A New Day Yesterday is an editorial piece written by Tim Clark and shared with The Ugly Writers for the month of February
In June, I turned 65. In July, I retired from a job I had held for 25 years.
After 4 months I can say, with unabashed candor, and no fear of contradiction, there is nothing difficult about being retired. No deadlines, no urgent requests for expedited processes or “red-hot” orders. Retirement wraps you in its gentle, warm embrace and you sink into a relaxed, comfortable cocoon. It was the most consuming job I ever had.
I have no self-discipline. It took me over 30 years to quit smoking. And retirement might be the new smoking. Sleeping in, going to bed early, longing for a post lunch nap, a few extra snacks every time my wife went to the basement for laundry. I was giving up.
There had to be something else. My wife, who has been my oracle, guiding me through so many years, doing her best to keep my feet on the ground, and my head in the correct orientation, suggested I find a part-time job, or a gig volunteering somewhere.
Twenty-five years at one place left me in an awkward position. I wasn’t sure I could do anything else. A quick self-inventory left me convinced I had no marketable skills, nothing to offer a modern company in the 21stcentury. I was a relic, destined to waste away, the dust of ancient history and forgotten accomplishments settling on me and my easy chair.
There was a rule of thumb, back in the dark days of the 1990s, for every 100 resumes sent or applications filled out and submitted, you could expect 3 replies. From my experience that seemed a little rosy, there were times I was sure we had a broken phone, it sat there, attached to the wall, mute as a tomb. I waited until desperation set in and I was willing to traffic in stolen gems for the mob. Anything!
My experience this time was dramatically different. Despite being old, and wholly inexperienced at almost every skill required for life in the world today, I applied for two jobs, on the same day, and had two interviews on the same day. Certain that neither would come to fruition I was planning my next step (which was not easy, without a help wanted section, and a city atlas, like the “old days”).
A local store, part of a large chain, called and offered me a job. I couldn’t believe my luck. No postage stamps, no endless waiting, pacing between the phone and the mailbox. Manna from Heaven, a gift from the gods.
I started and they scheduled me to work with various people performing assorted things, and it was, if you will allow me a phrase from the dead language of my youth, “groovy.” Fellow employees, most of them young enough to be my children, some of them young enough to be my grandchildren, all of them infinitely more experienced, treated me as an equal, a comrade, a confederate. They explained things, not only how, but, more importantly in a future tense way, why. I felt welcome.
There have been adjustments, some of them ongoing and incomplete. For one thing, after working the same unvarying, concrete shift, 7:00 to 4:00, Monday through Friday, for so long, having different days and times has been a struggle. One day I was supposed to start my shift at 12:00 noon, and I got there, and clocked in at 11:00 AM. After an evening shift, I misread my smart watch and clocked out at 8:00 instead of 9:00. Both times I had to stand before my managers, shriven, seeking forgiveness. Neither time were they even angry. I promised to be more careful, and wondered, silently, almost covertly what it would take to get in trouble. Immediately, I felt remorse for such heresy.
In the short time I’ve been there, it has become obvious being unskilled and ignorant of most modern employment practices and procedures aren’t obstacles if people welcome you and offer assistance and guidance. I’m indebted to the solid cast of co-conspirators at the store.
Further, I’ve learned that customers, our customers, anyway, are a delightful group of bargain enthusiasts, helping to make a day at work into a series of short visits with close friends.
I’m a little surprised at how much I enjoy my job, my co-workers, the managers who guide me through the day. I’m amazed at how much I enjoy “working the crowd” forming a queue in the winding line, behind the partition walls covered in reusable bags, candy bars and a soft drink refrigerator. More than anything though, I’m surprised by the realization that after years of assuming I was a sullen introvert, I found out I’m a people person.
One customer, last Monday night, encapsulated my whole, short career at so far. A kindly little older lady, even older than me, she reminded me of one of the kind nun from my days at Catholic school, small, soft voiced, immeasurably polite. She came in with a return, a procedure I’m still learning to perform. I got a little frantic, and she patted me on the hand. “You’re doing fine,” she said, with a smile as warm and pleasant as the sun. She shopped and returned with her purchases, a few small Christmas items, and some snacks. We talked about her life and the weather, and the stocking stuffers for her grandkids. “I love coming here,” she said.
“We love you coming here,” I told her, and I meant it.
Read more from Tim Clark by visiting his website at Life, Explained or by checking out his previous write-ups here at The Ugly Writers.
