Chapter 47: Getting a Job

I woke up early and had to drive about a mile just to get to a Denny’s restaurant that was actually only a hundred yards away, just across the freeway, for breakfast. While I was working on my Grand Slam and second cup of coffee, I began to outline my day.

First, I needed car insurance, and a state vehicle inspection before I could register the minivan. I was sure those would all be in different locations so I got busy on the map app on my smart phone.

While I was doing that, it occurred to me that I would probably need a credit or debit card to pay for them. So I first needed a bank that would issue me a debit card, like immediately.

I ended up back at the bank (conveniently) inside the Walmart, and less than an hour later, I had a new checking account with a new debit card. While I was waiting on my debit card, I had mentioned to the bank manager about my need for car insurance. It turned out that the manager’s sister worked for a State Farm agent just down the road, so she faxed over my information to her sister and thirty minutes later, her sister shows up at the Walmart with new my policy. I then got to try out my new debit card.

While I was doing all this, one of the tellers called the Walmart Auto department and they sent a guy to collect the keys and take my minivan around back for an inspection. So, when I finally left the Walmart at ten-thirty, I had a debit card, a vehicle inspection report, and car insurance.

Next on the list was the Texas Department of Vehicle Registration, less than two miles away. But I would have to skip it for now to make my appointment at the UT Golf Club at eleven-thirty this morning.

Using the directions on my cell phone, I made it to the golf club by eleven-twenty and went directly to the pro shop and asked for Steve. Then I had to wait on him for another twenty minutes.

Distracted. That’s the best word I could think of to describe Steve Cormier when he finally arrived. His body language gave away the fact that he was thinking of other things, mainly problems on the golf course, I suspected. However, he was pleasant as he introduced himself and then guided me through the pro shop, out the back door, and down a short path to a garage-type metal building. The sign said it was the maintenance shop. While we walked, he apologized for being late. He said he had been out on fifteen (the fifteenth hole) taking care of a problem with the sprinkler.

In the maintenance shop, he continued to lead me to a small office in the back.

“Pull up a chair,” he instructed as he slid behind a desk covered with papers, manuals, and literature for different types of equipment. “Now, Daniel. Why don’t you tell me about yourself.”

At that moment I realized that I was not as prepared for this as I should have been. But I didn’t want to make something up that would be difficult to remember, so I decided on a partial truth.

“We used to live here in Austin, then my dad got transferred to Georgia. There was a municipal golf course nearby, so he took me out and started teaching me how to play,” I started. “Then, I had an...

“Were you any good? What did you shoot?” Steve interrupted.

“I ... uh, broke 90 once,” I said, embarrassed. “I shot an 89.” I wasn’t ready to reveal my real identity or my one experience on the Korn Ferry Tour last December.

He looked at me but didn’t laugh or anything. “Go on,” he said.

“Well, last March, I had an accident. I wasn’t hurt too bad, but it messed with my head quite a bit.” I could sense his concern when I said that, so I hurried on with my story. “My folks decided to send me to this famous psychiatrist who worked with me for about eight months. Finally, he said I was okay to come back home, but I didn’t want to stay there. Too many bad memories,” I explained. “So I got on the bus and made my way here. I hope to enroll at UT for the next semester.”

“Do your parents know you’re here?” he asked.

“No, sir,” I replied.

“How old are you?” he asked. “And do you have any identification on you?”

“I’m nineteen and yes, sir,” I replied as I pulled out my Texas driver’s license.

He looked at it for a moment and then reached for the phone on his desk. He asked for someone named Hiram and then waited.

“Hey, cowboy,” he started. “I’ve got a guy here with a Texas license and Austin address who’s looking for a job. Can you run a quick screen for me?”

There was another pause and then he read off the information on my license.

“Okay, call me back,” he told Hiram.

“The work we do here involves lots of labor. Are you well enough to do hard work?” he asked me.

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“Okay. The position I have is considered full time, averaging around thirty-two hours a week. We start at 6:00 am and usually knock off by 3:00 pm with an hour for breaks. You’ll work every weekend and the rest will depend on your schedule at school, during the week. Are you enrolled yet?”

“No, sir. I had to find a car and a job first,” I told him.

“Well, since we usually only hire students, you’ll need to take care of that before you can begin work. We pay ten-fifty an hour to start and furnish you two uniforms, but you’ll need to provide your own boots and gloves. Any questions?”

“When can I start?” I asked.

“Well, that depends on what Hiram finds,” he said. “And you getting enrolled. I think that the summer semester starts in six weeks or so. But you can start work now, as long as you’re enrolled.”

“Thank you, sir,” I told him.

“Okay, why don’t you take this paperwork outside and fill it out, then go get yourself a bite of lunch in the pro shop and come back. I’ll have Melinda look over the paperwork and hopefully hear back from Hiram by then.”

Three hours later, and another trip back to the main campus, I was in the admissions office with a note from Mr. Cormier explaining my situation to the administrator. By five o’clock, I was a conditional enrollee for summer school, pending receipt of my high school transcripts. I had no idea how I was going to handle that one. Technically, I was a drop-out. And I had no idea how to get my hands on the results of the tests I had taken for Cynthiana. I guess I’d worry about that later.

