Climbing the Ladder 1 - The First Rung

“Ready to go, Jonathan?”

“Let me just finish my coffee, please, Uncle Alec,” I said, quickly downing the remnants of my cup of coffee. “Thanks for breakfast, Aunt Wendy.”

“Thanks for breakfast, Aunt Wendy,” my twelve-year-old cousin Lisa, mocked, sotto voce.

“Lisa, that’s enough!” Aunt Wendy said firmly.

I got up from the kitchen table, made sure I had my wallet and house keys, picked up the brown paper bag with my lunch which my aunt had prepared, grabbed my Cincinnati Reds cap and a pair of sunglasses, and followed my uncle out to his Mercedes. I got into the passenger seat and buckled my seat belt. My uncle got in the driver’s seat, started the car, and backed out of the parking spot.

“It’ll take about fifteen minutes to get to North Michigan Avenue. I’ll drop you on Lower Michigan at Hubbard. All you need to do is go up the stairs and 444 North Michigan will be ahead of you on your left. Spurgeon Capital is on the 34th and 35th floors. Just take the elevator up to 34.”

“I really appreciate you getting me this job.”

"Noel Spurgeon is a friend, but that won’t matter one bit if you don’t work hard and do your job. Nothing in this city is easy; nothing. Pay attention to everything. Learn. That’s how you get ahead.

“I will.”

I had one tiny bit of luck in my life, and that was that my mom’s sister, Wendy, had married Alec Glass, who had made some money in real estate, but more importantly, had made lots of contacts. One of those, Noel Spurgeon, of Spurgeon Capital, had allowed me the chance to escape a bleak life in rural southern Ohio.

I’d never known my dad, and my mom had raised me on her own. We’d had very little, and I’d had to start working at fifteen to help make ends meet. I’d done all sorts of odd jobs, mostly manual labor, and work had made school a secondary priority, which had led to mediocre grades. And THAT had led to not being able to go to college because we couldn’t afford it and I couldn’t get any scholarships.

Mom had talked to her younger sister, Wendy, and Wendy had asked her husband if he could find me a job that only required hard work and common sense, and which might help me find a way out. That had led to the job I was starting today — in the mailroom of Spurgeon Capital, which was some kind of investment firm. According to my uncle, if I did a good job, I could move up to ‘runner’, working on the trading floor of an exchange, and if I learned and paid attention, I could advance upwards from there.

I’d jumped at the chance, and the day after I’d graduated, I packed my few belongings in a duffel bag and boarded a Greyhound bus for Chicago with my meager savings in my pocket. I’d arrived just two days before and had moved into a small bedroom in my uncle’s townhouse, right next door to my cousin Lisa, who I’d only met once before, when I was nine.

I had a plan — work hard, learn everything I could, make as many contacts as I could, get my own place, even if it was a simple studio apartment, find a girlfriend, and make a life for myself. And that plan was going to be put into motion today.

“Here we are,” Alec said, stopping at a dimly-lit corner underneath Michigan Avenue. “Just go up the steps and the building is in front of you on the left.”

“Got it,” I said. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Be right here at 5:30pm, and I’ll take you home. If for some reason we miss each other, you can walk west on Grand, which is the street just north of the building, and get on the Milwaukee L. Take it north to Logan Square. I showed you how to get home from there. Have a good day!”

“Thanks,” I replied, unbuckling my seat belt.

“I probably should apologize for Lisa’s behavior. She’s a bit spoiled and we give her fairly free rein.”

“It’s not a problem, really. I sort of invaded her space, I guess.”

“I’ll have a word with her in any event.”

“Thanks. See you later.”

“See you later.”

I climbed out of the Mercedes, then headed up the stairs from Lower Michigan Avenue to Upper Michigan Avenue, walked about half-a-block north, and entered the tall building. I walked across the lobby, past a bored security guard, and turned left to take an elevator to the 34th floor. I joined seven other people in an elevator, and about a minute later I stepped out into the lobby of Spurgeon Capital.

“May I help you?” a very pretty girl who looked to be about my age, or no more than a few years older, asked.

