeans at the mall (Hollister, because
in 2006 they paid a whopping $10.50 an hour).
I was also the graphic design lackey at a place
called Paper Tiger. Spent a decade teaching
myself photoshop, you know, all the stuff AI
can do in seconds (using 20 gallons of water).
Got paid to digitize other people’s negatives,
tutored older folks on how to use photoshop
(but really just some basic ass digital literacy).
There were also the catering gigs, and
minding the gear truck on film sets—which
was only slightly better than fetching coffee.
The first summer of college I came home to
direct a summer theatre production put on
by my high school. It was that summer's
murder mystery. My friend Katie played the
ingénue and wore my junior prom dress.
After undergrad I thought I’d hit the jackpot—
a ‘content producer’ with health insurance at a
tech startup, which really only amounted to a
year and a half of constant sexual harassment.
Culminating in my anatomy being the reason
for my termination. You see, I’d taken a call at
work about needing treatment for cervical
cancer, which turned out to be very expensive
health-insurance-wise, and since I had the
only cervix in the office…“You understand.”(To date, this is the only job I’ve ever been fired from).
So I became a barista and a waitress, so I could
afford to be an ethical freelance photographer.
In high school, I started working for friends of
my parents who were wedding photographers
and I’ve continued working in the industry(ial
complex) as a photographer and photographers’
assistant for over two decades.
When I got into grad school, the first interview
I conducted for my thesis research was with a
military lawyer, I didn’t realize I was the one
being cross examined. After the interview she
asked me to be her nanny. I had babysat for
neighbor kids since I was 10, so I became a nanny.
At the same point, I was the education
coordinator for a doomed photography festival.
But it offered the only avenue to teach. You see,
the (now tenured) abuse of my grad program
roadblocked entering teaching the typical way;
teaching as a grad student.
After grad school I moved home to become
the caretaker of my grandmother, and in the
process became a real art teacher. First,
teaching photography to newly resettled high
school youth, finding each student their own
digital camera, donated by the community.
Equipment that was theirs to keep.
Teaching international students in the
summer—it was technically just a special-
effects photography class, but students were
asked to photograph intangible things like
their emotions, in an effort to stretch their
language skills. As well as build emotional
intelligence and visual literacy (they were
middle-schoolers).
Then, briefly teaching digital photo-editing
and web design at the Union for Contemporary
Art. To the white folks who pay a premium to
take classes there.
Nearly a decade of documenting the fight
against KeystoneXL, and just as much time
pushing my moral boulder uphill against
a racist white-feminist nonprofit, also-
known-as Omaha Girls Rock. There were
also the gigs where I had to sign a
nondisclosure agreement, so.
I’d been welding since high school, and earned
a professional welding certificate while caring
for Nana. Working first as a fabricator, then a
welding instructor. Covid turned me into a
virtual welding instructor. An oxymoron. In
high school, my classmates welded hitches
for their trucks or farm equipment. I made art
that ended up rusting in my folks yard.
Now-a-days I’ll pick up work at the neighbor’s
uniform factory and occasionally pick another
neighbor’s coffee. With my spouse, I am a
farmer, like my grandparents before me,
but I used to be a college professor? (Lol
not really, i was just a lowly adjunct)
teaching about materials (probably—but
definitely settler colonialism). But, y’all,
I was once the deli girl, at a grocery store
in a nearly one-stoplight town.
