“For Christmas money in 1964, I took a temporary evening job at a downtown five-and-dime store in Newport, ten miles north of Orleans, at the south end of Lake Memphremagog. Every day after school I parked our station wagon in the lot beside the frozen lake and made a dash for the store with the north wind howling at my back, blasting right out of Canada and producing a chill factor that would make International Falls in January seem tropical. My part-time night job consisted of general clerking..., stocking shelves, unloading trucks, sweeping the old hardwood floor, and cleaning the restrooms, all for the princely sum of $1.25 an hour. The store was failing and slated to close right after the holidays. My aging boss was testy and didn’t like schoolteachers. It’s Christmas Eve. There’s a raging blizzard outside, what in the Kingdom is called a Canadian thaw—four feet of snow and a hell of a blow—with hordes of last-minute shoppers tracking in mud, slush, and snow. I’d swab out the restrooms, and half an hour later they’d look as if Attila the Hun and his outfit had just availed themselves of the facilities.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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