“You could have an actual mental breakdown at your desk, and you’d be lucky if one of your coworkers didn’t use the time to poach your sack lunch from the communal refrigerator.” SO TRUE!!!
I’m a baby Gen Xer but there are days that I feel like a “get off my lawn boomer” when I hear about safe spaces and “love and logic parenting”.
Pass me the water hose, I’m thirsty. 😜
Hope you have a great week and I’m glad you repost stuff. I love starting my day with your wisdom and humor.😘
I'm reminded of an old Dilbert comic where He is showing the wide-eyed innocent intern Ashok the break room and refrigerator. The pointy-haired boss happens to strut by at that moment and says, pointing to the fridge, 'That's the best place to get lunch!'
I worked at a bridal shop. For context, the owner had gone thru over a hundred employees in 8 years and there were only 3 employees working at a time. She was such a witch that customers sometimes asked me how I could work for her. I was always soothing their feelings after one of her fittings with brides. Naturally I found a different job and gave her 3 weeks notice so she could find another victim. One day I walked into work to hear her screaming and slamming things around and then glaring at me. Having no idea what was wrong I tried to ignore her and just get to work but she kept screaming orders to do this or that. I stood there weighing her abuse against the little vacation I could have before starting my new job and decided Eff It I'm out of here so I walked out to my car and drove home. Later her ex-husband/accountant called me to come pick up my check and told me about the over a hundred employees that had quit previously so he didn't have to ask why. Then a co-worker told me they found out I quit when the phone rang and it just kept ringing with no answer. They said she threw a conniption fit screaming and cursing all over the shop. All my friends thought the way I quit was hysterically funny and said she would never forget me. I used to drive by the shop and laugh to myself thinking about it. No quiet cracking here, just Eff it I'm gone.
I walked out like this from an office job once. The job hunting agent that referred me there warned me in advance, but for a couple of months it didn't look so bad, I grew up in a household that included unpredictable screaming. I almost started to think that I had the crazy w(b)itch handled and why was everyone before me such a sissy... until I didn't. Came the day when she threw a fit that was unheard of in adults back in those days (early 00's). I watched her, listened, then when she was catching her breath, I said: Right, thank you for your feedback. Took my bag and left. Called the agent, told her she's back on the hook, she was not surprised 😆
😂 It's weird that some people will act like that in public! I had no idea that anyone would do that till I met that witch. I doubt anyone would ever hire her for any job, but she owned the shop.
It's people like that, that when you encounter them, you know in an instant that they've never been slapped in their mouth... I applaud your restraint!
“Now that those kids are grown, they’re realizing the workplace doesn’t hand out ribbons for doing the job you were hired to do” Is this where tipping for EVERY LITTLE THING comes from? Is it like a participation trophy?
Don’t get me started on gentle parenting. We’ve got one kid in church who obvi never hears the word no, ever. EVER. He’s always like a whirling dervish and the mom just follows him around doing nothing while he wreaks havoc.
Well, gen X here, unless being born behind the Iron Curtain disqualifies me. First summer job at 14, washing dishes in a hotel restaurant, combined with cleaning the rooms. Tell me about "encouragements" by the photocopier, imagine being bent over the sink when those encouragements arrive. Shitty times from that point of view. Though, it gave me a chance to speak to guests now and then and practice the foreign language I'm writing in now, silver lining. Next job was in a book store. Boss there was an ass-slapper too. Eventually got that under control when I looked him square in the eye and told him I'll tell his wife next time I see her 😃 Good job, 16 year old me! Lasted there another two years, he never came close to me again.
I was a “hot walker” at a race track. After the race horses did their daily training, I walked horses to cool them down. $1 per horse. Worse job I ever had, 1971, between high school and college. They treated us like dirt, but the horses were treated like royalty. It was the only job available at the time, but you do what you have to do sometimes as I had to put myself through college. I had too many crappy jobs back then.
