Gillette Employment Adventures

We raced home from Casper so I could make my concessions date at the rodeo.   I told them I was outgoing and good with the public, so they said hawking would be my role.   Walking around shouting about hot dogs and iced tea is not a problem for me, and it’s the best money this type of gig has to offer.   I spent the evening toting around my goods going up and down the grandstand stairs.   I walked away with $.50 per item — worth it for a short term thing!

I had an appointment  the following morning at Tom’s Hot Shot.   “Hot Shots,” in Wyoming, are really “immediate delivery services.”   Basically, when a coal mine (located anywhere from 20 to 90 minutes from town) has an equipment  breakdown, it’s money down the drain.   It can mean a loss of anywhere from hundreds to thousands of dollars per hour, and the mine can’t afford to stock parts it needs unpredictably.   Therefore, it’s a priority to get the parts needed to fix something pronto.   Enter the Hot Shot service.   A call is placed, and within 15 minutes a driver is on the way to pick up the necessary part and drive it out to the mine.

Having spent a few months driving the parts truck for a mine in the past, and having grown up exploring the roads of Campbell County, and having a clean driving record, I was a great candidate for the job.   I was filling out employment paperwork within fifteen minutes of arriving, and before I could finish my “training,” the dispatcher had me out on a run!

For the rest of the week, I did the morning courier (scheduled) run out to the mine where I used to drive haul truck, and did other runs as needed in the afternoon.   All in all, it was not too bad for temporary work.   Most of the rigs didn’t have A/C, but it wasn’t too much of a hardship.   My favorite thing was probably the candy dishes at all the different parts places. (And the nice people and bits of Wyoming culture.   At one parts shop, on the window is a sticker like those used in police or military firearm training with a human silhouette and x’s in the center of different target zones.   The text reads: “Nothing in here”¦ is worth dying for.”)

During the day on Monday, the rodeo concessionaires called me with the “bad” news that they’d be too short-staffed to do hawking anymore and didn’t need me.   You can imagine I wasn’t heartbroken.   However, Tuesday afternoon they called again and asked if I could replace someone who’d quit inside the concession stand.   I agreed and had an interesting week.   I worked with:

1) Karen — the wife of Darrell who owned the operation

2) Luke — the sweet, tall, blonde teenage fry-cook who’d traveled from New Mexico where the rodeo is held other years

3) Amber — a shy, hard-working teenage fry-cook from Gillette just earning extra summer cash

4) Gabi — a mid-twenties cashier whose husband works in the food-prep trailer: they also travel from New Mexico

5) Brittany — daughter of the food supply guy and a teenage cashier from Gillette who for some reason totally hated me.   My guess is she didn’t like that I was on friendly terms with (everyone, but especially) her crush, Luke, AND I was quick and efficient enough to bump her out of her cushy-front-counter spot.

Karen and I ran the front counter, while Gabi and Brittany ran the back.   Luke and Amber worked in between handing off fries, catfish baskets, hot dogs, etc. to whichever side called for them.   In between handing out sodas, chicken-on-a-stick, jambalaya, etc., I tried to kill Brittany with kindness.   The owner Darrell has a gruff, demanding persona, which I was having none of.

He never yelled at me, but I sure saw him yell at the others.   This created an environment of  urgency and blame where everyone was always snapping at their fellow co-workers about hurrying up, even when things were running at breakneck pace.   Brittany especially took advantage of this, and barked random commands at me (backed with no authority, obviously).   I either ignored her completely, forced her to repeat her demand politely, or did as asked with a smile.   The bad karma came back to get her in the form of nightly dish duty in a greasy concession kitchen with no dishwasher.   Poor thing!

 I didn’t realize, when I agreed to move into the concession stand, that I was also agreeing to after-hours clean-up duty.   It took 30 minutes of refilling condiments on the first night before I realized what was going on.   I was too befuddled to do anything about it right away, so I waited until the end of the second night (so as not to leave them short with less than 24-hours notice) to set things straight.

 
Overall the concession-owning couple were not the kind of folks you’d be proud to have as friends.   They were unethical and stingy.   When food got dropped on the nasty floor, they thought the ten second rule was in effect.   When the wrong soda got dispensed, they insisted it was fine to let it sit around for thirty minutes until someone ordered it.   When the wrong soup got poured over rice, instead of tossing it out, they just poured it back into the soup pot — rice and all.   When the fry cook started tearing apart rolls  to be  served with his disgustingly dirty hands, not a word was said!   Karen told me, in front of customers, not to give so much cheese on nachos, not to give so much pork on sandwiches, etc.   It was less than admirable.   As you can imagine, I had to fight them for every dime of my meager wage at the end of the week.   When it was clear things would have to be fair for this woman, they ended up giving me the entire tip jar just to get me out of their hair.   I think the most valuable thing I got out of the whole deal was a few good stories!

The rodeo ended Saturday.   Manpower had called and scheduled me to take down a trade show booth (part of the rodeo) on Sunday.   I spent the whole  day working for the polar opposites of the concessionaires.   These folks were nice, overly generous, bought us lunch, and paid me and the boys for an extra hour of work.   Usually, in male-centric situations I am feisty and demand to be  treated like everyone else (aka the dudes).   I don’t shirk any heavy-lifting, I can run power tools with the best of them, and I’m not afraid to get dirty.   However, the booth managers were chivalrous Texans, and I was exhausted from working 12-16 hour days.   I carried plenty of grids, displays, and boxes, but I also gave in pretty easily when J.P. continuously assigned me to the easy jobs.

So, that’s it!   I pulled carpet, moved office furniture at the hospital, built cafeteria tables, worked rodeo concessions, took down a trade show booth, and spent several days driving hot shot (right up until we left for the family gathering).   All-in-all a full chapter for the history books!

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