At the ripe old age of 21 I went to work
for a leading livestock newspaper as a field editor. This was at a time
when most of the other field editors and breed reps qualified for the
senior citizen’s discount at Denny’s. As the youngest person in the
trade at the time I was walked on, stabbed in the back and even punched
in the face.
Really.
I
was given a company car and an expense account but those costs were
subtracted from any commission I made selling advertising in my
territory. Unknown to me, my colleagues referred to my territory as the
Great Advertising Desert because it was nearly devoid of cattle. It
consisted of Southern California, the southern tip of Nevada (which had
more endangered turtles than it did cattle), Arizona and Utah. The
amount of my speeding tickets in Utah exceeded my ad sales in that great
state.
While
most of the field men drove Lincoln Town cars, which was the greatest
road car ever built, I, on the other hand, drove a German tank. Or at
least it felt like it. It had the turning radius of a Carnival Cruise
ship and I never knew how fast I was going because the speedometer was
broke, as was nearly everything else in, or on, that poor excuse for a
car we lovingly called ‘The Tank’.
I’ve
only run out of gas three times in my life and all three were in The
Tank because the gas gauge didn’t work either! You could see asphalt
through holes in the floorboard, it got two gallons of gas per mile and
the tires were balder than my uncle Charles. It had a V-5 engine (a V-8
with three bad pistons), and the air conditioning consisted of rolling
down the windows… by hand. There was evidence in the glove box that The
Tank had been totaled by at least three insurance companies.
Worst of all, the car wreaked of cigarette smoke. A used car salesman
told me once that if he turned on a car’s radio and it blared rock and
roll he knew the transmission was shot, but if all the ash trays were
full and it smelled like smoke it was a rental car. I complained about
the car to my boss but he said, “Quit complaining. Back when I began my
career we had to start our cars with a crank. Just be thankful you’ve
got power steering and power brakes. Sometimes, anyway.”
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