Before I’d left the maintenance shed, Melinda had told me that Steve wanted me to be there at 6:00am Saturday morning with my work boots and gloves. She would have my uniforms at that time.

So that left me with one day to get my car registered and find a place to live.

It was the Walmart parking lot again for the night after another dinner at the Luby’s Cafeteria. Once I was parked again under the same streetlight, I looked up the address for the Texas Department of Vehicle Registration and saved that for first thing tomorrow morning. Then I began scanning the classifieds in the local paper for a place to live.

The sun had long set when I finally closed my eyes to sleep.

I was first in line at the Texas Department of Vehicle Registration at 8:30am with my bill-of-sale, my insurance, and my vehicle inspection receipt, along with my Texas driver’s license. The clerk behind the glass seemed impressed that I had all my paperwork, and after using my new debit card for the registration fee and the sales tax on the van, the clerk handed me my temporary registration and informed me that my official registration would be mailed to my home address.

That reminded me I was going to have to check out the address on my driver’s license sooner or later. But for now, I had to find a place to live.

I hadn’t found anything in the classifieds last night, so I headed back over to the UT campus. I figured the library would be a convenient place to find back-issues of the campus newspaper, The Daily Texan. However, with school in session, parking was a nightmare. I finally had to pay to park in a garage near the Target store and walk.

After three hours, I was frustrated, tired, and hungry. I was also no closer to a place to live. So, after a quick bite at the Wendy’s across the street, I headed back to the Golf Club. I told myself it was to time the commute, but I really just wanted to get out of the mass of people.

It turned out that the map app on my phone was more accurate than I wanted to believe. While it was only eighteen miles, just like yesterday when I went to the admissions office, it took me almost an hour to get there.

“What are you doing back here?” Melinda asked when I walked into the small office in the golf course maintenance shed. Melinda was what I would call a typical Texan girl. Tall, with wide shoulders and long dark hair that was tied in a ponytail, she was clad in a flannel shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots. I guessed that she was in her mid-thirties, and could see that she wasn’t wearing a ring on her left hand. But there were pictures of a couple of boys that looked to be pre-teens on her desk.

“I’m tentatively enrolled for summer semester now, but I can’t get into the dorm for at least six weeks and I need to find a temporary place to live,” I explained.

“I thought you lived in Austin,” she asked.

“I used to live here, then my dad got transferred to Atlanta. I sort of knew I would come back here one day, so I never updated my driver’s license from when I lived here before. But when my folks moved to Georgia, they sold the house here, so now I need a new place to live,” I explained, hoping that Melinda wouldn’t push it too much.

“Where did you stay last night?” she asked. She wasn’t sounding mean or anything, just concerned.

“I slept in my car,” I told her. “In the Walmart parking lot.”

She looked at me for a long moment and finally asked, “Would you like to get a shower?”

“That was the next thing on my list,” I replied.

She picked up the phone and spoke quickly to someone, then she said, “Why don’t you run up to the clubhouse and find Cracker ... er, Mr. Rankins, and he’ll show you where you can grab a quick shower. You have any clean clothes with you?”

“In the car,” I replied.

“Then grab them and go find Cracker,” she told me. “And Daniel...”

I looked at her with as much gratitude as I could muster.

“This is not an everyday thing. Employees are not usually allowed in the member’s locker room. But I think that it will be okay ... just this once.”

I thanked her and turned for the door.

“And, Daniel,” she said with a friendly smile. “Make sure you come back here when you’re finished.”

It’s amazing how something as simple as a shower and clean clothes will make you feel better. I had found Cracker, who was an elderly black gentleman. He didn’t say much as he led me back into the member’s clubhouse. We were the only ones in there at the time, and he just stood there while I showered.

“Be sure you gets ‘yor stuff,” he said when I finished and had re-dressed in clean shorts and a t-shirt. Then he led me to a back door and pointed at the Maintenance Building.

“Thank you, sir,” I said respectfully.

“Humpphh,” he grunted. “Just be sure yous don’t tell no ones I let you in here.” Then he disappeared back into the clubhouse.

“Thanks for the shower,” I told Melinda when I went back to the little office in the maintenance building. “I feel a lot better.”

“You smell better too!” she quipped and then looked at me with a smile.

I just nodded. She was probably right.

“Listen, I’m not comfortable with anybody sleeping in their car in a parking lot,” she said. “So I called my dad. He has a small camper in the back yard, and if you’d like, you could stay there for a couple of nights. I know you’re supposed to start work tomorrow morning and so you probably won’t have much chance to look for a place until next week. So if you’d like, you can camp out in the back yard until you can find a place. I’m sure it will be much safer than the parking lot at the Walmart.”

“Really?” I asked. “That sounds great!”

“It’s not much really. Just a notch above sleeping in your car. But it’s safe and you can use the bathroom on the mud porch. My two sons and I live with my parents and it’s not far from here.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked. “I am almost a total stranger.”

