I’ve been thinking about my first job recently. More to the point, I’ve been thinking about how it came to an end.
I worked as a waitress at a cute little ice cream and sandwich shoppe that was also the local miniature golf course. From the age of 15 until 17, I waited tables, crafted sandwiches, ladled soups, and served delicious desserts. I rang out the cash register, washed dishes, bussed tables, and even scrubbed the toilets.
It was awesome, and I loved it. I made $5.25 an hour plus tips. Anyone who has ever had a server job knows just how amazing that was. I’ve never made more than $3.34 an hour waiting tables in any other restaurant.
At 17, I was pregnant with my son. I continued to work through my entire pregnancy. My son arrived unexpectedly about five weeks early. The next day, I lost my job.
I called work for two reasons. First, I wanted to tell my boss and coworkers that my son had arrived. Secondly, I was calling in for the next six weeks or so.
My coworker answered the phone with the usual greeting. I immediately shared my news. She congratulated me. Then, she shared her news.
“I think we were robbed?” she said to me.
“What do you mean robbed?” I asked, certain I’d heard her wrong.
“Everything is gone,” she explained. “The tables, the chairs, the food.”
“All of it?”
“Everything but the already opened ice creams, but the freezer was left open, and they’re all melted.”
For me, that’s how the story stood for a few days until I was home with my little one. That’s when I learned that our boss had received some bad news from her doctor and decided to just close up shop. Her husband had come in overnight and cleared everything out just like a thief in the night.
How about you? How did you lose your first job?