I got my 1st job

Would   you   like   some   fresh   d o n u t s…..

It was March, 1961, and a friend had told me I could get a job at the Donut Shoppe, selling donuts door to door. I was 11 that spring, tall for my age, and willing to try anything that would get me some spending money. I had picked cotton for a few days with my father when I was 9, but that was piece work and I quickly learned I wasn’t cut out for that kind of stoop labor. I had applied for paper routes, without luck, and pushed a mower the spring before, but dropped that line after I promised to mow a yard for an old woman for 50 cents….that yard had to have been a large part of that ranch in Texas, the XIT, known for “Ten In Texas", because it covered 10 counties. I worked all day with an old push mower for that 50 cents and gave up mowing forever, when I finally finished.

I walked down to the older part of town, near the Colorado River, where the shop was located in a ‘50’s style building that had already seen better days. When I walked in, the bell tinkled above the door and the smell of donuts and grease permeated the atmosphere. I asked to speak to the manager and an older woman, probably in her early 40’s, introduced herself as Marge and took me back to her tiny office for an “interview”. I was so excited by the prospect of earning money, I could hardly sit still as she asked me questions and explained what the job would be. I tried to remember to say “yes, ma’am” and “no, ma’am” as she asked her questions, but I was so thrilled by this glimpse into the working world, I may have missed a few.

Marge asked me how old I was, saying I had to be at least 12 to work for her, and my heart sank, but she mentioned that I looked at least that old, so I brightened up, and said, “Yes, I turned 12 last month,” hoping she wouldn’t query me on a date. She didn’t, and kept on with the particulars of what would be my job. I was to sell donuts bagged in half-dozens, for 35 cents per bag. I would receive 17 ½ cents per dozen I sold, a princely sum, I thought. Marge told me to come back the next afternoon, as soon as I got out of school and she would start me out. I walked home on a cloud, no longer a boy, but a newly-employed man.

I told my mother I had a job and she grilled me about where, when, how and who for, but I answered all questions with patience and grace. After all, I was more mature now, a working man! She told me I would have to be careful, and keep an eye out for dangerous characters, because I would be carrying money. I assured her I would, that my route would be in a nice residential neighborhood, and that I was grown up now, after all. I hardly slept that night, in anticipation of my future riches.

The next afternoon, I raced from school, after the school day had finally dragged to a close, speeding to the Donut Shoppe as only a motivated 11 yr old boy could. I walked in, nonchalantly, gasping for breath from my sprint, but determined to act as if this were an everyday occurrence. Marge smiled and remarked on my promptness, causing me to pull back my shoulders and swell my chest with pride, and then pointed to the basket with 12 bags of donuts in it, 6 dozen for my first excursion. She explained that she didn?t want to give me too many on my first night, and then explained what part of town I was to sell in. Every boy who sold for her had a specific area to canvas, mine was relatively close to where we lived. I was too busy doing the math, multiplying 17 ½ times 6 and thinking of how I would spend the money, once I got it! Marge smiled and sent me on my way with a few cautionary words, and reminded me to return with the receipts when I was sold out.

I shouldered the basket, it was heavier than I expected, and set out on my new adventure. I reached the closest boundary of my area quickly and mounted the steps to the first door, running my sales pitch through my head as I knocked on the door. No one answered! I trudged down the walk and moved to the next house, knocking again. This time a woman answered, smiling and asking what she could do for me. I stuttered out my spiel, mangling words and phrases as she waited patiently. Taking pity on me, she said, "I really don't need any donuts, but I suspect this is your first sale, and I'd like to help. Give me a half dozen." She gave me exact change, which as it turned out, was a big help, because Marge had not provided me with any change. I was sure I was on my way to wealth and prosperity!

Two hours later, I wasn't so sure. I had only sold 3 more half-dozens, and my initial optimism was fading fast. I began to get creative, and a little pushy, out of desperation, and sold 3 more half-dozens, but I still had 5 left. I slogged up one block and down the next, reciting my sales pitch, making slight variations, and growing tired and more demoralized with each "NO". Some people were polite and said, "No, thank you," others merely said "No" and closed the door. Some were abrupt and some were rude. It was getting dark, and I knew my mom would be worried and angry with me for staying out so late; I pushed harder at selling, convincing two more houses to contribute to my enrichment and lightening my load by taking half-dozens. Only 3 left, I kept telling myself, as I trudged from house to house. I sold one more to an older man, who gave me a nickel tip, and I continued on down the darkened street, with the finish line in sight.

After several more non-sales, I knocked on a door, and a woman about my mom's age came to the door. She started to say no, half way through my by-now practiced patter; I slowed in my delivery and started to turn away, to save myself the effort of wasting my breath. She said, "Wait. Aren't you out late to be doing this?" I said, "yes, I'm just trying to sell these last two half-dozens so I can call it a night." In truth the bags were looking kind of sad, after being jostled around in my basket all this time. I asked her what time it was, because I didn't have a watch, and when she said it was after 8:00 p.m., my face fell. I knew I was in dutch, because by the time I got back to the Donut Shoppe and then home it would be nearly 9:00 and my mom would be fit to be tied.

The woman looked me up and down and said, "You look about done in, and if you were my son, I wouldn't want you out here wandering the streets at this hour!" She smiled when she said it and I began to hope she would buy at least one half-dozen. She asked me how much they were and I told her "35 cents for one, 70 cents for two." She said she really didn't need one, much less two and my heart sank, thinking I would have to pound on more doors. She went to get her purse, and when she came back, she said, "I only have 65 cents".   I said, "That's all right, a guy up the street gave me a nickel tip, so I can let you have both for 65 cents." Funny how your spirits raise just like that, when someone offers a lifeline to a drowning man. She handed me the money and I offered her the bedraggled bags, then turned away to go. I caught myself, some half-remembered lesson from my mother beating its way to the surface, and turned back, "Thank you. Thank you very much, " I said. She smiled and said, "You're welcome," drawing the door closed as I skipped down her walk to the street.

When I returned to the Donut Shoppe, Marge took right in on me, "Where have you been?" she demanded. I told her it had taken me this long to sell all the bags. She gaped at me and asked, "You sold them all" That's why you've been out this late? You didn't have to sell them all, you could have come in when it got dark." I told her I did not realize that and gave her the money I had taken in. She was visibly impressed by the admittedly small sum and gave me a pat on the back. "You better get on home, your mother is sure to be worried." She closed the shop behind me, as I walked toward home, happy not to have the basket banging against my thighs. My mom was understandably upset when I did get home, but she listened proudly to my story of my trials and triumph. I worked at the Donut Shoppe for almost three months, until we left for the summer, carrying baskets packed with bags of donuts every afternoon and Saturday mornings, becoming one of the better salesmen and almost never bringing back any unsold bags.