The Searches Are On!

    You may recall that I recently announced my plans to head on over to Mars a few years from now. In order to accomplish this, I first need to find myself a wife. If you were wondering, I have already received a healthy volume of correspondence from a variety of intriguing prospects. I will reveal more to you in due time.

    This is just the latest in a series of searches I’ve engaged in. The previous thing I was looking for was a job. In fact, I have been so preoccupied with my wife search lately, I almost forgot that I never actually found a job yet! It’s kind of overwhelming to realize that I’ve now got two things to do.

    It wasn’t so long ago that I could have never imagined that of all people, I would be the one looking for employment. I’d worked at the same Dairy Queen for fifteen years. I never cared what anybody thought about that. It was my first job, and as far as I was concerned it could be my last job, too, and I’d have been just fine with that. I liked that job.

    There’s a special sense of satisfaction to be had from making sure the soft serve machine is sparkling clean at the end of the day, or placing the cherry just right atop a banana split. You can’t get that same sense of pride working in construction or high finance. It’s like what Jared always said. “If you can’t love your work, then you’ve got to work on what you love.”

    Jared was the manager at the Dairy Queen. He was the eighth one I’d served under since I started and, truthfully, not my favourite. That would have been Old Bob, the man who taken a chance on me when it seemed no one else would. When he hired me, Bob had already been with the company for two years, and I would have sworn that he knew everything there was to know about the burgers and ice cream business. Soon, I began to regard him as a sort of “Dairy Father” as we all probably did.

    What Old Bob prized above anything else was not only a job done well, but quickly also. This seemed uncommonly wise to me, and I endeavoured to make this the foundation of my work ethic. I can even remember, more than once, he complimented me on my effort.

Then, four months after it began, it was over. Old Bob retired. I volunteered to craft the custom ice cream cake that would be served at the party. In yellow icing I made a smiley face, and in blue icing I wrote “Happy Retirement Bob”. As I was writing, I got a drop of blue icing on the yellow face, under it’s eye. It looked like a tear. It had been an accident, and yet it felt right, so I left it. Also, because I put the smiley on first, the last few letters got kind of scrunched up and curved downwards when I started running out of space.

    The party was a short and bittersweet affair. When it was over, I looked into the unknown of tomorrow. Even though Old Bob may be gone, I decided that work done well, and also quickly, was here to stay. And so was I. I thought Old Bob might swing by, and I wanted him see that his legacy lived on. As it turned out, I never saw him again. Some said he’d left town and owned a bowling alley somewhere, but no one could explain why they thought this.

    Now, while I did say that Jared was not my favourite boss, he was also far from the worst.  26 years old and this was already his second restaurant. He’d transferred over from a location in Albuquerque, which suggested a dedication to the company that I could respect. He was also great with the customers and possessed a shrewd wisdom like the quote I have already given. But, for whatever reason, we just didn’t click on a personal level. He’d say stuff like “You got that Oreo Blizzard ready yet, ya’ old coot?” even though I was only twelve years older than him. I tried to think that he called me “old” with the same respect that we’d called Bob “Old”, but sometimes I had my doubts.

    I suspect one of the things that he didn’t like about me was that I like to bring my gun to work. I didn't see what the bug deal was. I have all the necessary documentation, and it’s my constitutional right. I just tucked it away in my waistband, and there it stayed, never bothering anybody, but always ready to be called upon if needed. Of course, a day did come where it found itself very needed, indeed.

    I don’t think it’s necessary to spend too much effort on going into the details. The whole event received no shortage of media attention., and is well and thoroughly documented. Long story short, one unusually deserted lunch hour, the Queen’s entrance flies open, and hurtling directly at me was a rather portly masked man wielding a katana.

    A sword is a dangerous thing. Incidentally, so is a gun, and you won’t be surprised to learn that I had mine ready. I fired twice. Double tap to the torso area. As he fell, he knocked over a stack of napkins that floated through the air until they settled on his unmoving form.

    I was given a few days off, which I spent anticipating the hero’s welcome that I would return to. It didn’t happen quite like that. Instead, Jared called me into his office and we had a long talk. A long talk about Dairy Queen’s standards of employee conduct. A lot of talk about “safety” and “liability”. What it all boiled down to is that, even though I had saved the day, the discharge of firearms within the restaurant is grounds for dismissal. I cried.

    I went to a strange bar and drank alone. Rage and despair took turns keeping me company. Fifteen years of my life taken away from me without any warning. Images of the robber flashed through my mind. I stopped him from stealing from my Dairy Queen. I couldn't stop him from stealing my Dairy Queen from me.