Thursday, December 14, 2006
I am publishing a special holiday edition of the departmental newsletter, and I've asked everyone for anecdotes or little stories about memorable Christmases. I wrote up one and I thought y'all might like to see it:
I QUIT
When I was a senior in college, my father had a heart attack the day he helped me move into my apartment that fall. The next morning when Mom called to tell me he had had a heart attack I felt terribly guilty. I drove to Knoxville 5 hours without stopping once. He was alive, but his heart was badly damaged.
Dad was out of work for several months. I was very worried about being able to finish school, because he had been paying my tuition. So I quietly got a job at a fast food Taco place in the mall in Athens. My parents lived in Knoxville and didn’t know about the job. I didn’t want them to feel bad. Dad had grown up poor and worked all through college and he didn’t want me to have to work and go to school. Going to college full time and working was grueling, but I did it for a couple of months.
When December came, I told the manager I needed Christmas Eve day off so I could drive home to Knoxville. The place was closed Christmas day. I always spent Christmas with my parents and brother. The manager was a very mean man and refused to give me the day off – in fact he revised the schedule so I’d have to work until closing time on Christmas Eve.
I was very upset. I didn’t want to tell my parents. I knew after my shift I would be too exhausted to drive home and get in at 2 a.m.
The manager had already made it clear he didn’t like me – after I failed to properly memorize the menu so I could serve customers, he decided all I was fit for was dishes. He made me stand in the back and wash dishes for my entire 5.5 hours shift. He wouldn’t let me sit down or take a break. The old grease from the cooking pans would get all over me – my hair, my skin, under my nails. I would go home after work and cry, because I smelled like a big burrito. Showering and soap didn’t help. Even scrubbing myself with lemon didn’t help.
I finally told one of my friends about the manager making me work on Christmas Eve, and she advised me to just quit. "But I need the money!" I wailed. Beth just shook her head. "Your parents will be heartbroken if you don’t show up for Christmas, particularly with your Dad being in bad shape. Just quit. You can always get another job."
I had already had several jobs and I was taught you turn in 2 weeks notice and work it out before you quit, that’s just courteous. I was terrified of the manager, though. I knew he would scream at me and make me cry, which he had already done several times. So, for the first [and only] time in my life, I quit without turning in notice. I asked Beth to run by the place the day before Christmas Eve and give the manager my apron and cap. I waited anxiously in my little apartment while she was gone. When Beth came by afterwards she looked at me and laughed. "Why are you here? Why aren’t you driving to Knoxville?" she asked. "What happened?" I had to say.
Beth was a big blonde and not afraid of anyone. She also had a fearsome Michigan accent that reduced southerners to mincemeat when she chose to put steel in her voice. "Dee, I went in and handed him your apron and cap and said She’s NOT coming back. She QUITS! Have a Merry Christmas, you *&(^&*^!!"
I laughed, for the first time in weeks. I hugged Beth and thanked her. Then I got in my car and drove home.
When I saw my father’s face light up as I walked in the house, I broke down in tears and told him the story. He didn’t get mad, or lecture me. He hugged me and laughed. "It’s OK baby, we’ll get by."
I don’t remember what gifts I got that year but it was a great Christmas. My dad died in 1996. I still miss him.