“Jonathan Kane,” I replied. “I begin work today.”

“I have you on my list!” she said brightly. “Go through this door behind me, and into the conference room on your left. Our Director of Personnel will take it from there.”

“Thank you.”

I moved towards the door and heard a buzz as she pressed a button to release the electronic lock. I pushed the door open, walked about ten feet down the hall and entered a conference room where I saw three other people sitting, and a woman who looked to be about thirty-five standing by the head of the table.

“You are?”

“Jonathan Kane,” I replied.

“Welcome, Jonathan. I’m Mandy Peterson, Director of Personnel. Please, take a seat. We’re waiting on two others, but they have another ten minutes to arrive. There is coffee or water on the table in the back of the room.”

“Thanks.”

I went to the table and poured myself a glass of ice water, then took a seat next to a wiry blonde guy about my age.

“Paul Dierks,” he said, extending his hand.

“Jonathan Kane,” I replied. “Mailroom.”

“Same here. I guess we’ll be working together. You from Chicago?”

I shook my head, “No. From southern Ohio; a small town called Goshen, which is east of Cincinnati. You?”

“Chicago my entire life. Oak Park. It’s just a bit west of downtown on the L. Where are you living?”

“With my Aunt and Uncle in Logan Square for now. I hope to get my own place eventually.”

“Not on our salaries you won’t!”

“One step at a time,” I said. “First step is the job! You living with your parents?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Just then two young women walked in and Mrs. Peterson got our attention.

"Welcome to Spurgeon Capital. This morning we’ll do your orientation, have you fill out tax forms and emergency contact forms, get you signed up for our benefits plan, and then get you to your supervisors so you can get to work.

"In front of you is our employee handbook, which you’re expected to read and understand. Inside the front cover, you’ll find a page to sign acknowledging receipt of the manual. Please sign that before you leave this room today. In the back of the manual is another signature page which confirms that you’ve read and understood the manual. Please return it by Friday, noon, or your employment could be terminated. If there is anything which is unclear, please speak to your supervisor or someone from my office. You can reach us by dialing 8875 from any internal phone. That number, along with the outside number is on the first bound page in the handbook.

“All of you are hourly employees, so you will need to clock in each morning, and clock out each afternoon, as well as when you take your lunch. Your supervisors will explain how the time clocks work, as well as the rules for tardiness. If you forget to clock in, or as with today when you’ll clock in late, your supervisor can adjust your time card.”

All of what she was saying was familiar, as I’d had to clock in for every job I’d held — the feed store, the lumber yard, and the landscaping company. Two of my supervisors had been relatively cool, but the one at the feed store had been a consummate prick, who always looked for ways to dock pay, find fault, and otherwise harass employees who were doing back-breaking work.

I listened as Mrs. Peterson went over important points from the employee handbook, and then we filled out tax forms, which I had done before, and a form for something called ‘Blue Cross’, which would cover medical expenses. I’d had my regular checkups, but other than that, I’d never seen a doctor or been in the hospital. I’d hadn’t even been sick since I turned twelve, and hadn’t missed a day of work, ever.

There were a few other forms to sign, including life insurance, which almost made me laugh, but I wrote in my mom’s name under ‘beneficiary’ wondering what she’d do with what I considered a princely sum of $25,000, in the unlikely event something should happen to me. The final form was for an investment account to which I could have a percentage of my pay directed before it even got into my hands.

My knowledge of ‘finance’ was limited to filling out my 1040-EZ form and the 5.25% interest I earned on my meager savings. Mom had insisted I put $5 from every weekly paycheck into my bank account, and that’s what had allowed me, after buying some clothes for work and a bus ticket, to bring just over $900 with me to Chicago. I’d need to open a bank account, which I planned to do on my lunch break, if I had enough time.

Because of that lack of knowledge, I’d spoken to Uncle Alec about what to do, and dutifully filled out the form directing 10% of my pay into something called a mutual fund, which he’d explained was money pooled together to invest in stocks, and which was managed by someone at Spurgeon Capital. It was a tough trade-off in my mind — every dollar that went into that account was one dollar less I had to use to get my own place and build the life I wanted.