“When I caught my husband cheating on me, I grabbed my boys and left. We had to spend the night in my car that night and it was the most horrible night of my life. Of course, we moved in with mom and dad the next day, but the thought of sleeping in the car still makes me upset.”

“Are you sure it’s okay with your folks?” I asked.

“I called them while you were in the shower. It was my dad’s idea. When I talked to mom, he was already outside opening up the camper,” she explained. “Mom also said you were invited to have supper with us.”

“Gee ... I don’t know what to say. This is so kind of you,” I replied.

“Don’t worry about it. I get off in a half an hour. You can follow me to the house. It’s not far.”

“This is fantastic!” I said as I spooned the classic Texas chili con carne into my mouth. “It’s been a long time since I had real Tex-Mex cuisine.”

Larry and Kim Henderson were the quintessential Texas family. Their home was one of the typical McMansions that filled the small subdivision less than three miles from the golf club.

In Texas, subdivisions in the greater metropolitan areas trended towards huge houses on tiny lots. These homes appeared so close to each other, it almost seemed like you could lean out the window and touch the house next door. Yet every one of them looked to be in the million dollar range. Inside, the rooms were large and comfortable with expensive looking furnishings and appointments.

Larry Henderson was an aerospace engineer with thick glasses and unruly dark hair. Slightly built, he wore jeans and cowboy boots. His wife, Kim, must have been a good three inches taller than him and probably outweighed him as well, and like her daughter, was wearing a plaid shirt and jeans with cowboy boots. I discovered that in addition to being a great cook, she was a professor at a local community college. They were both very down to earth people and made me feel welcome almost immediately. You would think we were on a ranch in an old fashioned farm house from the way she had the kitchen decorated.

Melinda’s sons, Carlton, who was fourteen, and David, who was thirteen, started the meal with us, but ate rapidly and then excused themselves to go back outside and play with their friends.

The four of us all sat and talked for a while after the meal, then Melinda and her mom began cleaning up. I immediately jumped up and started carrying the dirty dishes to the sink, but Larry had me leave them so he could show me the camper in their fenced-in back yard.

The camper turned out to be a thirty-eight foot long, Jayco Northpoint fifth wheel. It was obvious that Larry was very proud of his fifth wheel as he spent nearly twenty minutes telling me all about it. I got that it was four years old and they used it to go camping on a lake somewhere nearby. And I understood that while he had it hooked up for electricity and water, it wasn’t connected to the sewer so I’d have to use the bathroom in the house. Still, I counted the shower as a major plus.

When Melinda had first mentioned it, I had assumed it was probably old and small. So when Larry began showing it to me, I was thrilled. I mean it had a king sized bed and a couch and a TV and the shower. I didn’t even care that I wouldn’t be able to use the bathroom.

When I offered to pay him for letting me stay there, he just laughed. Then he showed me how to get through the privacy fence to reach my minivan so I could grab my bag.

I felt secure for the first time in weeks and slept very well that night.

It was still dark when I arrived at the maintenance shed to start my first day of work, but the place was already humming with a small army of guys climbing all over a dozen Greenskeeper Riding Mowers and more than two dozen walk-behind mowers of various descriptions and uses. These were housed in the giant pole barn along with assorted four-wheel ATV’s and Gator utility vehicles, all getting ready to head out.

Melinda was already in her office going over some papers with a couple of guys while Steve was busy talking with another older man as they hunched over one of the mowers. When he finished, he seemed to notice me and began looking around for someone else. Then he gestured at another guy and started over to where I was standing.

“Randy, this is Daniel,” he said quickly. “He’s with you today. Show him how to do it right.” Then he was off to talk to some other guys.

“Good to meet ya,” Randy said as he extended his hand. “You a freshman?”

“I will be in June. Summer school,” I replied. “So what do we do?”

“Right now, we wait. The mowers will get out of here in a few minutes, then we’ll start with cleaning the shop. They can’t start the engines before six o’clock. The neighbors don’t like being woken up too early,” Randy said. “Where you from?”

“I used to live here, then my dad got transferred to Georgia. I decided to come back to UT for school,” I told him using the speech I had rehearsed. “How about you? Where are you from?”

“My folks have a small place just south of Fort Stockton, about three hundred miles west of here,” Randy supplied, but didn’t elaborate.

Suddenly, the big mowers all started their engines. For the next five minutes, normal conversation was almost impossible, so I just watched as the long string of mowers made their way out onto the course. These were followed by three guys in Gators with special tools they used to move the cups on the greens.

“They usually change the pins on Saturdays, Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays unless it’s raining or there’s a tournament going on,” Randy explained when he saw where I was looking. “Don’t worry, you’ll get the chance to learn that too!”

Randy then showed me where the brooms were and we began sweeping up where the mowers had been parked. He also took the time to show me where to return the tools the mower drivers had left out and generally put things away. Then he led me over to a cork board outside of Melinda’s office. It contained any notes or announcements for the crew. It also had a schedule of what was going on at the golf course for the next week.