Chapter 3: 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 her sister worked for a State Farm agent just down the road, so the manager 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, 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 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 on him 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.