Uncle Alec had patiently explained just how quickly even small investments could grow, and how if I started now, I could easily have over a hundred thousand dollars when I eventually retired, even if I never had a high-paying job. That was an unfathomable amount to someone who was making $5.75 an hour, which was $1.50 more per hour than I’d ever made in the past. In the end, my rough calculation was I’d need to live with my Aunt and Uncle for about five months, if I invested, before I’d have enough saved for a security deposit on a small apartment without depleting my savings.

“Now that you’ve completed your paperwork, we’ll get you to your supervisors,” Mrs. Peterson announced. “Just wait one moment and I’ll have someone take you two young men to the mailroom. The rest of you, please come with me.”

Paul and I waited as the others filed out, and a minute later, a very pretty brunette, likely about our age, came into the room.

“Jonathan? Paul? Would you follow me, please.”

We got up and followed the shapely brunette down the hallway, watching her butt sway side-to-side. Paul and I exchanged a look, and grinned, focusing on her rear end. We went through two sets of doors, and suddenly the decor changed from opulent to purely functional. She stopped at a doorway with no actual door.

“Mr. Nelson? I have Jonathan Kane and Paul Dierks for you.”

“Thank you, Misty!” a gregarious, cigar-chomping, balding man replied. “Come in, you two!”

We walked into a small office with a metal desk, three chairs, a filing cabinet, a few shelves, a coat rack, and a telephone.

“Sit!” Mr. Nelson said, pointing to the chairs.

We took our seats and waited. Mr. Nelson went over to a shelf and grabbed two clear plastic bags which contained some kind of garment.

"These are your jackets. You’re to put them on as soon as you arrive, along with the ID badge I’ll give you. The color, purple, with gold trim, is our firm’s color on the trading floors. These don’t have the trim, signifying you work in the office. As I’m sure you were told, proper dress is slacks, a button-down shirt, a conservative tie, and black or brown dress shoes. Loafers or wingtips are both OK.

“You two are here because we lost two people last month. Both of you are also here because someone said I had to hire you. That means you have to prove to me that you belong here. Do your job, follow the rules, and by God keep your mouths shut, and we’ll be fine. You DO NOT fraternize with anyone while you’re working. That means no flirting with secretaries and no schmoozing with the traders or fund managers. Speak ONLY if you are spoken to unless there is a VERY specific need for you to speak. Am I clear?”

None of my jobs had ever allowed ANY time for screwing around, or even much talking, so keeping my mouth shut wasn’t going to be difficult. Not flirting with secretaries WAS an issue, as I’d already seen several very cute ones. That said, Mr. Nelson had made the distinction of ‘while we were working’, which meant that during lunch, or on breaks, it would be OK.

“Yes, Sir!” I said firmly.

“Yes, Sir,” Paul said, less convincingly.

“Dierks, right?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t fuck with me on this or you’ll be out on your ass. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Sir!” he replied, though I could tell it was forced.

"Let me be clear; from the moment you punch in until you punch out, you’re working. I’m the boss. You do what I say when I say and how I say. No arguments. No discussions. Just ‘Yes, Boss!’ and do it. You take your breaks when I say and lunch when I say. Each of you will have one of the floors — Dierks, you have 34; Kane, you have 35. Your job is to make deliveries and pickups, doing your rounds once in the morning, and once in the afternoon, packages as they arrive, and handling anything that needs to move from one place to another and can be picked up. If it’s too heavy, you report back and we’ll get movers in to handle it.

"You’re also responsible for the supply closets on each floor. All supplies are in the room across the hall and are carefully inventoried. When you restock the supply closets on each floor, you note what you take and where you put it. I keep a close eye on that because shit has a way of walking out of this place. I swear, Bic must have a factory that does nothing but make pens for us. When things run low, you fill out the appropriate requisition form and give it to Nick in the mailroom.

