My first day

December 19^th 2008 was to be the first day I had ever been employed. The job was in my local supermarket and I had had my interview the previous day. My dad had been persuading me to get a job for months. He had lived on his own since the age of 16 and had worked with his uncle in his HGV lorry since the age of 13. I was going to be staying at his house for Christmas that year because my mum and siblings were going to be visiting my stepdad’s parents. He didn’t want me to be bored and so he suggested this would be the ideal opportunity to experience the world of work. When I applied, I had hoped for a job in the warmth, scanning groceries or tidying shelves but the store manager had different plans for me. I was 16 years old, small framed with long, black hair down to my shoulders. She told me that I was the big strong man that she had been waiting to walk through her door. She needed someone to collect trolleys from the car park and to take them to the trolley bay at the front of the store. I later found out that she had offered this job to several others but they had all declined. Not wanting to disappoint my Dad who was waiting outside with the engine still running, I pushed up the cuffs on my ill-fitting suit and politely agreed.

I turned up for work at 6am, it was a dark morning and there was snow on the ground. My dad had woken up especially to drive me, the supermarket was an out-of-town store and the only way to get to and from it was via a dual carriageway. He had been up since 4 deicing the windows and when I got in the car the heating was already on. He told me how proud he was of me and retold the story of how he ended up working with his uncle. The heat from the car made me sleepy and so I barely listened; I had heard it so many times before. He kissed me on the cheek and told me he’d call me at lunchtime to see how I was getting on. I reminded him to pick me up at 4 and closed the door. I hurriedly walked towards the store, holding my trousers up by the knees to avoid them dragging along the slush. The trousers were my brothers and were far too long for me. After making my way inside the store I found my locker and placed in it my sodden cardigan.

I went outside and met my assigned work-buddy. He was to show me the ropes and teach me all there was to know about trolley pushing. His name was Glen and both of his front teeth were missing. He had a handful of chocolates in his pocket and would chew them non-stop throughout the day. The toffee would get caught around the stumps of his front teeth and I would dry heave into my sleeve. He seemed like the kind of man who lived to work, just like my Dad, and so I quickly warmed to him. Lunchtime came around and it was still dark outside. I was sat in the canteen waiting for a call from my Dad. I spent an hour looking up at the storm clouds trying to avoid looking at the food churning in Glen’s gaping mouth. It was time to get back to work and my dad still hadn’t called. I had really wanted him to call; I had felt cold and lonely all day and really wanted to hear his voice.

The day dragged on. It had begun to rain and without a waterproof coat my clothes had got soaked. My lips were blue and Glen had stopped taking his hands out from his gloves to unwrap his toffees. He handed me his spare high-vis jacket. It had used tissues in the pockets and smelt like liquorice and Brut cologne. It wasn’t enough to keep out the cold. 4 O’clock arrived and I said goodbye to Glen and thanked him for being so patient with me. I hand Glen back his coat and make my way inside. I find my locker and retrieve my saturated cardigan. I slip my arms inside and the dampness robs my last bit of warmth. I clock out and leave. I walk past Glen and nod; he’s made of hardier stuff. I wait at the edge of the dual carriageway. The breeze from the traffic whips at my skin. I wait for 30 minutes with no sign of my Dad. A short while later a familiar red car pulls up next to me. Confusion creases my face; it’s my mum’s car. She was supposed to be 2 hours a way and had driven back to collect me. A river of rain was running down her window blocking my view. I wipe it with my already-wet sleeve to reveal a river of tears running down her face. My heart stops as I open the door. Looking down at the leafy-mush on her floor-mat she forces out five solemn words, “something’s happened to your Dad”.