Porn Star exclaims “It’s a labor of love!” – A Tribute to Work

“You load 16 tons and what do ya get          

Another day older and deeper in debt,          

Saint Peter don’t you call me cause I can’t go            

I owe my soul to the Company Store”            

The first Labor Day holiday was celebrated on Tuesday, September 5, 1882, in New York City, as devised by the Central Labor Union.  The CLU celebrated their holiday again a year later. 

Building Boulder Dam

 

In 1884, the first Monday in September was selected as the official holiday and the CLU urged similar organizations in other cities to follow the example of New York and celebrate a “workingmen’s holiday” on that date.  

The idea spread with the growth of labor organizations and in 1885 Labor Day was established in many industrial centers of the country.  But, it was not until 1894 – after 23 States had already adopted the holiday – that Congress passed the Act making the first Monday in September a legal national holiday. 

Those pushing ever onward toward the 6′ Dump will recall a little TV show entitled “The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis”.  One of its characters, Maynard G. Krebs was a lazy hirsute philosopher – or beatnik – who was allergic to work.  Whenever the word “work” appeared in dialogue, Maynard’s eyes grew fat and in his frightened tremolo falsetto he’d echo “WORK???” – It was one of the show’s running gags and apparently Valet Boy took the message to heart.  He has staunchly tried to avoid anything that smacked of LABOR. 

This is what I call real labor!

 

Unless you are employed in some fashion that ensures a degree of fame or a fat bank account (or both) and offers the opportunity to dip your toe into the luxuriating waters of sycophantic adoration, you likely have an unremarkable, run-of-the-mill “day job”. 

That’s not bad, it’s just….well, it’s dull. And that “dull feeling” cascades over you with heart & mind numbing repetition day after day until finally you can no longer stomach the thought of tossing back the covers and slouching toward the time clock. 

Most Americans hate their jobs. The glory of a good day’s Work has become synonymous with the joy one might experience shoving their face into a restaurant grease trap. 

Women in the Work Force

 

We wish we could love our daily grind.  We gaze with envy at Rhodes Scholars like Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, Kate and her Dubious 8 or any of the Kardashians.  They get paid for being themselves.  They have TV shows, endless hours of national publicity, millions of Twitter fans and free bowls of chili at Barney’s. They’ve exceeded their allotted 15 minutes of fame by at least several hours.  

But, alas, most of us will only dream of a Champagne Pocketbook to accompany our Beer Tastes. 

Many of us grew up learning the value of a dollar while still under our protective parental wings, going door-to-door selling Christmas Cards, cookies, magazines, etc. etc.  As a child, Valet Boy watched his father – Big Bob – leave the house on Monday morning for his traveling sales job and return on Friday afternoon.  (He’d give Mom $5 on Monday and ask for the change upon his return)              

When Big Bob started his own highway contracting company, he conscripted Valet Boy’s summer vacations.  The allure and excitement of road work in 100 degree days for a 14 year old was understandably short-lived.   It literally felt like Valet Boy was on a Chain Gang.  “Shakin’ it here, Boss!”         

But, there was something about those long, sweaty, arduous hours spent on the heat rippled asphalt.  Something that has stayed with me all these years….That Dear Readers is the deep, intrinsic satisfaction one receives from the knowledge…They’ll never have to do THAT again!             

The pay was good though.  In 1965, I was pulling down $120 a week.  Steak (at 40 cents/lb) was a regular on my plate. This scenario repeated itself annually until 1970, when VB hit the highway for the Big Orange (Los Angeles, CA) at the ripe old age of 19.  Big Bob was none too pleased with my decision to extricate myself from human bondage in favor of the bright lights and bikinis of LaLa Land.              

Not long after my arrival, it became apparent that I would require some form of income to support my various habits and hobbies, such as feeding and clothing myself.  Gasoline was only 25 cents a gallon, so you could always scrape together enough pennies to reach your destinations.                

My very first job in LA was working in an incense factory.  Appropriately called The Olfactory, it was my virgin sampling of employment under the dispassionate and chilling gaze of “The Man”.  It wasn’t long before Valet Boy yearned for those 100 degree days working on the highway.              

Soon Robots will be asking for paid holidays

That job did not last long.  Perhaps a month or a few weeks, I can’t remember.  But, I do recall the deflated sense of purpose I experienced upon cashing my first paycheck.  I cleared about $40.00 and instantly learned a valuable lesson.              

Working for your Dad pays a lot better!               

Enjoy your Labor Day Holiday, Dear Readers.  You’ve earned it.              

Thanks!              

Valet Boy

If you enjoy Valet Boy, now you can share his myopic wisdom with friends and family.  Look for the Twitter, Facebook and Email icons at end of each post.  You know what to do.  Help Valet Boy reach out to share snippets of humor, history, politics and personal peeves.  It’s a “Labor of Love”.           

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About Valet Boy

Valet Boy has risen from the graveyard of forgotten blogs as an occasional hump day publication! Yes, once again Valet Boy will drag his zombie like corpse out into the rarefied faux-literary air populated by lonely but hopeful pseudo-authors with nothing better to do with all their free time than sit on their fat fannies in front of computer screens going blind....or turning Japanese...or both Anyway, thanks for stopping by!
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One Response to Porn Star exclaims “It’s a labor of love!” – A Tribute to Work

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