It was one of those “who you know” scenarios that got it for me. It led to six years of summer employment with the City of Saskatoon’s Parks and Recreation Department.

It didn’t start well though.

I was initially put into the recreation part of the department. Much of the job entailed having skills like those of a handyman — handyperson. That wasn’t me.

When I was out on a job with a coworker, he could have said, “hand me the Phillips.” I would have gotten him an electric razor. Seriously, if you put Phillips and Robertson screwdrivers in front of me, I would have a 50-50 chance of knowing which is which.

One day, a co-worker and I were dispatched to jackhammer water drainage holes in the seating area at a baseball diamond. Can you imagine a 110-pound person using one of those? I was getting jackhammered all over the place. My co-worker, a man who weighed at least 250 pounds, laughed and laughed and laughed. He had seniority.

The highlight of the summer job was getting to be the guy who filled paddling pools on the westside of Saskatoon on weekends. About 6 a.m., I would start at a pool, open the valve and move to the next one and to the next one, until every paddling pool had water flowing. Then, I would drive back to the first one and reverse the process.

When the pools were full, I would do general maintenance duties, such as emptying garbage cans and mopping the floors of the buildings. They were dark and dingy and smelly places. I now admit that I didn’t always clean the toilets.

I once had to replace a board above the door of one unit. I did it. I was in the area of the playground not long ago, and stopped my car. The playground unit is closed now, but my board is still there. I should have taken a selfie.

The other three days of the work week were the handyperson ones.

My career at the recreation department ended poorly and promptly.

One day I was lifting something beyond my strength, and it slipped from my hands, denting my foreman’s new truck. Like literally new — all shiny and green. When I did it, his face became bright red.

After swearing a few times, he sent me to a pile of boards behind the shop and told me to pull the nails from them. I wasn’t good at that either.

A day or two later, I was transferred — sent packing without a going-away party — to the Parks Department, and spent the next five summers there.

My duties during the rest of the first summer involved maintaining a small park, and the boulevards that ran all the way from Avenue B to Avenue W on 22nd Street in Saskatoon.

I knew the boulevard watering gig from my training in the Recreation Department. I would turn on the water at Avenue B and keep going until it was on at Avenue P. Then, I would shut it off from B to P. Then I would go P to W. I wish I would have had a step counter.

I picked up the garbage on the boulevard and weeded flower beds. Back in those days, the most common items of garbage were empty cigarette packages.

To amuse myself, I would keep track of the brands, and declare a winner at the end of my route. As I recall, Export A was often the winner. Player’s was up there, too.

Many more people smoked back then, than now. My shortish career as a smoker started with my dad’s du Maurier butts. They were the only French words I knew. Had a Frenchspeaking person said bonjour to me, and I would have replied du Maurier.

I advanced to having my first whole cigarette at a Saskatoon Blades game, when I was in Grade 8. The Arena would be so filled with smoke that it was like a fog hanging just above the ice.

At that time, a few of us would stay over at a friend’s house, because his dad would let us smoke. Player’s was the brand of choice at his home.

I didn’t become a regular smoker for a few more years.

I can’t remember buying my first pack of cigarettes. It was probably something like me walking to the counter of a corner store with a Coke and a Malted Milk chocolate bar in my hands.

“Is that all for you?” the clerk might ask.

I would scan the shelves and might confidently say, “Throw in a pack of Macdonald’s Menthol. Going to kick the habit after this pack.”

The clerk would likely roll his or her eyes, and off I would go.

Sorry, my mind has wandered.

The last month of my first summer as a city worker was good. I had a nice foreman, who drove an old truck. I took pride in my boulevard and park, and would take people to see them.

The park I maintained was relatively remote, so I was bold enough to go shirtless, without fear of someone using my ribs as a musical instrument.

I was pretty good at picking up garbage and weeding flower beds. I knew how to start a lawn mower, and water grass.

And there was no pile of boards.

-Cam Hutchinson