Steve Gibbs Autobiography

For Sunday, June 2, 2024 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 1,338 words Abio 25: Selling phones and meeting Susan “If you can’t speak the language, or are a new refugee, your bill might be $$100 a month If you can speak the language, but you don’t understand our sales techniques, your bill might be $50 a month. If you know the language, and you understand our products and sales methods, your bill might be $12.90” -- Berkeley Bob, multiple award winner for sales competitions and free trips to Hawaii. Ma Bell, AT&T, a beloved monopoly of service and support, got a divorce from herself in the ‘80s. She divested. Things changed. Sales not service took front seat. We became Pacific Bell Telephone. Gone were the Operator days of waking up a random customer at 5 a.m. with Dial a Joke. When we transferred, Janet and I, from Modesto to Berkeley, our jobs changed. Janet delt with service and billing on Shattuck and Rose and I was in sales down on Webster Street in Oakland, separate depa

For Sunday, May 26, 2024 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 1,289 words Abio 24 – Berkeley in my time Berkeley in my time, 1980. Berkeley, where the nuts hunt the squirrels. Berkeley, where the hairy, multi-colored hippies ruled the day. Berkeley, where they closed Telegraph Avenue to traffic every weekend and held a peddlers’ fair. Blondie’s $1 pizza slices. The Soup Kitchen’s $1 bowl of soup with a hunk of big bread. Persian Bongo Burger’s $1.25 breakfast of two eggs, hash browns, toast, and a glass of OJ. Café Mediterranean gourmet coffee and one of the first unisex bathrooms, which confused my visiting Pennsylvania sister Carol who was looking for the ladies’ room and flat out refused to believe me when I told her everyone used the same facilities. It grossed her out. She refused to use it, and I walked her to People’s Park. For me, having grown up in a rural Appalachian tiny town with one main street and 11 stores, moving to Berkeley was a lot to take in. Living in State

For Sunday, May 19, 2024 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 1,355 Abio 23 – O what a beautiful day The story of O operators has changed considerably. It looks like the 911 Operators are today’s new O operators, pulling double duty. They don’t just get calls about robberies and murders and other evil, but they also field calls like, “My fried chicken is on fire. What do I do?” and “My neighbor keeps playing the same stupid song over and over, do something.” I’ve already written of the antics and bomb threats that lightened my day as an O operator, but I couldn’t fit them all in; like the time I called 411 in Jamaica and 411 in Anchorage, Alaska simultaneously, and covered my mic. “411. How may I help you? “411. How may I help you? “This is 411. What can I do for you.” “No. I am 411. Who are you? “I am 411 in Anchorage, Alaska. “Anchorage, Alaska! I am from Jamaica.” “Jamaica. How did you get on my line? And what’s the weather like down there?”

For Sunday, May 12, 2024 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 1,276 words Abio22 – Guest Editorial: Janet writes about us Janet, my first California girlfriend, has been proofreading my autobiography. I asked her to detail some of the things we did together. It reads so well, I’m running it as she wrote it, with her permission. It’s fun to recall these things. You were the first boyfriend with whom I had a normal, happy relationship. You were my introduction to fun. My first two boyfriends proposed to me; I was happy in this relationship where we loved each other but didn’t want to get married. I don’t know if I told you this or not, but I was first attracted to your postings on the bulletin board at work. “New errors and irregularities: Failing to specify AM or PM to a blind person requesting the time. Referring to a male customer as ‘ma’am’ or a female customer as ‘buddy’ or ‘mac’....” I was delighted and relieved that someone funny worked there, but I didn’t know w

For Sunday, May 5 2024 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 1,338 Abio 21: Hello, Operator There I stood on California soil engulfed in the departing exhaust of the Greyhound bus, my only home for the last six days. “Modesto Water Wealth Contentment Health.” I crashed with Cheryl my ex and my best friend Alan her husband, Alan until I got my own studio apartment. I became an O operator for AT&T. I know, college grad, I should have done better, but I thought being O was cool and I had fun with it. With 60 women and three guys, one with a lisp, the phone company needed my special skills on the midnight shift, 10-6, to act as the baritone intercepting voice when drunks and perverts called the female operators at 3 a.m. with vulgar requests and salacious profanities. In my lowest register I would say, “Hello, this is the operator. What can I do for you.” I thought I sounded like Batman. I horsed around. I hooked the Godfather Bar to Dial a Prayer. “He