First Job

This morning, young Dirty and I visited as he headed out way too early for his jail job. While he sat on the garage step giving a quick shine to his boots, I reflected on my first job.

I wouldn’t say I was a “go-getter” when it came to working as a kid. I’d had some babysitting jobs. But that’s not really work. Make some quesadillas, do some fun things, and make sure the house is standing when ‘rents come home. So, I wasn’t sure how I would do when it was time to get a real job.

A family member was a cashier at the truck stop, and let me know that they were hiring busboys. I was interviewed, which was really probably just a screening to see if I was not likely to end up stealing the uniform. I must have looked like I wouldn’t.

Turns out, I was eager to please, and tried hard. Weird. I was there early, in my preened uniform. Trying to move more quickly and smile more broadly than I knew I could. I wanted to wait tables. My hope was to be like the big girls with the bow ties and aprons with pockets stuffed with cash. I was a greedy girl at 18 too.

Soon enough, I was granted the precious burgundy polyester pants and that ruffled navy apron. To say I was proud was an understatement. I would starch the ruffles on the apron so they’d perk just so. It didn’t take too long of a job on my feet to know that I needed shoes better than Payless could provide. I invested in a delightfully hideous pair of Sas shoes. In navy, you know,…to coordinate with the apron. I was committed.

The place was always just so dang busy. It was great. Anything I know about multitasking, I learned right there. And, if you ever want to learn a quick lesson about the interplay between your attitude and your income; a day of waiting tables will teach you.

I added another job working at the bank. I went from daily dilla making for elementary kids to two jobs with 3 different shifts each week. I’m not built for graveyards, by the way. But it was important to me, so I did it.

There were sections to work at the restaurant. If memory serves, they were “family,” “middle,” and “truckers.” Truckers was where it was at. The same folks week after week. It was like their home away from home. You got to know them pretty well, and it felt good to that home base for them.

It was my first time learning to interact with other adults in their world. There were certainly bumps, missed cues, overread cues and the like. I met a lot of characters. At least twice I made decisions that could have led to me being on a murder documentary. Youthful decision making,…geez. I was probably an annoyance to my more mature, much better at table waiting, chain smoking peers. But I got through it.

I was there about 2 years before I moved on. There was a moment of sadness as I handed over the paper sack that held my treasured uniform. But the memories and lesson learned were mine to keep.