Imagine making Cole slaw in the plastic trash Can by hand at the double t diner in Baltimore. Mixed with a shovel. Yep. It got rinsed and washed every night, but…ya gotta do what ya gotta do.
Slightly older Boomer here. 1st real job was washing dishes for a caterer at $1.65 per hour. Had to scrape off 300 plates of rubber chicken remnants, congealed mashed potatoes (instant of course), all cemented to the plate with mystery brown gravy, spray the plate with lukewarm water and then load the dishwasher (50 plates at a time) for a 10 minute wash. After 18 months of employment I raged quit by telling my manager I was getting dishpan hands.
My first job at age 15 was dish washing at a nursing home. Never made it to the promotion of plating food. 😅
But it was a good life lesson in endurance (cleaning off absolutely disgusting pre-mashed everything that looked & smelled like snot) and compassion (I will NEVER send my parents to a nursing home, it’s so miserable there).
And I discovered that working with elderly people is a very specific ministry that you have to be called to do. It’s not my personal gift. But several of my coworkers had a desire to become caretakers - and dish washing was a foot in the door for them.
Old Boomer here. Worked at the hospital kitchen doing the scraping, etc and load the dishwasher. 85 cents an hour. I was only 16 though. We got to eat the food which then was pretty good. We also took the hot carts up and distributed the trays to patients. Nobody ever told us to wash our hands but the HOT dish removal probably took care of it all.
Had a job in my early 20’s working for an orthodontist. Was assisting the doc who was taking impressions on a young boy who had just eaten a big blueberry pancake breakfast. If you’ve ever had impressions taken, they make most people gag. And then you know what can happen after that. And when it happened, I almost lost my breakfast as well. Ah. Fun times. 🤮🤮🤮
WOW! You started out at $3.35/hour. I started out at $1.00/hr and was operating hot lead metal machines to do typesetting in a printing shop! You got to swish your arms in a watery mixture of food. I got burns from hot metal and cuts from scrapes of lead!
Everybody's "first job" is unique. Bottom line is that we survived them. Got back on our feet. Found other jobs we really like. (You like your job now, right? It gives you satisfaction, good pay, good recognition, low stress, and you can get root canal so you can go back to work the next day!)
Then reality sets in after a few years (or decades in my case. I'm a slow learner). We finally figure it out that when we get paid for hours that we work we will NOT get RICH! Now, we live in quiet desperation hoping our kids will keep us off the street, fed, and drive us to our weekly bingo game at the Sr. Center.
See, this (life) isn't so bad after all. We just had to hurdle over that first job!
Have a relaxing time. See you on Monday, but remember, it's Memorial Day! A national holiday.
"Bottom line is that we survived them. Got back on our feet."
This one not so much:
"Found other jobs we really like."
Some of us just never found our way. In my case (and I can't be alone), I finally found something I could survive, if not thrive. I looked at my job as "eating a steaming bowl of manure five days a week" so my family could thrive instead. As long as they were happy, I didn't want to "risk" looking for other employment which might destabilize things. (I told myself a lot of all kinds of crazy stuff to reinforce my conclusions. Still do I guess. The biggest deception was that I could never have found a combination of doing something I loved that paid as well or more. Happy as they were, my family would have been happier if I were happier, and more money would've naturally meant more to share. In my defense, the job I held took 9 months to find at the cost of sending out 300+ applications. I came out of that exhausted and convinced I was "hard to place.")
I hear you! Most of us take "survival jobs" to support our families. And we try to make sure our families are "happy." And you're right, I also could "never have found a combination of doing something I loved that paid as well or more." But we do what we can do. Happiness should depend on them, not us.
BTW, 9 months and 300+ applications to find a job is not unusual. I am a project manager (as a federal government contractor) and every few months to 3-5 years I'm looking for another "engagement." So during my intervals of finding employment I call myself a "Job Acquisition Specialist." That's right! I have one client: ME!