“Nick is the guy who receives the mail from the post office and sorts it into your bins. You sort your bins in whatever order works for you, but make sure you’re efficient. We don’t have time to fuck around here. It’s been a bitch for Nick and me to cover for those two numb-nuts who quit last month. Nick will let you know when deliveries arrive — anything that comes by courier gets delivered immediately. That is, drop everything and deliver it. There are pagers in the mailroom for you to wear so Nick or I can find you. Any questions?”

“Yes, Sir,” I said. “Is there a floor plan or map I can use to familiarize myself with the floor and know how to sort the mail?”

“Well, shit, you might have a chance, Kane. They usually send me idiot children of executives, but you might have a brain in that head of yours. Yes. In the mailroom is a keyed map, along with a list of people who work on the floor. Personnel runs new lists every Friday and sends them to us. We make the changes on the floor plan, or create a new one if there are too many changes. Any other questions?”

“Just the location of the johns,” I grinned.

For the first time, Mr. Nelson smiled at me, “Another excellent question. Ours is next to the mailroom. Do NOT use the johns in the main offices. Period. Now, if that’s it, put on your jackets and ID badges, and we’ll go over to the mailroom where I’ll give you your pagers, keys, and floor plans. All of those things are to go into your carts at the end of the day.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Nelson,” I said respectfully, “but where is the time clock?”

“In the mailroom. You’ll get a fresh time card every Monday morning and you turn in your completed card from the previous week to me at the same time. You have to sign them, and forging ANY punches, or punching in for someone else, is a cause of immediate termination. If your card needs to be adjusted, come see me. I’ll sign the necessary adjustment for today when I show you how to use the machine. This is a religion, gentlemen. Fuck it up and you’re going to be in trouble.”

As tough as Mr. Nelson sounded, he wasn’t actually telling me anything I hadn’t expected to hear. I was used to following directions and simply doing as I was told — the feed store during the Winter, the landscaping company during the Summer, and the lumber yard year-round. The vibe I was getting from Paul was that he was already chafing from what Mr. Nelson was saying, and we hadn’t even started working.

“Follow me,” Mr. Nelson said, once we had our jackets on and our badges clipped to the pocket.

Mine said ‘Kane, Jonathan R.’ in moderate-size type, with a large purple ‘MR’ below it, which I was sure stood for ‘MailRoom’, though in the back of my mind the words ‘Mental Retard’ formed as well. Nothing that Mr. Nelson had said so far required significant brainpower, and the fact that he’d referred to the previous employees as ‘numb-nuts’ and ‘idiot children’ made me wonder just how dumb someone would have to be to mess up what so far sounded like simple tasks. Not to mention the added benefit of not being outside in the sweltering sun or involving carrying things which caused backaches even at eighteen.

Mr. Nelson showed us how to use the time clock, first with ‘test’ cards and then our own, then introduced us to Nick.

“Nick Boyne, meet Jonathan Kane and Paul Dierks. Kane should fill in for you on your breaks. Make sure he knows how to use the phone system.”

“Yes, Boss!” Nick replied, then glanced our way, “Hi, guys.”

“Hi,” we both said.

'Nick will show you the ropes. If you need anything, ask him first. If he doesn’t know, then come to me. Any question?"

“No, Boss!” I replied mimicking Nick’s tone and language.

“No, Boss,” Paul replied, and I could FEEL his eyes rolling.

Mr. Nelson turned and left without a word.

“OK,” Nick began, "Let me show you your carts and how to use your pagers, then I’ll show you the supply room, and Kane, I’ll show you how the phones work. Mostly you’ll just answer and take down requests. I make less than ten outgoing calls a day, and those are mostly to courier companies for pickups or to suppliers to place orders.

“One important thing for you Kane, is that you need to use the freight elevator to move your cart to 35. Never use the lobby elevators. There’s a key on your ring that will let you go up to 35, come back to 34, and go to the lobby or loading dock. There’s one on your ring, too, Dierks, but you mostly won’t need it.”

We went to where the carts and bins were, and Nick showed us everything, then took me back to his desk to go over the phones and how to handle incoming calls, then showed me how to use the elevator key. Fifteen minutes later, I joined Paul at the mail sorting bins.

