When I was down and out
Several years ago, after I was let go from a good career-level job, I fooled myself into thinking my downward spiral was a conscious choice, that I was just willingly taking it easy for the better part of a year before picking up and carrying on. I was unemployed for a long time.
This morning, as I was washing the dishes before heading to work, I thought about the holiday cards Liz and I were filling out last night, and thought to myself that I'd really like to send one to some people who helped me open my eyes and reach for the stick so I could pull out of the nose-dive.
The story is this: after spending the better part of a year unemployed, I finally woke up and started looking around for a job. Eventually, I saw a little shop on The Commons in Ithaca, a place that just opened. They had big chrome wheels and a few car-related trinkets in the windows. The sort of place that kinda turns my stomach, but I needed a job, and I know cars. I walked in and asked the dude if he was hiring, and after a bit of awkward conversation, he said to bring in a résumé. I brought one the next day, and he said he'd hire me for minimum wage. Said a lot of things about growth potential, he seemed to be an ambitious young businessman, and although he kinda struck me as more than a little thuggish, I figured hey...it's a job.
My first day on the job, I showed up to the crummy narrow storefront, walked in and introduced myself to Eric's pregnant wife. She seemed to be caught in a world out of her control, and was basically hoping her man would find some kind of money pot to take care of things for her. Nice enough girl, but they both just seemed like they were grasping at straws.
Anyway, first day on the job. One stool behind the counter, which I obviously made sure was available for Eric's wife. But she needed a real chair. So did I. Eight hours on the job with no real product to fluff, and no customers coming in. After nearly a year unemployed. I went home with a very hurt back. I know, I deserve no pity. But, to illustrate how not-right the whole situation felt, Eric kept his pitbulls locked up in the back room of the shop, and the place smelled of dog piss. The dogs barked and howled constantly, and all Eric did in response was to shout back to them to shut up. Which never worked, of course.
Second day on the job, Eric asked me to help him replace the thermostat on his Mazda 929. I went and looked at his thermostat housing, held the new thermostat up next to it, and it's twice the size. I went back into the store and told him either that's not where the t-stat goes, or he's got the wrong part. He laid into me, said I don't know what I'm doing, I defended myself, and a half hour later when I showed him, he saw.
I ended up working for him for exactly one week. On the final day, I posted this to VW Vortex:
Final Chapter
Yeah, I'm done. No more Jim at that job. I'd rather bag groceries at the local supermarket than work for that bag of shit for one minute longer.
We go to Autozone to pick up some items to sell at his store (yeah, I know), and he's telling me why he hates VWs and all German cars: "because those fuckers built Hitler's parade cars" (btw, he's jewish...and from what I can tell, not a practicing, worshipping jew). So while I'm trying to bite my tongue, he continues pushing obvious buttons. I ask him why he hates Mercedes if Volkswagen built Hitler's parade cars. He says Mercedes built all Hitler's other cars. OK, so I ask how many car manufacturers there were in Germany at this point. He answers two (which I don't know is true or false, but I accept it anyway). I ask "ok, so if VW and Merc refuse to built Der Führer's car, then how many people die until they change their minds?" He says "oh, so it's a debate now, I see how it is" and he's kinda good-natured about it, and changes the subject since he knows I'm not likely to demurr every time he asks a question. Anyway...
We went over to his "new location," which is an abandoned, derelict former Jiffy Lube, to scope it out. We run into a friend of his there, who will be cleaning up the landscaping (if you can call it that), and they start talking about the installation of the lifts, and the "big-ass heater" he says he's getting. The friend says "man, that thing's heavy, how we gonna get it down into the pit?" The boss says "we'll get some shvatzes to do it." Yes, that's right folks. He's not only a douchebag, but a racist to boot.
My facial expression must have given away a fraction of my revulsion, because he asked "WHAT?" I said "nothing." He said "what, come on, what, did I offend you?" I said "nah, nothing, forget about it." He says "no, really, did I offend you?" I said "yes, that was really offensive." He says "what, why, are you black?" I said "are you kidding me? You say you hate volkswagen because at SOME point in the history of the company someone decided that they'd build the cars for one of the biggest racists in history, and then not 15 minutes later you say one of the most racist things I've heard in years. Yes, I'm offended. No, I'm not black." and I walk away. I was tempted to just walk back across town and not look back, but I figure maybe he could at least give me a ride. He comes back to the car a few minutes later, we start driving across town, he's telling me I'm really hard to get along with, that I just get offended at everything, and I ask him if he would have said his "get some shvatzes to move it" remark in front of the black man behind the counter at AutoZone earlier...he says yes, he would. I said I believe you'd get your ass beat for saying something like that. He says he doesn't have to deal with this shit, pulls over to the side of the road and lets me out, tells me I'll get my check in the mail. Good luck finding another job, he says.