David, wish-wish-wish I'd could've known you "at the right time." I could've used the encouraging information--and example. It's not like I didn't know what to do, I had found what I still consider to be the finest job-search handbook ever written; if anyone is looking, rush out and get 𝗜𝗻𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝗧𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: 𝗔 𝗦𝘂𝗰𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝗝𝗼𝗯 𝗦𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗰𝗵 𝗠𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗱, by Wm. Lareau, pub. 1985. (Later editions are renamed the "Where Am I now Where Am I Going Job-search Handbook" and feel "padded." The original is very down-to-earth/get-it-done.)
It starts off with "So, you're out of a job and you're thinking 'Now's the time for me to finally hunt down that job in the field I've always dreamed about.' 𝗪𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗚! The time for finding THAT job is when you're eating regularly and have a stable roof over your head--NOT when you're UNEMPLOYED! So. Put THAT out of your head and pay attention to this Systematic Method I'm going to show you for finding your next job--IN THE SAME FIELD BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT FITS YOUR RESUME' AT THE MOMENT. (When you land THAT job, THEN you can start PREPARING and then looking for your dream job.) Got it? Good. Let's go."
The fact that I know how many applications I sent out comes from following Lareau's method; before that, my "approach" was randomness itself. Lareau focuses your attention on, well, the fact that you are focusing. "If no new job ever comes," he might say, "the sheer size of the documentation is proof enough that YOU are putting out the necessary effort."
"I am out the rest of the week so I’m recycling a few older posts I hoped you might enjoy." are among the saddest words I know... ...right down there with "I already told you there is no more ice cream." <littlefrownyboy>
Ages 17, the late 60s, first job. Telephone Company sales remittance office. Boss seated at back of room watching 10 of us, lined up, seated at desks. Rip open the phone payment envelope, place the IBM punch card on the right, the check paying the bill on the left. Repeat. If you had to take a bathroom break, you got up and asked the boss lady in the back for permission. I got permission. Grabbed what I needed from my purse concealed in my hand. Bit of a snafu in the bathroom. Went back to my desk to fish another item out of my purse and started to return to the bathroom. "Where are you going?" "To the bathroom." "Why? You were just there. Sit down." "I can't yet." "Why not?" "Because the tampon went into the toilet instead of me on the first try."
I think I told my story before, but hey! Jenna's recycling. In fact, no doubt recycled columns will trigger the same memories to cause me to rehash old comments. Maybe the introduction which mentions "recycled" posts could contain an "un-trigger."
My brother who has always been more ambitious than me got us our first jobs. He went first and when he was ready to quit to go back to boarding high school he told the manager about me so I started a few days before he left and continued into the fall. I thought I had a handle on things--and I sure don't remember any of this so maybe I didn't tell it already--but then I worked an evening when there was a "real" rush and things went pear-shaped.
I worked in the dishwasher room which was staffed, entirely, by middle-aged Mexican immigrants whose status I did not think to inquire. They took to me immediately even though I spoke no Mexican other than "Si'" (I did not even know the word for 'No.') They recognized the scared-rabbit look on my extra-pale face with extra-thick eyeglasses and apparently decided collectively to ease my "transition into the workforce," as it's wryly called. "They" dressed casually, never expected by management to be seen by the public. "I" otoh had a uniform, supplied by myself, of white short-sleeve shirt and black pants and--after the first night--tennis shoes that didn't mind being soaking wet all night... As such, dressed as I was, I was the natural liaison between "dish room" and "serving line" which the public frequented in abundance. Never, however, until that night had I suspected the public could be so abund! The evening started with me at a dead run and continued full-throttle. The full extent of the dishwasher--an Impressive amalgamation of parts: washers, conveyors, dryers, racks and more racks, all centered around an Enormous Watery Black Hole of a garbage disposal--was glimpsed only through clouds of steam, steam, everywhere because closing and opening the doors took too much time so it ran wide open.
