I spent a week of my summer between sixth and seventh grades interning at the appliance parts and repair business my neighbor, Mr. Simer, worked at.
The Simers had two daughters (one the same age as my sister and one a couple of years younger than that), so I didn’t spend a lot of time playing over at their house. One time, around third grade, I walked over to the Simers’ to get my sister. All three girls were swinging on the front porch swing, and asked me to push them. I did, the swing tipped over, and the youngest Simer flipped over backwards and broke her collarbone. That was the last time I played over at the Simer’s house (a self-imposed exodus, I’m pretty sure).
Time heals all wounds (including collarbones), and a few years later I found myself commuting to work with Mr. Simer for an entire week.
My recollection of his business is a bit fuzzy, and I don’t remember if his company actually repaired appliances or not, but I do know they shipped out parts, because that’s what I did. Orders for parts would come in one at a time. It was my job to take each paper invoice out to the warehouse, retrieve the proper parts, return to the front of the store with the parts, box them up, add a shipping label to the box and place them in the outgoing mail pile. I didn’t know what any of the parts were or did, but each bin was numbered so all I had to do was match the number on the invoice with the number on the bins. Easy peasy.
The memories of my co-workers are almost a complete blur. I don’t think I worked directly with Mr. Simer at all. There was another girl, older than me, who also helped ship out parts, and a guy who I think took orders via the phone. We sat on barstools and kept our sack lunches in an old green refrigerator. That’s about all I remember, or almost.
About midweek, a customer called to complain that they had received the wrong parts. Fingers were immediately pointed at me — in retrospect, probably legitimately — and I was pulled off of “shipping duty.” For the last few days of my tenure I was demoted to “kid who follows people around but doesn’t touch anything.” There was to be no redemption. This was a business, and I had screwed something up.
I still remember the pit in my stomach and burning in my cheeks I felt when I realized it was easier for them to do things without me than with me. It’s a feeling I swore I’d never feel at work again, and despite being so very long ago, I still remember it. I don’t think about it every day and sometimes I go years without remembering it, but every now and then when there’s something new to learn at work, that sickness tickles my stomach and I bust my ass a little harder to make sure that wherever I work is better off with me than without me.
I remember the first job I had that I was let go from. I was hired by a little company to do some typing. I was a lousy typist, and spent more time erasing mistakes that typing. I hated the job, was bored, and spent several boring hours each evening by myself in a little office, which was torture. But I was humiliated when they let me go. Never a good feeling. I learned a lot though from the experience. You’re right, you never forget. That was 45 years ago. But I’ve been a better employee my whole life because of it.