Before I took anything out of the bin, I looked over the floor plan and using a pencil, mapped out the quickest way around the floor. I noted that the senior executives were all on the 35th floor, including Noel Spurgeon, who had a large office which I was sure had a glorious view of Lake Michigan. Of course, the chances of actually setting foot in his office were zero, as I would deliver his mail to his executive secretary or his executive assistant.

Once I had the route mapped, I began sorting Saturday’s mail into the cart, in order from the front of the cart to the back.

“That guy is a real piece of work,” Paul said quietly.

“Mr. Nelson?”

“Yeah.”

“You mean because he expects us to do our jobs and not screw around?”

“If I’d wanted the Marines, I’d have joined.”

“Personally, I prefer not having to charge machine-gun nests. I registered for the draft, but I much rather be in the air conditioning here than in some jungle in Asia or wherever. Is this your first job?”

“I was a busboy at a local restaurant the last two Summers. Flirting with waitresses was the best part of the job!”

“And here it’ll be the last part, it seems, if you do it when you’re walking around.”

“The guy’s a dick,” Paul said derisively. “You think they’ll really can us if we say ‘hello’ to a secretary.”

“I think I’m not going to find out,” I replied.

I found an envelope in my bin marked ‘Hand Deliver’ so I went to Nick and asked what that meant.

“You actually hand it to someone — preferably the person it’s addressed to, but if not, then his secretary or assistant. If the person isn’t there, and their secretary isn’t there, you leave a notice for them to call. There are blank notices on the shelf next to the bins. Usually, it’s mail that came in as Certified or had to be signed for or some other reason. That way WE don’t get in trouble.”

“Do they have to sign anything?”

“No. Even if it’s addressed to the Big Boss, I sign for it, or you do if the mailman happens to bring it while I’m on break. If it’s marked urgent, you deliver it right away, otherwise on your next regular morning or afternoon run. Mostly you’ll get that kind of thing because the Boss put you on the upper floor with the major Suits.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’m sure I’ll have more questions.”

“Better to ask them than to fuck up. They don’t tolerate fuck-ups from people like us. Those guys on 35? They can lose a million bucks and it’s just a day in the office. We lose a single piece of mail and it’s our asses.”

“I got that picture.”

He nodded and I went back to my bin and continued sorting the mail. Even though Paul had started before me, I finished first, checked with Nick, then took my cart down the hall to the freight elevator, pressed the call button, and when it arrived, I used my key to enable the button for the 35th floor.

When the elevator arrived on the 35th floor, I did exactly as I’d been told. I was a bit slower than I figured I would be in the future, because I had to look for the exact locations of the person’s inbox or mailbox, and I had to check my floor plan regularly to make sure names matched desks or offices. I found one discrepancy which I noted on my floor plan, and then finished my deliveries and pickups, then used the freight elevator to return to the 34th floor.

I took the normal mail from the basket on the bottom of my cart and put it in the ‘Outgoing Mail’ bin so Nick could weigh it, affix the postage, and then place it in the trays which the mailman would take, and the envelopes and packages which would go by courier in the bin by Nick’s desk. After checking with him, I went back to the 35th floor to check each supply cabinet, as well as the coffee supplies, copier paper supplies, and other items on my list.

As I moved around, one thing struck me — I was, effectively, invisible. Nobody spoke to me, smiled at me, or even nodded. The sum total of my communication was limited to two times I said ‘Excuse me’ when I needed to get past individuals standing in the hallways. Even then, I hadn’t been acknowledged, they’d simply moved out of the way so I could get past. It was strange, but given that I’d been told not to try to talk to anyone, it didn’t surprise me.

When I finished checking supplies, I went back down to check with Nick, then loaded my cart with supplies and went back to 35 to stock everything. When I finished that, he told me to take my fifteen-minute break, so I clocked out and went down the hall to our break room which was most definitely not stocked like the ones on the executive floor. I decided I had enough time to go down to the lobby and get a cup of coffee and a bottle of juice from the small deli.