Dead run meant resupplying the plates, bowls, utensils, cups, saucers, drinking glasses, and all the rest as fast as humanly possible plus some that isn't even. The assistant manager, who had already made it clear that if I couldn't get the job done he would kill me and roll the cart over my carcass as soon as he could find a minute to sign up someone else from the longgg line of applicants stretching from my hometown all the way to Lubbock just dying to enjoy his attentions, (hehhhhhh, sorry, have to stop to take a deep breath) had issued continual reminders that I was, simply put, not nearly fast enough to be working in the non-fast-food cafeteria industry. He kept popping his head--which had become quite an ugly thing to all the occupants of the dish room--through the swinging door to yell, "PLATES!" or "FORKS!" or equally ridiculous things as "NOTHING!" was coming out of the d.w. nearly fast enough to suit the hangry public. Each time, I was fully prepared to respond with delivery of such things as requested WHEN-and-IF I, finally, had any to deliver.
He "quietly cracked" when he'd requested "PLATES!" for a third time, and I'd acknowledged it, but ONLY HAD THREE that had come out of the dishwasher! When he saw those, he decided that was the appropriate time to show the Mexicans what they could expect if they didn't learn English quick so they could JUMP whenever they recognized he's requested "JUMP!" He gave me a Compleat ream job in front of them, explaining how worthless I was, and warning me again, that my incompetence was making it increasingly necessary for him to consider shooting and replacing me. When it was over--which felt like some days' later--I was humiliated. I wanted to go home. I didn't think I could. I wanted to cry. One of the Mexicans with none of whom I'd ever tried to have a conversation touched my arm. When I looked up from the floor which is the only place I wanted to look, he was grinning, and holding a drinking glass in his other hand. As I watched, he looked at me and then the glass, and then just dropped the glass into the Gaping Maw of the Watery Black Hole to the sound of what must be the Grinding of Teeth in Hell. I looked around. Everyone was grinning. When I looked back, he was gesturing for me to take the second glass from his hand and "go me and do likewise." I did. An enormous weight lifted. And a big grin came over my face too.
And I learned the First Law of the Management: "You may THINK you are punishing labor, but you WILL PAY for that thought."
Thereafter, all night long and indeed throughout the rest of my career, when managers *ss-h*tted, gl*sses disappeared.
That cafeteria disappeared decades upon decades ago. No doubt it has been replaced. I haven't been back, although I pine to see the old town again, but I presume the building has been replaced. I expect the excavators found a pyramid of ground glass in the sewer marking the spot just underneath the Great Dispos*All: our monument. Already years ago I recognized that those older Mexicans whom I worked alongside were some of the best friends I would ever have. Like fathers they were to me. Thinking about them now, in the context of taking a job you can survive in, compared to one where you'll thrive, I am grateful they were THERE, where I was and blessed me. I went on to go to college and get, by far, too many degrees, but I learned a good first lesson about the human spirit from them, long before college. I hope God blessed them in return. And I hope the assistant manager reformed his approach over his career, before "shuffling off this mortal coil."
(You'd think I'd remember telling a story this grandiose wouldn't you? Well, I know enough to say that I have proof I've forgotten bigger stuff than this already... So, sorry if I already told it. Hope it was better this time around.)
“You could have an actual mental breakdown at your desk, and you’d be lucky if one of your coworkers didn’t use the time to poach your sack lunch from the communal refrigerator.” SO TRUE!!!
I’m a baby Gen Xer but there are days that I feel like a “get off my lawn boomer” when I hear about safe spaces and “love and logic parenting”.
Pass me the water hose, I’m thirsty. 😜
Hope you have a great week and I’m glad you repost stuff. I love starting my day with your wisdom and humor.😘
Love ya bad ass! 🤬🍑😘❤️
I'm reminded of an old Dilbert comic where He is showing the wide-eyed innocent intern Ashok the break room and refrigerator. The pointy-haired boss happens to strut by at that moment and says, pointing to the fridge, 'That's the best place to get lunch!'
