In high school I worked as a busboy at an Elk's Lodge until a seriously drunken Elk offered to throw me through a large plate glass window. I graduated college a semester early in 1973 because the draft had ended, so to support myself I worked a stint at a restaurant called Lum's, where I cooked and pulled about a million pitchers of beer. I hated that job for two reasons: 1) While I was in the back slopping around, all of the college kids who were smart enough not to graduate early were out front eating and playing drinking games; and 2) every night I had to filter the boiling hot fryer oil, which left me one move away from third-degree burns and perpetually smelling of bad French fries. Naturally, I vowed to myself that no matter how desperate I may be, I would never work in food service again. Ever.

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