Big Rock Audition
May 16, 1994 – Kirtland, New Mexico, USA
It is impossible for anyone to be proud of their first resume. The only way Ross Mitchell’s filled up a whole page was by using really big letters for his name and address. For work experience, he listed “child care” and “landscaping”, but did not cite his parents as his primary employers. Ross figured the “Skills” category was where he could really add some length, but then he realized most of his skills were things no one got paid for: bike jumping, reciting lines from movies, and predicting who was calling when the phone rang.
Ross’s “Skills” section turned into just a list of adjectives: dependable, long-lasting, gentle, fast-acting, and a ready friend. He used his dad’s medicine drawer for inspiration, with a diarrhea cure providing the best ideas. Under “References”, he listed a couple of teachers and looked up their numbers in the phonebook. Hopefully no one reviewing the resume would actually call.
Ross knew a little about resumes because he spent the month before summer break studying them in 9th grade English. His teacher, Mr. Jack, said he was tired of trying to teach Shakespeare. He decided his class might as well learn how to get the “miserable, minimum-wage jobs they were all destined to have.” Ross spent two weeks hand copying the resume examples from the back of his textbook, replacing John or Jane Doe’s name with his own. Whoever wrote the book left out any boring resumes, like those from high school kids looking for first jobs. The book’s examples described astronauts, tight-rope walkers, and a pearl divers looking for management positions.
When summer started and Ross created a real resume, he remembered that Mr. Jack said real resumes were supposed to be typed on nice paper. Ross raided his mom’s small supply of letter writing paper and craft supplies to transfer his rough draft to a finished product. He found a stack of off-white cardstock and jammed a piece into the old typewriter his mom kept buried in her closet. Typing was not a required class until 10th grade so he had to hunt for every letter. Every time he hit the L key, the stupid typewriter produced LE. Since his name had two L’s in it, he never made it past his resume’s first line.
The next best thing to typing was trying to write super neatly in pen. Ross used a pencil and ruler to make faint lines on the cardstock and then started in very slowly. His fourteenth attempt had only two mistakes. Both mistakes were near the bottom of the page in the “Hobbies and Interests” section and were probably too insignificant to really matter.
Ross admired his final product while the rest of attempts lay scattered across the kitchen table. When his dad walked in, he said, “What do you think you’re doing, wasting all that paper?”
“It’s for my resume.”
“Resume? What’s that supposed to be for?”
“For a summer job.”
“Oh yeah? Where do you think you’ll be working?”
“The closest place is Big Rock. If I have a nice enough resume, maybe they’ll hire me.”
Ross’s dad laughed. “If Big Rock hires you, it ain’t gonna be because of a resume.”
“But Mr. Jack says all jobs need a resume. You take it with you to a job interview.”
“Mr. Jack don’t know squat. But go ahead and give it a try.”
Ross’s dad seemed to lose jobs as fast as he could find them, so he definitely knew something about job interviews. But Ross decided to pay more attention to Mr. Jack’s advice. He slid his resume into a manila envelope and put on his nicest shirt and his one tie, a clip-on model sent by a relative as a Christmas present. Then he got on his bike and pedaled down the highway to Big Rock Trading Post.
“That’s Charlie over there. He does the hiring,” said a man with dark glasses standing next to Big Rock’s cash register. He pointed with his chin. “He might be lookin’ for somebody.”
Charlie stood behind a glass counter full of silver and turquoise jewelry. He wore a “National Finals Rodeo” trucker’s cap and his face was covered in a reddish beard. He laughed as he shared a private joke with a customer and then patted the man on the shoulder.
Ross had been inside Big Rock Trading Post before but only to buy pop and candy. Everywhere around him, from the cracked cement floor to the ceiling, something was for sale. It was as if the entire inventory of a Kmart was crammed into a Seven-Eleven. His eyes darted between rifles hanging from the ceiling on fishing line to the brightly colored cigarette cartons lined up behind a popcorn machine.
After a few minutes, the customer in front of the glass counter backed away and shuffled out the front door. Charlie took a long drink from a can of Diet Coke before looking straight at Ross.
“You look like you got somethin’ serious to say. What can I do ya for?” said Charlie.
Ross’s heart began to pound. “Uh, my name’s Ross Mitchell. I was wondering if you might have any job openings.”
“I might be lookin’. I’m Charlie Dickens,” he said, holding out his hand.
Ross reached for Charlie’s hand but moved too slowly. Charlie squeezed and caught only Ross’s fingers in his grip.
“If you are looking for somebody, I made up a resume and everything,” Ross continued. He held up his manila envelope using the hand Charlie was not shaking.
When Charlie released his grip, Ross pulled out the resume and slid it across the glass countertop. Charlie picked up the piece of paper enthusiastically, as if he had come across someone’s secret diary.