Dilbert was and still is the BEST!!!
Office dynamics will ALWAYS be a good source of humor to draw from!
Haha, Ginny, that makes you an “old soul”. Welcome, honorary boomer!
I worked at a bridal shop. For context, the owner had gone thru over a hundred employees in 8 years and there were only 3 employees working at a time. She was such a witch that customers sometimes asked me how I could work for her. I was always soothing their feelings after one of her fittings with brides. Naturally I found a different job and gave her 3 weeks notice so she could find another victim. One day I walked into work to hear her screaming and slamming things around and then glaring at me. Having no idea what was wrong I tried to ignore her and just get to work but she kept screaming orders to do this or that. I stood there weighing her abuse against the little vacation I could have before starting my new job and decided Eff It I'm out of here so I walked out to my car and drove home. Later her ex-husband/accountant called me to come pick up my check and told me about the over a hundred employees that had quit previously so he didn't have to ask why. Then a co-worker told me they found out I quit when the phone rang and it just kept ringing with no answer. They said she threw a conniption fit screaming and cursing all over the shop. All my friends thought the way I quit was hysterically funny and said she would never forget me. I used to drive by the shop and laugh to myself thinking about it. No quiet cracking here, just Eff it I'm gone.
I walked out like this from an office job once. The job hunting agent that referred me there warned me in advance, but for a couple of months it didn't look so bad, I grew up in a household that included unpredictable screaming. I almost started to think that I had the crazy w(b)itch handled and why was everyone before me such a sissy... until I didn't. Came the day when she threw a fit that was unheard of in adults back in those days (early 00's). I watched her, listened, then when she was catching her breath, I said: Right, thank you for your feedback. Took my bag and left. Called the agent, told her she's back on the hook, she was not surprised 😆
😂 It's weird that some people will act like that in public! I had no idea that anyone would do that till I met that witch. I doubt anyone would ever hire her for any job, but she owned the shop.
It's people like that, that when you encounter them, you know in an instant that they've never been slapped in their mouth... I applaud your restraint!
And I thought Bridezillas were the customers!
“Now that those kids are grown, they’re realizing the workplace doesn’t hand out ribbons for doing the job you were hired to do” Is this where tipping for EVERY LITTLE THING comes from? Is it like a participation trophy?
Don’t get me started on gentle parenting. We’ve got one kid in church who obvi never hears the word no, ever. EVER. He’s always like a whirling dervish and the mom just follows him around doing nothing while he wreaks havoc.
Can we please bring back the phrase “suck it up, buttercup”?
I'll go one further. We need to make "Shut up, idiot" great again.
Well, gen X here, unless being born behind the Iron Curtain disqualifies me. First summer job at 14, washing dishes in a hotel restaurant, combined with cleaning the rooms. Tell me about "encouragements" by the photocopier, imagine being bent over the sink when those encouragements arrive. Shitty times from that point of view. Though, it gave me a chance to speak to guests now and then and practice the foreign language I'm writing in now, silver lining. Next job was in a book store. Boss there was an ass-slapper too. Eventually got that under control when I looked him square in the eye and told him I'll tell his wife next time I see her 😃 Good job, 16 year old me! Lasted there another two years, he never came close to me again.
I was a “hot walker” at a race track. After the race horses did their daily training, I walked horses to cool them down. $1 per horse. Worse job I ever had, 1971, between high school and college. They treated us like dirt, but the horses were treated like royalty. It was the only job available at the time, but you do what you have to do sometimes as I had to put myself through college. I had too many crappy jobs back then.
New salad idea:
Get rid of most of what makes salad boring (you know, the veggies), but keep the parts that make it good.
Start with a base of croutons
Add a generous spread of ranch dressing
Top with a shredded cheese blend
Maybe add some bacon bits
And then just to make it a teensy bit healthier, add back some chopped green pepper and mushrooms on top, maybe even some diced onion.
Congrats. You just made the equivalent of a ranch pizza. Now just quit faking being healthy and order the pizza next time.
