No real dramatics here, but over time I've had a few "interesting" partings. My first (real) job – not mowing lawns or such – one that involved FICA and such, was when I was in high school. I was a bus boy at a smorgasbord restaurant. Smorgasbord = cafeteria with slightly classier lighting.
I cleared the tables, cleaned the tables, washed the dishes I'd cleared and then re-set the tables. My second day the "chef" gave me a tour of "his" kitchen. He was as drunk as I am these days when I watch ND lose a game. He was proud of his mashed potatoes. He scooped up a handful from the vat he'd made, licked some from his fingers and slopped the rest back into the vat.
The waitresses, who did little more than pour coffee, resented sharing their tips with me. I had to negotiate tile floors slick with grease and water while carrying trays of dirty dishes. I stuck it out for two months but finally told them that I wouldn't be there Friday night ... or ever again.
Then there was the summer job I had between my freshman and sophomore years pumping gas and changing tires at (of all places) a JC Penny auto center. The manager who took over mid-summer clearly hadn't read my file. When I gave notice that I'd be leaving he tried to talk me into working weekends and a few hours at night during the week. Apparently sales had picked up dramatically in my brief time there.
I chuckled – how could I not, thanked him for his appreciation but pointed out that South Bend, IN to Orlando, FL was one hell of a commute. He quickly looked through my folder, smiled, turned a little red, shook my hand and and wished me luck playing on the football team the coming year.
Keep in mind that I was 5'7" and 135 pounds. Those southern boys had no clue.
