My New Job

by Jesse Eric Whitehead

I put on my jacket, gloves, and baseball cap and headed out the door. Today I’m starting my new job, and it’s going to be a little chilly outside. Better button up. 

A five-minute drive later, I arrived and parked my car in the lot. I made the short walk to my workplace carrying my sign, a thermos of coffee, a granola bar, and my donation box. I think this will be a great location at this busy intersection, right next to the signal light. 

The job is easy: I hold a sign and solicit donations from passersby for charity. I don’t have to say anything; the sign will do all the talking. Boring, but easy. I hope I do well. 

I exhaled and watched my breath condense into tiny clouds of fog. It is cold. I sure hope I don’t freeze before I’m done. I looked at my watch. 8:59 am. Time to start. I held up the sign. 

A steady stream of cars passed with each signal light change. Most drivers ignored me, or didn’t notice me, but occasionally one would slow down to read the sign. Some drivers smiled or waved; others honked or shook their heads. One guy in a souped-up sports car gave me the finger. I waved and said, “Have a great day” as he roared by. 

I smiled as I thought back to the last couple of weeks. It’s pretty easy to get a job as an independent contractor for this charity. I provided the required ID, got fingerprinted by the police, and paid for a city permit. The fingerprinting wasn’t required, but they said it would help expedite things, so I did it.  

After ten minutes, a car finally stopped; the driver handed me a few bills, said “God bless you,” and drove off. That must have been the ice-breaker. Shortly after, another driver donated, then another.  

The next driver after that wasn’t so nice, however. “Hey, you bum,” he shouted as he cruised by, “get a damned job!” He threw a banana peel at me and sped off, burning rubber in a black cloud of smoke that made me cough. Ugh. Haters are gonna hate. 

The next two hours went by in a flash. Car after car pulled over to donate; some people gave a couple of dollars, others fives, tens, or even twenties. One gray-haired grandmotherly looking lady gave me a one-hundred-dollar bill. I couldn’t believe it. I profusely thanked her and assured her that we would put the donation to good use. 

Most people were friendly, if not sympathetic, to my cause. But every once in a while someone would drive by and curse or make a gesture, usually a fowl one. I shrugged it off; they are probably having a bad day. I hope things get better for them. My day, on the other hand, is going swimmingly. My boss is going to be so pleased! 

Before long, the donation box was overflowing, and I could barely stuff even one more bill into the slot on top. Time to go. I’m going to get off early on my very first day. 

I headed home, my donation box full of money, and my heart full of joy.  Moments later, I walked in the front door and called out to my wife. She’s also my boss. “Hey honey, I’m home!” 

“Wow, babe,” she answered as she walked into the living room to greet me. “You’re home early. How was your first day on the job?”  

I smiled and opened the lid to the box I held in the crook of one arm. “Our charity will love this.”

“Oh my!” she gasped as she saw the green spilling from the top. “Yes…I do love it.”  

I set the box on the coffee table. She walked over and gave me a big hug. 

“$483 in two hours, can you believe it?” I smirked. I love this new job. Who knew that panhandling paid so well!”