🤣
My husband makes those for lunch, but he’s certain to make sure there is adequate protein.
My suggestion? Add a bit of pepperoni slices and sausage crumbles. 😁
Oh yea, those are part of the repertoire.
I would eat that. Except for the croutons. Eww.
Imagine making Cole slaw in the plastic trash Can by hand at the double t diner in Baltimore. Mixed with a shovel. Yep. It got rinsed and washed every night, but…ya gotta do what ya gotta do.
Slightly older Boomer here. 1st real job was washing dishes for a caterer at $1.65 per hour. Had to scrape off 300 plates of rubber chicken remnants, congealed mashed potatoes (instant of course), all cemented to the plate with mystery brown gravy, spray the plate with lukewarm water and then load the dishwasher (50 plates at a time) for a 10 minute wash. After 18 months of employment I raged quit by telling my manager I was getting dishpan hands.
My first job at age 15 was dish washing at a nursing home. Never made it to the promotion of plating food. 😅
But it was a good life lesson in endurance (cleaning off absolutely disgusting pre-mashed everything that looked & smelled like snot) and compassion (I will NEVER send my parents to a nursing home, it’s so miserable there).
And I discovered that working with elderly people is a very specific ministry that you have to be called to do. It’s not my personal gift. But several of my coworkers had a desire to become caretakers - and dish washing was a foot in the door for them.
God bless nurses for the elderly!
- Ryan’s Wife
Old Boomer here. Worked at the hospital kitchen doing the scraping, etc and load the dishwasher. 85 cents an hour. I was only 16 though. We got to eat the food which then was pretty good. We also took the hot carts up and distributed the trays to patients. Nobody ever told us to wash our hands but the HOT dish removal probably took care of it all.
🤣🤣 Reads like my duty working in the scullery of a troop ship during a pacific cruise.
Had a job in my early 20’s working for an orthodontist. Was assisting the doc who was taking impressions on a young boy who had just eaten a big blueberry pancake breakfast. If you’ve ever had impressions taken, they make most people gag. And then you know what can happen after that. And when it happened, I almost lost my breakfast as well. Ah. Fun times. 🤮🤮🤮
Safe Travels 🤗💞🌞🙏
WOW! You started out at $3.35/hour. I started out at $1.00/hr and was operating hot lead metal machines to do typesetting in a printing shop! You got to swish your arms in a watery mixture of food. I got burns from hot metal and cuts from scrapes of lead!
Everybody's "first job" is unique. Bottom line is that we survived them. Got back on our feet. Found other jobs we really like. (You like your job now, right? It gives you satisfaction, good pay, good recognition, low stress, and you can get root canal so you can go back to work the next day!)
Then reality sets in after a few years (or decades in my case. I'm a slow learner). We finally figure it out that when we get paid for hours that we work we will NOT get RICH! Now, we live in quiet desperation hoping our kids will keep us off the street, fed, and drive us to our weekly bingo game at the Sr. Center.
See, this (life) isn't so bad after all. We just had to hurdle over that first job!
Have a relaxing time. See you on Monday, but remember, it's Memorial Day! A national holiday.
David, this bears repeating:
"Bottom line is that we survived them. Got back on our feet."
This one not so much:
"Found other jobs we really like."
Some of us just never found our way. In my case (and I can't be alone), I finally found something I could survive, if not thrive. I looked at my job as "eating a steaming bowl of manure five days a week" so my family could thrive instead. As long as they were happy, I didn't want to "risk" looking for other employment which might destabilize things. (I told myself a lot of all kinds of crazy stuff to reinforce my conclusions. Still do I guess. The biggest deception was that I could never have found a combination of doing something I loved that paid as well or more. Happy as they were, my family would have been happier if I were happier, and more money would've naturally meant more to share. In my defense, the job I held took 9 months to find at the cost of sending out 300+ applications. I came out of that exhausted and convinced I was "hard to place.")
