My First Seven Jobs Or So — Part One: Baker’s Helper, So It Begins
Laszlo Bock made a quick home run on my LinkedIn feed.
He published an innocent status update with his #firstsevenjobs.
I have first read the last line as #FirstStevenJobs.
Which seemed a pretty impressive gig.
Even if I consider Laszlo’s glorious decade at Google.
And is a telling sign. I am ageing.
While I commenting I figured, this is such a content gem.
It cries for a full cover.
Uncovering my humble beginnings.
I took a twist and will write a post about all the jobs instead.
All the way to the first job you can see on my LinkedIn profile.
So, here it comes.
The first of my seven or so jobs posts.
Baker’s Helper: The Beginnings
It was 1983 or 1984.
As romantic as it may sound.
I was a Second Grader in Algeria, Northern Africa.
And we lived in a small village by the name of El-Hamadena.
It was a tiny speck of a place by the National Route №4.
OK, I tried but I can’t tell anything else glorious about it man.
With nothing else than a shop cum bakery.
And a café on the other side of the road.
In the season we spent every weekend on the seaside.
But out of season and during the week:
We were bored as hell. If there were no rats to chase around the courtyards.
Why Bakery?
I wasn’t into customer-facing roles yet, as my Arabic was, and did stay sub-par.
So, I jumped on the back-end job of Helper in the Bakery.
Also, I was infamous in the family for my all in attitude.
When it came to eating things up.
What was the job?
My father has discussed a part-part time gig for me with the owner.
Time to time I could enter the ‘shrine’. Or let’s just call it the back of the baker shop and throw dough balls in the baguette rolling machine.
Then I have laid them on a plate.
And put the plate on a cart.
Then somebody would put it into the leavening oven.
Why I loved it?
At the age of 9.
What’s not to love in the ambience of bakery machinery as a boy.
And don’t forget the smell of French pastry.
This is a multi-part post to make it a lower entry point for the faint-hearted. Word of warning: it is autobiographic. So, don’t blame me for the sticky, nostalgic parts. Click on. If we meet, pretend you have read it.
Also in the series:
- Plastic Bag Cutter — Oh, The Globalization
- Vodka and Syrup Part-Time Salesman — Polak Wegier Dwa Bratanki
- Bassist / Rhythm Guitarist / Lead Vocalist — The Rocking Years (Coming soon)
- Strategic Advisor / Rock DJ — The Budding Entertainment Mogul (Coming soon)
- Carpenter — In The Shoes of Han Solo (Coming soon)
- Translator — Saving Tisza Cipő (Coming soon)
- Hut / Bartender — Hungary’s Last Mountain Hut (Coming soon)
- Outdoor Sales / Import Clerk / PA — The Golden Ages of Outdoor Sports in Hungary (Coming soon)
When not on a personal nostalgic trip or rant about world peace. I write about housing and destination services in Budapest, Hungary. Also, about trends affecting global talents in Central and Eastern Europe and the British-Irish Isles.
Here or on LinkedIn. Tweet on me @sugardayfox
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