Scratch Beginnings_ Me, $25, and the Search for the American Dream - Adam W. Shepard [48]
I knew that I would get a job that day. I knew it. It might not be at Fast Company, and I might not have a job by lunchtime, but I just knew that I was going to do what it took to get a job that day. I had to. It was Friday!
Of course Curtis wasn’t in. That must be one busy mother, I thought, when Wendy, receptionist number two at Fast Company, politely told me that I could either wait a while or come back later.
I would wait. A “while” or longer, it didn’t matter. There was no question that I was going to wait. If the same option came up again at Food Lion or McAllister’s Tree Service or Mandy’s Tailor, then I would consider leaving and trying my luck at the next spot. But working for Fast Company was something that had piqued my interest, and Curtis was going to get the opportunity to hear what I had to say, a speech that I had been rehearsing in my head since I had laid down on my mattress the night before.
My demeanor remained taut when he finally did arrive back at the office, noticeably preoccupied with other, much more important business. He walked past where I was sitting and went in to see Jed Franklin, the owner. I could overhear him telling Jed about how one of the moving trucks had three busted hinges on the sliding door on the back of the storage van, but Jed didn’t seem to want to have anything to do with it.
“Well, let’s just get it fixed,” he told Curtis.
So Curtis strolled out of Jed’s office. And in to see me.
Curtis knew who I was from the messages I had been leaving for him. I was straight with him right from the start, asking if he had any job openings, and he was straight right back with me, telling me that he didn’t really need any other movers at the moment. He had my number if any job vacancies came up.
That wasn’t going to do. I had been sitting in the office for an hour, waiting for him to return, and I had not been waiting so that I could hear that response. I might be going down, but I wasn’t going down without a fight.
“Curtis, my man, I don’t want to sit here in front of you and be disrespectful to any of your workers out there, because I’m sure they’re all good guys, but, uh, I’m pretty much one of the hardest working guys you’re going to find in Charleston. Let me tell you about the bar, Curtis. There was no bar before I came along. I set the bar. And I set it high.”
He was attentive, totally engrossed in my monologue. And thankfully, he was not mistaking my bit of sarcasm about “the bar” for arrogance. I continued.
“All I want to do is work. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I’m no fun, actually. None of your guys, as great as they may be, have the work ethic that I do. None of ’em. Now, are they better movers? Of course. I mean, you can look at me right here across your desk and tell that I ain’t throwin’ a sofa over my head and walkin’ it off the truck. I mean, let’s be honest with each other from the start; that just won’t be happening. But I will work hard, and I will pay attention to learn this trade to the best of my ability.”
He tried to speak, but I wasn’t through yet. My blood was flowing, and my heart was pumping as if it was independent of my body.
“Look here, Curt, wait just a second before you respond.” Curt? Who the hell do I think I am? “I don’t wanna sit here in front of you and act like I’m all talk. Because I’m not. I mean, I’m not gonna lie, I can talk a big game, but I can also back it up. So I’ll tell you what. Let’s make a deal. You send me out for one day with one of your crews. Any crew. And I’ll work for free. You will have the opportunity to see me work, and it won’t cost you a dime. If you like me, super, take me on. If not, well, then we will part ways, and I can promise you I won’t be a thorn in your ass, coming in here every day begging for