I hear you! Most of us take "survival jobs" to support our families. And we try to make sure our families are "happy." And you're right, I also could "never have found a combination of doing something I loved that paid as well or more." But we do what we can do. Happiness should depend on them, not us.
BTW, 9 months and 300+ applications to find a job is not unusual. I am a project manager (as a federal government contractor) and every few months to 3-5 years I'm looking for another "engagement." So during my intervals of finding employment I call myself a "Job Acquisition Specialist." That's right! I have one client: ME!
David, wish-wish-wish I'd could've known you "at the right time." I could've used the encouraging information--and example. It's not like I didn't know what to do, I had found what I still consider to be the finest job-search handbook ever written; if anyone is looking, rush out and get 𝗜𝗻𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝗧𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: 𝗔 𝗦𝘂𝗰𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝗝𝗼𝗯 𝗦𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗰𝗵 𝗠𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗱, by Wm. Lareau, pub. 1985. (Later editions are renamed the "Where Am I now Where Am I Going Job-search Handbook" and feel "padded." The original is very down-to-earth/get-it-done.)
It starts off with "So, you're out of a job and you're thinking 'Now's the time for me to finally hunt down that job in the field I've always dreamed about.' 𝗪𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗚! The time for finding THAT job is when you're eating regularly and have a stable roof over your head--NOT when you're UNEMPLOYED! So. Put THAT out of your head and pay attention to this Systematic Method I'm going to show you for finding your next job--IN THE SAME FIELD BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT FITS YOUR RESUME' AT THE MOMENT. (When you land THAT job, THEN you can start PREPARING and then looking for your dream job.) Got it? Good. Let's go."
The fact that I know how many applications I sent out comes from following Lareau's method; before that, my "approach" was randomness itself. Lareau focuses your attention on, well, the fact that you are focusing. "If no new job ever comes," he might say, "the sheer size of the documentation is proof enough that YOU are putting out the necessary effort."
"I am out the rest of the week so I’m recycling a few older posts I hoped you might enjoy." are among the saddest words I know... ...right down there with "I already told you there is no more ice cream." <littlefrownyboy>
David?... Are you Quiet Cracking??? ;)
Just goof'n with you , brother... :)
Ages 17, the late 60s, first job. Telephone Company sales remittance office. Boss seated at back of room watching 10 of us, lined up, seated at desks. Rip open the phone payment envelope, place the IBM punch card on the right, the check paying the bill on the left. Repeat. If you had to take a bathroom break, you got up and asked the boss lady in the back for permission. I got permission. Grabbed what I needed from my purse concealed in my hand. Bit of a snafu in the bathroom. Went back to my desk to fish another item out of my purse and started to return to the bathroom. "Where are you going?" "To the bathroom." "Why? You were just there. Sit down." "I can't yet." "Why not?" "Because the tampon went into the toilet instead of me on the first try."
Enjoy the break! We can handle a little recycling (something apparently South Dakota can't handle).
[Edited: to make it even longgger.]
I think I told my story before, but hey! Jenna's recycling. In fact, no doubt recycled columns will trigger the same memories to cause me to rehash old comments. Maybe the introduction which mentions "recycled" posts could contain an "un-trigger."
My brother who has always been more ambitious than me got us our first jobs. He went first and when he was ready to quit to go back to boarding high school he told the manager about me so I started a few days before he left and continued into the fall. I thought I had a handle on things--and I sure don't remember any of this so maybe I didn't tell it already--but then I worked an evening when there was a "real" rush and things went pear-shaped.