As I rode down, I realized that those two items would basically eat up an hour’s pay, and by the time I’d reached the lobby, I’d changed my mind. I rode the elevator back up and settled for coffee from a vending machine. It was barely drinkable, but it did have caffeine, it was hot, and it was cheap. I was very glad I had brought a bag lunch of fruit and other non-perishable items. I saw a fridge in the break room and that would increase my options for bringing my lunch. Buying a small thermos and filling it in the morning at home would also save even the few coins the machine required.

I finished my coffee, used the restroom, then went back to the mailroom to clock back in. Paul was just coming back and was sent on his break. Nick told me my lunch would be at 12:45pm, so I could cover his lunch from 12:15pm to 12:45pm. I acknowledged that then collected two courier-delivered items to take up to the 35th floor. After delivering them, I returned to the mailroom and asked for something to do.

“Just hang loose for a few minutes. I guarantee you someone will need us to do something. If you get five minutes to sit down, take it, because there were days when I was doing your job that I never got to sit except on break.”

“I worked in a feed lot and a lumber yard back home. And I did landscaping. I’m used to it.”

“Damn. Athlete?”

“Never had the time. It was just my mom and me and I had to work at fifteen to help make ends meet.”

“Rough. Were are you from?”

“Goshen, Ohio. It’s about thirty miles northeast of Cincinnati.”

“Reds fan?”

“I listened on the radio and watched on TV when I could, but a ticket would have been a luxury.”

“Shit, man. That’s rough. What happened to your dad?”

“Supposedly he died in a plane crash without even knowing my mom was pregnant. She was sixteen when she got pregnant and seventeen when I was born. He was in his twenties and traveled around a lot from what she said. But she didn’t really know all that much about him.”

“No brothers or sisters?”

"No. Just one cousin, my mom’s younger sister’s daughter. My mom’s parents were missionaries in South America. They were home on furlough when Mom got pregnant, and they kicked her out of the house. She lived with a friend, managed to work part time, finish High School, and then started working full time.

“How’d you end up here?”

“My uncle knows Mr. Spurgeon and called in a favor. My uncle had some sympathy, I guess, because he and my aunt got pregnant with Lisa before they married.”

“Missionaries? So are you religious?”

“Me? Never been inside a church in my entire life except for one funeral. Mom was kicked out of her church for being unwed and pregnant and swore she’d never go back. She read me Bible stories when I was little, but I don’t believe in God. You?”

“Greek Orthodox. My first name should be a giveaway! I think half the men in my church are named Nick! I almost never go, though my wife goes pretty regularly. I can’t be bothered with all the mumbo jumbo. My parents had me baptized when I was little, but they never went to church much. You a hockey fan?”

“Not really. Cincinnati lost its professional team two years ago. I don’t know much about the sport. I’m a Bengals fan, because I could watch them on TV on Sundays if I wasn’t working.”

The phone rang and Nick answered it. He had a brief conversation with the person, made a note, then hung up.

“I need you to go down to the lobby via the freight elevator. They ordered food for a meeting. You need to meet the delivery guys in the lobby. Take them to the freight elevator, then up to the 35th floor. Wait while they unpack everything, then escort them out. One of the secretaries will check the orders and sign for the food.”

“So just escort them, nothing else?”

“Correct. And stand outside the conference room while they set up. One of the secretaries will handle anything that comes up.”

I nodded and went to the elevator and pressed the call button, and when it arrived, pressed the button for the lobby. I rode down and walked to the guard’s desk and waited. About five minutes later, three guys with large food carts came through the doors and I escorted them as I’d been told to do. I waited a couple of steps away from the door of the conference room until they were done, then escorted them back down to the lobby. Once they were out of the elevator, I used my key to get back to the 34th floor.

“I think I see what you mean about being busy,” I said to Nick.

“You seem to catch on pretty fast, so you’ll get more to do.”

“I was kind of surprised at just being thrown into the mix, so to speak.”

