As a teen, I had a summer job working at the printing house of the local newspaper. They did a lot of other print jobs, too, including a magazine on occult and UFOlogy. I used to read some of the scrapped copies on breaks, and marvel at the weirdness and how seamlessly both the writers and the readers seemed to fit in all the woo they could find.
I also scored a translated copy of G.K. Chesterton’s The Man Who Was Thursday, which made me a Chesterton fan for life, and overall was more important to me and my development than the money I got from the job.
