Destiny

I forgot that I promised last week to tell y'all about Brian's job search.  You see, he's always been the entrepreneur of the family, making money hauling garbage cans around front for the older ladies of the neighborhood, watering neighborhood plantings, mulching and weeding people's yards.  And it's a good thing, because this kid NEEDS money.  Those Legos aren't going to buy themselves, you know.

Brian's preferred work environment

Anyway, lately he's been saying he is sick of weeding people's yards and wants a real job - one with air conditioning and maybe an employee discount.  At the local movie theater, say.  Only, he's just 15, which makes it difficult.  Most places won't hire a 15-year-old, because of the restrictions on how many hours they can work during the week.  Never mind that he is a homeschooler, these rules still apply.

So I drove him to a local grocery store which will sometimes hire 15-year-olds to bag groceries. He went in to talk to the manager, while I trailed him into the store at the required mom distance and headed over to Produce to wait for him. I noted that he paused at the entrance of the store to allow an older woman to precede him through the door.  "Good," I thought. "My son knows not to knock down little old ladies.  That's something."

I've been raising teens for a while, people.  The bar, it has been lowered.

So, after 10 minutes, Brian joined me in Produce. "Well?" I asked him. "Did they give you a job?"

"I'm too young," he reported. "There's a small chance they might use me just for weekends, but I have to come back when the hiring manager is here."

We turned to go and were approached by a woman, the same one who Brian had waited for at the entrance. "Are you his mother?" she said. "I just want you to know that I think this young man is very polite.  He was so pleasant to me when we were coming in!"

"Well, thank you," I said, glancing at Brian, who was looking embarrassed. "That's always nice to hear."

"You know," she continued, "He mentioned he was here looking for a job. I really need someone like him to do some yard work at my house.  Let me just give you my number..."

I managed not to laugh, but, as soon as we got into the car, I yelled at Brian, "You got the WRONG JOB!" And Larry and I followed him around all that evening chanting, "Destiny! Destiny! No escaping destiny!" in our best Gene Wilder voices.

I can't imagine why he pretends not to know who we are anymore.