“Sink or swim here. Nobody has time to dick around. If the Boss or I had to hold your hand, even today, our work would back up. You have one big thing going for you, and that’s you being here because Mr. Spurgeon sent your name down. That’s why the Boss assigned you upstairs. We’d look bad if we didn’t trust the guy the Big Boss told us to hire!”

I nodded, “I won’t let you down. I know how to work hard, do what I’m told, and keep my mouth shut.”

“Right after lunch we’ll have our weekly supply delivery. I’ll have you start checking it in and shelving everything. Just stop at 2:30pm to sort your mail and do your afternoon run. I’ll page you if there’s anything critical.”

“What do I need to do?”

“I’ll show you when the delivery arrives.”

Nick went to lunch as planned and I had a quiet thirty minutes at his desk, fielding one call which I sent Paul to handle, and then I took my lunch outside, and realizing there wasn’t enough time to open a bank account, I sat in the plaza near the Wrigley Building, along the Chicago River.

The afternoon went pretty much as Nick described, checking the delivery against a manifest and against the order, then placing the items in their appropriate spot on the shelves. I sorted my mail and made my rounds, bringing quite a few envelopes and small packages back to the mailroom for Nick to weigh and get ready for the mail pickup which was at 4:30pm every day. I finished stocking the inventory, made a couple of deliveries, and at 5:02pm, I clocked out, satisfied I’d done a good job. I hung up my jacket, put the pager and keys in my cart, then headed for the freight elevator to go down to the lobby.

“This is going to be a shitty job,” Paul said as he joined me in the elevator.

I shook my head, “There is no such thing. What’s shitty is NOT having a job or enough money to live on. I’ve done WAY worse. Try spreading cow manure for eight hours a day in 90°F weather.”

“Now that is literally a shitty job!”

“Well it put food on the table and clothes on my back and kept a roof over my head. Nothing in this world is free. Hard work is the only way to get it.”

“You think the guy who owns this company ever really worked a day in his life?”

“I don’t know Mr. Spurgeon’s background, but my uncle, who’s a real estate investor, started with $5000 he saved working at McDonald’s while he was in High School. He and his wife worked so he could finish college, though they didn’t marry until he graduated. They had Lisa when they were nineteen and eighteen.”

“So he’s loaded? What are you doing working here?”

“He’s made some money, but not a lot. I guess I’d say he’s comfortable, but I hear Mr. Spurgeon is worth a couple of hundred million, personally. My uncle doesn’t have anything like that. And besides, if he does, it’s his money, not mine. I want to make it on my own. He got me the job here, and I’m living in his townhouse until I can get my own place, but that’s the limit of the help I want.”

“That’s crazy! Take anything you can get from him!”

I shook my head, “He did his part; now I’ll do mine. All I wanted was an opportunity to get out of Goshen, Ohio and a chance to make my own life. Once I move out of Uncle Alec’s house, then it’s up to me. And that’s how I want it.”

“College?”

“Maybe, but my grades sucked because I didn’t have time to study. I need to make some money and then maybe I’ll go to night school. As soon as a ‘runner’ job opens up, I’m going to apply. It pays twice what we make and at that point I’ll be able to actually talk to the guys who make all the money!”

“I’ll settle for talking to some of the secretaries! Talk about hot girls! I take it you don’t have a girlfriend?”

“I didn’t have time or money at home, but there was a girl who lived next door I was pretty friendly with, if you get my drift. But she’s back home, and when she graduates next year, she’s going to UCLA.”

“How are you going to meet girls if you don’t flirt at work?”

“Not at the top of my priority list — job, savings, apartment, girlfriend.”

“You got your priorities backwards!”

The elevator reached the lobby and we walked out of the building.

“See you tomorrow,” I said.

“Yep,” he agreed.

He headed to the bus stop and I went down the stairs to wait for my uncle who arrived about fifteen minutes later. I hopped into the passenger side of the Mercedes and buckled in.

“How was the first day of the rest of your life?” he asked.

“Just fine. I’m used to having bosses like the guy I work for.”

“Did you fill out the investment form the way I suggested?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I got you in the door. The rest is up to you.”

I nodded, “I know. And I’m not going to fail.”