He's a liar, a cheat, a deadbeat, a racist, he's rude to his pregnant wife, his store smells like dog piss, he has no taste or knowledge when it comes to cars, and I know for a fact that his store will never make it.
I'd rather bag groceries.
I walked back across town, feeling rather distraught, needing a job, marvelling at how bad I can feel even without being an alcoholic. I got to my car, opened the door, threw my jacket in, paused for a second before getting in...and spotted a "NOW HIRING" sign across the road at D.P. Dough. It felt like divine providence.
The sun came out. I closed the car door, walked across the street, down the little alley where the calzone shop is nested, and walked up to the counter to ask about the job. Behind the counter was a woman named Tammy, probably my age (late-20s). She was the assistant manager, and she totally made me feel at home. They apparently go through delivery drivers like water, and were always in need of someone for the job.
I worked at D.P. Dough for maybe six months before setting off on a more drastic course to change my life and get it all under control, but that one day really did mark the beginning of my turnaround. Throughout those six months, I had a lot of experiences that brought me out of my shell, sharpened me again, and generally just brought the hermit out into society. I became human again, looked at myself favorably again. Saw something there worth saving. Stopped wallowing.
At the end of a really late-night/early-morning shift at the shop, a lot of us were drinking in celebration of something or other, and Tammy's husband Jota (a 6'4" tall muscle-bound Chinese-American karate champion, nice as could be) mentioned that he'd had some D.P. Dough shot glasses made, and there may be one or two left, said he'd see if he could get me one. I was touched, silly as it is, and really impressed that he'd give one up to me, even though I wasn't one of the "veterans." A few nights later, Jota pulled up in his truck, while I was walking through the parking lot to head home. He rolled down his window, and held out a shiny pint glass with the D.P. Dough logo on it.
It's silly to think how much that stupid pint glass means to me. I mean, if it were to break I'd be perfectly fine about it...but every time I pull it out of the cupboard, I'm reminded of that day I quit my recently-acquired, first-job-in-a-year job, walked across town after being dumped off on a side-road, and immediately got a job at place where everyone liked me, and started my upward turn.
This morning, as I was washing the dishes before heading to work, I thought about the holiday cards Liz and I were filling out last night, and thought to myself that I'd really like to send one to some people who helped me open my eyes and reach for the stick so I could pull out of the nose-dive.
The story is this: after spending the better part of a year unemployed, I finally woke up and started looking around for a job. Eventually, I saw a little shop on The Commons in Ithaca, a place that just opened. They had big chrome wheels and a few car-related trinkets in the windows. The sort of place that kinda turns my stomach, but I needed a job, and I know cars. I walked in and asked the dude if he was hiring, and after a bit of awkward conversation, he said to bring in a résumé. I brought one the next day, and he said he'd hire me for minimum wage. Said a lot of things about growth potential, he seemed to be an ambitious young businessman, and although he kinda struck me as more than a little thuggish, I figured hey...it's a job.
My first day on the job, I showed up to the crummy narrow storefront, walked in and introduced myself to Eric's pregnant wife. She seemed to be caught in a world out of her control, and was basically hoping her man would find some kind of money pot to take care of things for her. Nice enough girl, but they both just seemed like they were grasping at straws.
Anyway, first day on the job. One stool behind the counter, which I obviously made sure was available for Eric's wife. But she needed a real chair. So did I. Eight hours on the job with no real product to fluff, and no customers coming in. After nearly a year unemployed. I went home with a very hurt back. I know, I deserve no pity. But, to illustrate how not-right the whole situation felt, Eric kept his pitbulls locked up in the back room of the shop, and the place smelled of dog piss. The dogs barked and howled constantly, and all Eric did in response was to shout back to them to shut up. Which never worked, of course.
Second day on the job, Eric asked me to help him replace the thermostat on his Mazda 929. I went and looked at his thermostat housing, held the new thermostat up next to it, and it's twice the size. I went back into the store and told him either that's not where the t-stat goes, or he's got the wrong part. He laid into me, said I don't know what I'm doing, I defended myself, and a half hour later when I showed him, he saw.
I ended up working for him for exactly one week. On the final day, I posted this to VW Vortex:
Final Chapter
Yeah, I'm done. No more Jim at that job. I'd rather bag groceries at the local supermarket than work for that bag of shit for one minute longer.
