I’ve put a lot of thought into this and I’ve decided to do it. I’ve had a lot of jobs with many different fields and none of them have been without stories. Therefore, I have decided to go, as best as I can, chronologically, through my positions in the work force and let you in on the work ethic part of my life. Here goes…

My first job was at a bakery. I was 14 at the time and a friend of the family “hooked me up”. It was a dish washing job on the other part of town. My mom had to drive me to work for three hours every Saturday and Sunday. I worked there for about three weeks before another kid by the name of Mike came to work there and help out. He was trouble. I remember going to his house once for something and it was covered in garbage and he showed me porn under his mattress. Cliche.

So I worked there from the time they opened to the time they closed which wasn’t that long, like 5 hours. Their only job was to bake the bread and have it ready for the delivery guy to come. I had to clean up later in the day, mop floors, clean bread mixers, etc. At fourteen, I was very stupid. Case and point: I used to do a fantastic job cleaning everything but spent the next day crying at home? No, not because I was a wimp, but because I used to clean the floors with bleach and ammonia which is basically one step away from mustard gas, but it sure did the job.

During the week, the bakery was open to the public and they made sandwiches in the small front of the warehouse. They had all the fixuns that anyone could want, including my still favorite cheese, sage cheddar. I used to make sandwiches with Mike that were as big as our heads on bread that was minutes old, then my boss decided that he could monetize off that so he charged us like $3.50 a week for the ability to make/eat sandwiches. We gladly paid since those sandwiches would be the best we would ever had. We’re talking like 5 different meats, vegetables, sauces, spices, and cheeses.

We then got a commercial dishwasher that we weren’t allowed to use much because it cost like $0.50 a run because of all the hot water and soaps and stuff. There was no set limit, but it was about what they were paying me at the time so it made sense to get, I suppose.

Then I messed up.

I don’t know what happened. I was working one morning, by myself. I think it was a Sunday. I was cleaning pots and pans and came across a knife. I might have dropped the knife on the commercial grade plastic sink, you know, like the one you use in the basement to get paint off paint brushes. A chunk of plastic shot across the room and I thought it was awesome. I was so stupid. I then, voluntarily, hacked away at the sink, taking away quarter inch pieces from the top of it. Then I went home. The next day I got a call from my boss asking if I had done it. I think that I lied at first and then fessed up. To this day, I don’t know why I did it and I’m still ashamed. Needless to say, the next week at the end of the day my boss said that they wouldn’t need my anymore.

I don’t miss the job, obviously, but I do miss those sandwiches.

When I moved to the city, I moved two blocks from one of their restaurants and then it promptly changed owners and removed my favorite sandwich from the menu. I deserved that.