Kendricks’ First Job
I’m sitting at the kitchen island, my thumb rhythmically tapping against a stack of crumpled job applications. At fifteen, I feel like I am caught in a strange middle ground; old enough to want my own life, but young enough for the world to keep saying "not yet." My mom sits a glass of water down in front of me, sensing the quiet frustration radiating off her son.
I sigh, sliding my worker's permit across the table. "It’s the same story every time, Ma". "They see the permit and they’re fine with it", "but the second I tell them I can’t start until 4:00 PM because of school, their faces change". "The managers want people on the morning shift or people who can work 'till midnight". "Since I'm fifteen", "the law says I have to be out by a certain time". "I feel like I'm stuck."
Dad pipes in, "You’re not stuck,” as he walks in and places a supportive hand on my shoulder. "You're just navigating the first job hurdle. It’s the hardest one to jump."
"I just want my own money," my voice gaining some heat. "I don’t want to keep asking you guys for twenty bucks every time I want to go to the movies or buy a new game”. I want to learn how to save for a car and do things on my own. I want to be responsible for my own stuff."
My mom smiles, genuinely impressed. "We love that, Kendrick”! “And, because you’re serious about the responsibility part”, “we’re going to help you stay the course”. “Don’t lower your standards, and don’t give up on the search”.
For the next two weeks, the routine is serious. It is Tuesday and rainy. I complete my homework during lunch so I can spend my afternoons biking to local shops. I face three more rejections. Two are based on "scheduling conflicts" and a third is because of "age insurance requirements." Just as I am about to pack it in, I spot a "Help Wanted" sign in the window of The Daily Grind, a local bookstore and cafe.
I walk in, wet hair stuck to my forehead and asked for the manager. A woman named Sarah looks at my permit, then at my school schedule.
"You know," she says, tapping her chin. "Our college kids all want the late-night shifts so they can sleep in, and my morning crew leaves at 3:30. I actually need someone exactly from 4:00 to 8:00 to help close up and organize the shelves. Can you handle a vacuum and a cash register?"
My face lights up. "I can handle whatever you need."
A month after the initial interview, I sat back at that same kitchen island, but this time I am not tapping crumpled papers. I am looking at his very first paycheck. Gross pay: $240.00. My parents are going to make me save half, $120 and rest is for a car and then entertainment.
I announce," Pizza is on me tonight," pulling out my debit card with a smile. "Look at you," Dad laughs. "Managing a budget and a schedule. How does it feel?" "Tiring," I admit, "But it feels like it’s mine. Thanks for not letting me quit when the shifts didn't line up."
Mom hugs me, proud that her son has just found a job. Everything finally works out, one four-hour shift at a time.