I worked in the dishwasher room which was staffed, entirely, by middle-aged Mexican immigrants whose status I did not think to inquire. They took to me immediately even though I spoke no Mexican other than "Si'" (I did not even know the word for 'No.') They recognized the scared-rabbit look on my extra-pale face with extra-thick eyeglasses and apparently decided collectively to ease my "transition into the workforce," as it's wryly called. "They" dressed casually, never expected by management to be seen by the public. "I" otoh had a uniform, supplied by myself, of white short-sleeve shirt and black pants and--after the first night--tennis shoes that didn't mind being soaking wet all night... As such, dressed as I was, I was the natural liaison between "dish room" and "serving line" which the public frequented in abundance. Never, however, until that night had I suspected the public could be so abund! The evening started with me at a dead run and continued full-throttle. The full extent of the dishwasher--an Impressive amalgamation of parts: washers, conveyors, dryers, racks and more racks, all centered around an Enormous Watery Black Hole of a garbage disposal--was glimpsed only through clouds of steam, steam, everywhere because closing and opening the doors took too much time so it ran wide open.
Dead run meant resupplying the plates, bowls, utensils, cups, saucers, drinking glasses, and all the rest as fast as humanly possible plus some that isn't even. The assistant manager, who had already made it clear that if I couldn't get the job done he would kill me and roll the cart over my carcass as soon as he could find a minute to sign up someone else from the longgg line of applicants stretching from my hometown all the way to Lubbock just dying to enjoy his attentions, (hehhhhhh, sorry, have to stop to take a deep breath) had issued continual reminders that I was, simply put, not nearly fast enough to be working in the non-fast-food cafeteria industry. He kept popping his head--which had become quite an ugly thing to all the occupants of the dish room--through the swinging door to yell, "PLATES!" or "FORKS!" or equally ridiculous things as "NOTHING!" was coming out of the d.w. nearly fast enough to suit the hangry public. Each time, I was fully prepared to respond with delivery of such things as requested WHEN-and-IF I, finally, had any to deliver.
He "quietly cracked" when he'd requested "PLATES!" for a third time, and I'd acknowledged it, but ONLY HAD THREE that had come out of the dishwasher! When he saw those, he decided that was the appropriate time to show the Mexicans what they could expect if they didn't learn English quick so they could JUMP whenever they recognized he's requested "JUMP!" He gave me a Compleat ream job in front of them, explaining how worthless I was, and warning me again, that my incompetence was making it increasingly necessary for him to consider shooting and replacing me. When it was over--which felt like some days' later--I was humiliated. I wanted to go home. I didn't think I could. I wanted to cry. One of the Mexicans with none of whom I'd ever tried to have a conversation touched my arm. When I looked up from the floor which is the only place I wanted to look, he was grinning, and holding a drinking glass in his other hand. As I watched, he looked at me and then the glass, and then just dropped the glass into the Gaping Maw of the Watery Black Hole to the sound of what must be the Grinding of Teeth in Hell. I looked around. Everyone was grinning. When I looked back, he was gesturing for me to take the second glass from his hand and "go me and do likewise." I did. An enormous weight lifted. And a big grin came over my face too.
And I learned the First Law of the Management: "You may THINK you are punishing labor, but you WILL PAY for that thought."
Thereafter, all night long and indeed throughout the rest of my career, when managers *ss-h*tted, gl*sses disappeared.
That cafeteria disappeared decades upon decades ago. No doubt it has been replaced. I haven't been back, although I pine to see the old town again, but I presume the building has been replaced. I expect the excavators found a pyramid of ground glass in the sewer marking the spot just underneath the Great Dispos*All: our monument. Already years ago I recognized that those older Mexicans whom I worked alongside were some of the best friends I would ever have. Like fathers they were to me. Thinking about them now, in the context of taking a job you can survive in, compared to one where you'll thrive, I am grateful they were THERE, where I was and blessed me. I went on to go to college and get, by far, too many degrees, but I learned a good first lesson about the human spirit from them, long before college. I hope God blessed them in return. And I hope the assistant manager reformed his approach over his career, before "shuffling off this mortal coil."
(You'd think I'd remember telling a story this grandiose wouldn't you? Well, I know enough to say that I have proof I've forgotten bigger stuff than this already... So, sorry if I already told it. Hope it was better this time around.)