When I was growing up, I had a very crafty next door neighbor. John was the kind of guy who would hold carnivals for charity in his garage and then pocket the money. One summer he got a job setting up corporate picnics. He would bring tents, food, drinks and games to public parks for company parties. He needed a staff for this little venture, so he recruited me and let me bring along any friends I wanted.

It seemed like a great offer. At 15, I'd already been a T-ball coach, a receptionist at a nursing home and a camp counselor, and none of these summer jobs offered the money and fun that every picnic brought.

On a typical day, John drove me and six friends to the park in his truck. Then we set up the tents, started up the large grills and the cotton candy machine, tapped a few kegs of beer, set up the soda machine and took out the carnival games.

My friends and I would rotate from station to station. When the grill got too smoky, we would move to the cotton candy machine. Mid-afternoon, the clowns showed up. They were usually sad-looking older men dressed in dingy clown outfits who tended to stay close to the keg.

All day we would eat and drink whatever we wanted, while John hung out with the clowns.