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My first job was a little unusual. I "set traps" at a local shooting range. I sat in a pit in the ground feeding clay pigeons one-by-one onto the arm of the throwing machine. The throwing arm would spin like a helicopter blade. Keeping fingers out of harms way kept me awake. I would be counting the targets thrown, so I thought I knew when we'd be done. One time I popped out and looked back into a 12ga pointed right at my face.
That was a dirty, lonely job.
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