I got my first job at 15 working in an ice cream/burger shop. After the first few weeks, the manager who hired me left. Her replacement did not understand why anyone would hire a 15 year old, and thus relegated me to emptying garbage cans and grease traps, restocking the deep freeze, and sweeping the parking lot.
My nemesis at this job was a woman named Severa (pronounced severe-uh). Severa did nothing but work the ice-cream counter and the register. Never in my days there did I see her do anything else. Severa was in her late 50′s, weighed about 250lbs, had a thick accent, and was blessed with a shrill, rattling voice. Though I worked every weekend, and had been given a name tag, she always referred to me as, “hey kid”. We did not get along.
I arrived at work on a particularly hot Saturday afternoon, some 8 months into the job. I came in the back door, finding the stock room chock full of foul, leaking garbage. It had clearly been left over from the night before, plus it appeared that not a bit of garbage collection or cleaning had been done during the AM. Severa waddled into the room as I was taking it all in and started with, “Hey kid – you have to take this out and bleach the room – then you do the front garbage..”
I know she went on further, but I don’t remember what she said. I looked at her and, screamed, “I quit”, walking out the back door. I kept walking all the way home. I think I had just taken off my name tag when I heard the back door open, and then turned to see my Mom come in. She stopped, confused.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”, she said.
“I quit”, I responded, looking for sympathy.
“Nuh uh…”
Now, I was 15, and already the better part of 6 feet tall. I was quite surprised at how well my mother was able to grab me by the wrist and pull me off balance. She more or less dragged me to her car, threw me in and slammed the door closed. She came around, pissed, but also close to tears – rarely had I ever seen her so angry at me.
“You can put in your two weeks notice if you want, but you finish what you started. You don’t just quit – ever!”
So Mom silently, shamefully drove me back to the ice cream/burger shop. I walked through the front door, apologized for walking out, turned in my notice, and started cleaning.
Oh, and I seem to have this work ethic thing that I can’t shake for the life of me.
Happy Mother’s Day Mom. I love you.
