My First Job

Compared to most people, I entered the work force at a relatively late age.

Because my mother died when I was thirteen, my father let me get away with a lot of things he might not have otherwise. When I was in high school, and most of my friends were getting summer jobs to make extra cash and to learn a bit about the real world, I had no interest in doing likewise. Nor did my father encourage me to do so. Instead, I spent my high school summers sleeping late, having sex, and watching TV.

When I was in college, I got a social security check every month because I had a parent to die before I turned 18. The amount was woefully inadequate, so at the age of 20, I decided to find a job. They were building a new Burger King in the town where I went to college, so I applied and was hired.

I volunteered to help clean the place up and get it ready for customers before the grand opening. So far, well and good. Once we opened, however, I found myself either filling drink cups or washing greasy dishes. Never anything else, as they’d over-hired and there were so many people in there at any given time that if you fainted, you’d never hit the floor, as you’d bump into several people on the way down.

Less than a week after the store opened, while I was up to my armpits in greasy dishes, I was called into the office and fired. Just like that. I’d never been reprimanded or corrected for any reason, so I was completely blindsided.

When I asked why, and what had I done wrong, they were vague, and never gave me a direct answer to my question.

“You’re just not working out,” they said with no further elaboration or pointing out anything specific.

To this day, I have absolutely no idea why they fired me.