The First Time I Got Fired From A Job- Or Did I?

As the ambiguous title indicates, there is something to be said for the first time one is let go from a job.  There's no mistaking that "who me?" moment of shame and confusion.  My first time was no exception, so I'll tell you how it happened for your edification and amusement.

After moving to downtown Saegertown (only two houses away from the traffic light!) Mom made it clear that I was old enough to get a job.  I cannot recall who asked, whether she or I did, but my old pal Jim decided to take me on to help a friend of his who was working at the Shop.  At this point I better explain that everyone who knew Jim and his brother called their business "the Shop".  It was, in theory, a welding shop/wrecker service.  Over the years it had branched out into tree-cutting, house moving and industrial odd-job functions.  Above all that it was a boy's dream job- to get dirty every day in a unique way.  More on my experiences with Jim and the Shop in later stories.

Jim's pal was a carpenter whose wife of 17 years had decided to leave him and her two children due to religious differences.  As I agreed that this was a downright nasty thing to do, especially in relation to the "Golden Rule" she professed to honor, I was happy to be of some service to this man.  Accordingly I showed up to work on Monday morning to learn what I could and to do as I was told.  This fellow, who for the sake of this story I shall name John, was rather quiet, never giving more than short orders and expecting you to know how to carry them out with efficiency.  I confess what I took to be simple work involved more skill than I possessed.

The job was to remodel a metal building the Shop had bought into administration offices and sundry storage.  John was framing the interior walls and the crew were staining wood for the office walls.  I had painted before, but staining is slightly different.  Frankly, Jim could have hired vandals that could do a better job than I did.  John saw my difficulty and explained as well as he could how I was going wrong.  However, at 16, I wasn't able to focus to my task long enough without daydreaming.  After a morning in the summer sun I was both tanned and stained from the work- which is more than I could say from the pieces I'd completed.  Finally around noon John called lunch break and asked who of us wanted to ride in his pickup truck to town to get sandwiches at the deli.  I was the only holdout.

Now, of course I would've liked to have gone- eating was a teenage passion with skinny me.  Unfortunately our family was poor and on food stamps, so the only food I could eat was at the apartment.  So I started to walk home as soon as they left.  I'd gotten about two miles when I met their truck returning to the Shop.  John leaned out the window to ask where I was going, so I told him 'home for lunch.'  Then, in front of my friends and the crew, he told me not to bother coming back as he couldn't have a worker who walked off the job like I had done.

In hindsight I see that I should've asked John if he'd mind dropping me by my house to run up for food while they went to the deli.  It was on the way in both directions and I feel sure he would've gladly done it.  Alternatively, if I had given it some thought, I could've packed a lunch.  The reality is that up to that point in my life I had always had jobs where the employer fed his workers.  The farm, the circus, what have you... when you were there you got fed.  So anyway, my first "real" job and I got fired in half a day.

I'm not ashamed to admit I cried when the truck pulled down the road.  I hesitated to walk further, but finally settled down and made my way to the apartment.  I told Mom what happened and she asked the neighbor to use her phone to call Jim and explain my story.  A short while later Jim kindly came by and picked me up to go back to the Shop to work for him directly.  He explained that John was a demanding taskmaster, which is what he needed to be as a businessman, but that he didn't really have the authority to fire me as the both of us worked for Jim.  (As an adult I believe this was a specious argument meant to assuage my hurt feelings.)  In any event, I was sorta fired that day.

Now the lessons in this tale are manifold, but I've taken at least two to heart all my life:

1. Never work for a carpenter.  Jesus also left that type of employment- and I would never say my temperament is as congenial as was his.
2. Always rub the handle of the tool you are about to use between the palms of your hands.  You do this to "get the feel" for the instrument, thus making it an extension of you.  I especially recommend this for your razor, and that is what I do when I shave in the shower.  My eyes may be closed but the razor and I are as one.