We go to Autozone to pick up some items to sell at his store (yeah, I know), and he's telling me why he hates VWs and all German cars: "because those fuckers built Hitler's parade cars" (btw, he's jewish...and from what I can tell, not a practicing, worshipping jew). So while I'm trying to bite my tongue, he continues pushing obvious buttons. I ask him why he hates Mercedes if Volkswagen built Hitler's parade cars. He says Mercedes built all Hitler's other cars. OK, so I ask how many car manufacturers there were in Germany at this point. He answers two (which I don't know is true or false, but I accept it anyway). I ask "ok, so if VW and Merc refuse to built Der Führer's car, then how many people die until they change their minds?" He says "oh, so it's a debate now, I see how it is" and he's kinda good-natured about it, and changes the subject since he knows I'm not likely to demurr every time he asks a question. Anyway...
We went over to his "new location," which is an abandoned, derelict former Jiffy Lube, to scope it out. We run into a friend of his there, who will be cleaning up the landscaping (if you can call it that), and they start talking about the installation of the lifts, and the "big-ass heater" he says he's getting. The friend says "man, that thing's heavy, how we gonna get it down into the pit?" The boss says "we'll get some shvatzes to do it." Yes, that's right folks. He's not only a douchebag, but a racist to boot.
My facial expression must have given away a fraction of my revulsion, because he asked "WHAT?" I said "nothing." He said "what, come on, what, did I offend you?" I said "nah, nothing, forget about it." He says "no, really, did I offend you?" I said "yes, that was really offensive." He says "what, why, are you black?" I said "are you kidding me? You say you hate volkswagen because at SOME point in the history of the company someone decided that they'd build the cars for one of the biggest racists in history, and then not 15 minutes later you say one of the most racist things I've heard in years. Yes, I'm offended. No, I'm not black." and I walk away. I was tempted to just walk back across town and not look back, but I figure maybe he could at least give me a ride. He comes back to the car a few minutes later, we start driving across town, he's telling me I'm really hard to get along with, that I just get offended at everything, and I ask him if he would have said his "get some shvatzes to move it" remark in front of the black man behind the counter at AutoZone earlier...he says yes, he would. I said I believe you'd get your ass beat for saying something like that. He says he doesn't have to deal with this shit, pulls over to the side of the road and lets me out, tells me I'll get my check in the mail. Good luck finding another job, he says.
He's a liar, a cheat, a deadbeat, a racist, he's rude to his pregnant wife, his store smells like dog piss, he has no taste or knowledge when it comes to cars, and I know for a fact that his store will never make it.
I'd rather bag groceries.
I walked back across town, feeling rather distraught, needing a job, marvelling at how bad I can feel even without being an alcoholic. I got to my car, opened the door, threw my jacket in, paused for a second before getting in...and spotted a "NOW HIRING" sign across the road at D.P. Dough. It felt like divine providence.
The sun came out. I closed the car door, walked across the street, down the little alley where the calzone shop is nested, and walked up to the counter to ask about the job. Behind the counter was a woman named Tammy, probably my age (late-20s). She was the assistant manager, and she totally made me feel at home. They apparently go through delivery drivers like water, and were always in need of someone for the job.
I worked at D.P. Dough for maybe six months before setting off on a more drastic course to change my life and get it all under control, but that one day really did mark the beginning of my turnaround. Throughout those six months, I had a lot of experiences that brought me out of my shell, sharpened me again, and generally just brought the hermit out into society. I became human again, looked at myself favorably again. Saw something there worth saving. Stopped wallowing.
At the end of a really late-night/early-morning shift at the shop, a lot of us were drinking in celebration of something or other, and Tammy's husband Jota (a 6'4" tall muscle-bound Chinese-American karate champion, nice as could be) mentioned that he'd had some D.P. Dough shot glasses made, and there may be one or two left, said he'd see if he could get me one. I was touched, silly as it is, and really impressed that he'd give one up to me, even though I wasn't one of the "veterans." A few nights later, Jota pulled up in his truck, while I was walking through the parking lot to head home. He rolled down his window, and held out a shiny pint glass with the D.P. Dough logo on it.
It's silly to think how much that stupid pint glass means to me. I mean, if it were to break I'd be perfectly fine about it...but every time I pull it out of the cupboard, I'm reminded of that day I quit my recently-acquired, first-job-in-a-year job, walked across town after being dumped off on a side-road, and immediately got a job at place where everyone liked me, and started my upward turn.