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Running Errands as a Child
My first side-hustle
When I was a young boy, I would often run errands for my mother, and occasionally one of the neighbours, to the corner shop at the top of our street.
When requisitioned for such a trip, I would be given the usual briefing to hold on tight to the money, and I would demonstrate my co-operation with this request by clamping my little fist around the coinage that was entrusted to my care. The Pony Express had nothing on me.
These trips usually came with a reward attached so I took them up eagerly, but others on the street did not share my enthusiasm to earn. Some boys shunned the prospect of a reward, which might have brought the wherewithal to buy a couple of Football Chums at least, or a bag of Treets at best (toffee ones please).
These ruffians got a bigger kick from demonstrating their finely honed skills in back-answering. The housewife’s appeal for an errand runner would be met with a shout of “Go yourself; you’ve got legs haven’t you?” I was always happy to take up this reward-laden slack.
Plopped Ham and Chalk
If my mother, or any other sender, only required a few things from the shop, I would trust them to memory by repeating a mantra made up of the items I was to buy. As I walked to the shop, I would repeat “milk…
