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Bud Grossmann’s
Words of the Week
for the Week of
January 28, 2007
Published as Family History
in a Gramma Letter dated February 27, 1996.
© 1996 by Bud Grossmann.
All Rights Reserved.
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Bike Shadow, 1969
© 1969 by Bud Grossmann
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KELLY GIRL
Tuesday, February 27, 1996
Dear Gramma,
Have I ever told you about my brief career as a Kelly Girl?
When Fran and I lived in Los Angeles, I landed a summer job with Kelly Girl Temporary Services. My chief qualifications were: (a) I was somewhat proficient in the use of a typewriter; and (b) I was willing to be persuaded that one e is sufficient in the expression “Yours very truely.” This was back in the days of carbon paper, back when erasers could wear a hole straight through a page of heavy stationery. In those days, I aimed for accuracy on the keyboard. Now? Goodness, I don’t even try, because my computer will forgive nearly all of my errors.
I’m afraid I didn’t last long “temping” with Kelly. I had been looking forward to the variety—a few days in one office and then on to another—new challenges and new people all summer long. I would have to wear a shirt-and-tie and a nametag that included the words “Kelly Girl,” but, I figured, every job has its indignities.
When I was a few hours into my first assignment, in the office of a trucking operation, the manager asked me, “Bud, how much is Kelly paying you?” I told her. Then she told me how much she was paying Kelly, and she suggested, “How about if we split the difference? You can work for us all summer at higher pay—how about it? I will get Kelly to let you out of your employment contract.”
I hesitated. The manager persisted. “Listen, Bud,” she said, “it will be steady work. And we won’t make you wear a necktie.” At that point, I remembered the counsel of Philip Tarpley, my high school business teacher: A bird in the hand... (I believe he said) ...can really slow down a typist. My Kelly career was over.
Two trucking companies operated out of the office where I typed letters and answered phones that summer. One was called Dependable Trucking, and the other was Four-Way Freight Systems. Two telephones were on my desk, and I stocked two sets of letterhead, but both companies were owned by the same two men, both of whom happened to be named Bob. One Bob was the president of Dependable and the vice-president of Four-Way, and the other Bob was president of Four-Way and...well, you know how it goes.
Sometimes, when I answered one phone or the other, somebody would ask for Bob, and I’d say, “I’m sorry, Bob is not available right now, may I take a message?”
The caller would say, “Oh, no, that’s all right. Let me talk to Bob, then, if he is in.”
I’d say, “One moment, please. I’ll connect you.”
My favorite part of the job was running errands for one of the Bobs. He let me drive his shiny-new, powder blue Cadillac. Tooling around in a Caddie was especially sweet because Frances and I owned no car at that time. We went places by bus or bicycle.
One time, I remember, I was biking home from work, struggling up a steep hill in a Chicano neighborhood. I had my right pantleg rolled up so it wouldn’t get caught in the chain of my ten-speed. Suddenly, a schoolboy, beside the road, pointed at me and excitedly shouted in Spanish to a friend. I didn’t understand. I wondered if something was coming apart on my bicycle. But then the kid provided English subtitles: “Turkey legs! Turkey legs!” he laughed. “Hey, Enrico, look at this guy’s skinny legs! Did you ever see anything like them?!”
After that incident, Gram, I appreciated the powder blue Cadillac all the more. Driving with the windows rolled tight, the radio and A/C both turned up high, I was blissfully unaware of editorial comments from schoolboys at streetside.
♦
On Saturday I spoke with my folks on the phone. They told me you had just mailed a letter to Hawaii. I’ll look forward to receiving it. Bye for now, dear Grandmother.
Love,
Buddy
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