I worked at a hospital for a week. And at a golf course when I was in college at Kansas for about a week. The tips weren't good so I quit.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
I have to say I've worked very few days of my life. I used to have to cut the lawn, and when I was in junior high school, I worked at a concession stand at a stadium.
I started working when I was 13, picking up trash, bagging ice.
While in my late teens and in my 20s, I worked seven days a week, 20 hours a day. I worked my tail off.
I retired because I had a knee injury, my cartilage was wearing out, it was painful and I couldn't put in the four hours of practice each day that I needed to.
My training really was at the 'New York Times,' you know. When I got there, I was literally supposed to stay there for five weeks, and I got lucky like nobody, you know, like nobody's business.
I've been unfortunate enough to be working, and recovering from a few injuries now and again.
My father ran a corner drug store where he worked night and day, seven days a week, until he died of a stroke. He literally worked himself to death.
I worked in a gym. I was a trainer. I did all the crappy ex-football-player jobs.
About six months after I moved to New York City, I was literally down to my last twenty dollars when a friend of mine from college got me a job at an Upper East side gym. I ran the cafe, and I was the janitor. It was an unfortunate combination of duties, to say the least.
My first job ever was on 'Peak Practice.' I just had to walk up the stairs. They kept the take where I slipped slightly, which was annoying.