{W}rite-of-Passage #5: The Job
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When I was 14, my mother decided that my free time was better spent earning money and learning that life was difficult rather than getting into trouble gallivanting with my neighborhood friends. She was a RN and worked two full-time jobs to make ends meet after divorcing my father. Maybe the exhaustion contributed to her crabby-assed personality, but it was her Southern upbringing that made her a fan of hard labor. And so, to ensure that I experienced as much of it as I could, she decided that I would take on the role of “Office Bitch” in the clinic in which she was employed.
The Ear, Nose, and Throat Clinic was on the fourth floor of one of the busiest trauma hospitals in the Bronx. I would spend every weekend, school vacation, holiday, and unscheduled summer day at the clinic sorting through boxes of files, bills, and other paperwork that I was sure my mom saved simply so that I could sort them.
My first day on the job was “Take Your Daughter To Work Day” – which to my mom meant that I was supposed to “work” rather than “observe”. I was excited when she told me that she wanted me to come to work with her. Our relationship had been strained since I developed opinions of my own and I had hoped that this would be a step toward healing. Besides, I was missing school and did not have to cut to do so. We ate breakfast- pancakes and eggs- and after we dressed headed out to catch the cab that had a standing order to pick my mom up at 7:45 am.
The ride was silent on my end. My mom, however, reiterated her usual sermon singing the praises of a good education and the evils of boys. When we pulled up outside the massive hospital I was seriously beginning to dread spending the day with her. As we walked passed the already crowded lobby, I hoped that an emergency would call her away so that I could hide somewhere writing in my newest journal and listening to music on my Walkman. Unfortunately, I was not so lucky and just as we reached the clinic she decided to fill me in on her plans for the day.
“Kristina. We just changed offices and you are going to help us move and reorganize our files.”
“OK,” I replied in a squeaky but snarky voice that I knew I would later regret. My mom had a habit of remembering responses hours after they we given.
“You will spend all of your free time here helping out. The hospital is short-handed. I will pay you.”
“How much.”
“Fifteen dollars a day.”
Looking back I think she was banking on the fact that my weak basic math skills would keep me from realizing just how badly I was getting screwed. And she was right. I didn’t argue. I just nodded in silence. It wasn’t until later that I realized that I was making less than $2.00 and hour.
She introduced me to her co-workers and showed me to the new file room where I would spend the rest of the day. It was a long, rather wide room with an abundance of windows and seven or eight tables lining the wall on the left. The tables themselves were covered with boxes and boxes of papers. The remainder of the room was occupied by empty file cabinets that I would be filling with sorted papers per her specifications. I would be working alone and she would check in on me “periodically” to ensure that I was being productive.
The thing is that I actually enjoyed that first day. I loved spending time alone, listening to music despite learning that office work was not for me. Unfortunately, my mother sensed that I was having way too much fun and decided to criticize everything that I did. She did not like the way I sorted first before alphabetizing. I suspect had I alphabetized first she would have been displeased with that too.
You see, this job was actually my most memorable concrete starting point of a series of conflicts that plague my relationship with my mom to this day. Yet despite that anger that I felt toward my mother, I never imagined how great it would feel to work. As I sorted those papers I began to see that it’s not always about bells and whistles. Sometimes the most tedious of jobs can be the most relaxing.
Even if your boss sucks!
This post is a part of {W}rite-of-passage challenge #5- “The Job”. Here are others joining in this week and you should too.
“Sometimes the most tedious of jobs can be the most relaxing.”
Amen. Great story – interesting how we always seem to remember the good, along with the bad — thanks for sharing!!!
.-= Liz@thisfullhouse´s last blog ..Writing Challenge #5: The Job – I Don’t Do Ironing =-.
Amazing how as a kid there is the ability to find the silver lining. I remember working in my mom’s beauty salon having to fold towels, clean the hair dryers, sorting the rollers, cleaning up the magazines. But, what I remember most was the laughter of the women talking to their stylists. The relaxation of time spent not caring about dishes or dinners needed to be planned, time out of the house or away from their kids. Their form of therapy!
There’s something about teenagers and their mothers, isn’t there? You never know who to feel more sorry for, lol. I bet your mother’s lecture on the evil of boys came from the same page as the one my mother was fond of telling.
Maybe the exhaustion contributed to her crabby-assed personality… I loved that line. Your mom worked hard, I’m sure, and I can tell that she instilled that work ethic in you.
.-= Shelli´s last blog ..We Need a Little Vacay… =-.