“Alrighty. Looks like you came prepared. Let’s take a peek here.” He adjusted his glasses in mock seriousness. “Mmmm hmmm, mm hmmm,” he mumbled as he worked his way down the page. One side of his mouth rose in a grin when he got near the bottom. “Compatible with all age groups,” he read. “Sounds pretty fancy. But you forgot to list all your previous employers.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry,” Ross replied with a grimace. “I guess I’m looking for my first real job. That’s my first resume.”
“Yeah, I figured,” Charlie said with a laugh and a slap on Ross’s shoulder. “I like your handwriting though. Nice and straight. Since you brought in such an official lookin’ resume, I guess I should give ya an official soundin’ interview. Let’s see, hmm, so why would ya ever want to work at Big Rock?”
“Well, it’s close to my house. And I gotta earn some money.”
“Oh yeah? You saving up for college or somethin’?” Charlie asked with a grin.
“Not really.”
“Must be a car then. How old are ya? Got your license yet?”
“I’m sixteen but I don’t have my license. I guess a car would be nice. I’d have to make a lot of money before that happened.”
“Ya did kind of arrive at the right time. I gotta replace my soda pop man and the all-around gofer for this place. How are ya with numbers?”
“Pretty good. I got an A in math last year.”
“Well okay. Lemme give ya a little quiz. How much change would I get back if I bought somethin’ that cost a dollar-sixty and I gave you a five-dollar bill?”
“Three-forty.”
Charlie thought for a second. “Yep. Pretty good. How much is twenty percent of fifty?”
“Ten.”
“All right. Sounds like you got your numbers under control. How much you think you can lift?”
The question caught Ross off guard. He looked down at his resume. None of the example resumes from English class had anything about physical strength. How was he supposed to answer? He did not want to exaggerate in case he had to prove it with a set of weights behind the store. But he did not want to come across as a weakling either. He threw out a nice round number. “Maybe a hundred pounds.”
“Oh yeah? A hundred pounds of what? Potatoes? Chicken manure?”
“Maybe potatoes. If they were in a sack or something.”
Charlie grinned. “Okay. I guess we better go see.”
“Oh man. He really is going to make me lift weights,” Ross thought to himself.
Charlie grabbed his Diet Coke and swung around the counter. He swaggered toward the front door, greeting customers along the way. Ross stuffed his resume, which Charlie had left behind, back inside his envelope and rushed to follow.
The sunlight was blinding when they reached the parking lot. A tan-colored mutt dog bounced up to them. Charlie scratched the dog’s head with his free hand.
“This here’s Ike,” said Charlie. “He’s supposed to be a guard dog but about the only thing he guards is his food bowl.” Charlie smiled at himself for his joke and then bounded off with long strides, motioning for Ross to keep up. “I know you’re good with numbers and resume writin’, but I need to see how you handle yourself when things get physical.”
Ross got the sinking feeling that something worse than weights was in store for him. He would probably have to wrestle a steer or maybe a bear Charlie’s had chained up behind the building. His legs turned weak as he tried to match Charlie’s pace. They reached a tall chain-link fence surrounding an acre-sized plot. Charlie pulled out one of the fifty keys attached to his belt, unlocked a gate, and swung it wide open. He pointed Ross toward a large stack of hay bales.
“Now how much did you say you could lift?”
“Uh. I dunno. I think I said a hundred pounds.”
“Well these bales are only about sixty. Should be no problem. You grew up around here, right? You should be used to throwin’ hay.”
“No, not really,” Ross admitted, suddenly wishing he knew more about hay.
“I’ll hold your envelope. Lemme see how far you can throw a few.”
Ross passed Charlie his resume.
“Maybe I should hold your tie too.”
Ross unclipped his tie and held it out to Charlie. Then he shuffled to the nearest hay bale, unsure how to pick it up. It came up to his knees in height and was maybe three feet long and two feet wide. Two wires ran around the outside, holding it together. Ross bent down and wrapped his arms around the whole thing.
“Probably easier to grab the wires,” called Charlie with a laugh.
Ross felt the tips of his ears turn red and he was too embarrassed to look back at Charlie. His fingers found the wires and he slipped a hand under each one. He pulled with all his strength until the bale was about waist high. The wires dug sharply into his fingers as the weight of the bale drooped toward the ground. Charlie said to throw the thing, so Ross heaved it forward as hard as he could. His fingers got caught in the wires and he kind of followed the bale to the ground, only a few feet away from where he had been standing.
Charlie laughed again. “You gotta swing it,” he called.
Ross looked over and Charlie demonstrated how he should hold the bale out to his side and swing it forward. Ross jumped up and wiped pieces of hay from his face. He grabbed a second bale and imitated Charlie’s motion. He let the hay fly with as all the aggression he had left in his body.
“There you go,” called Charlie. “Try a few more.”
Ross threw another five bales until Charlie seemed satisfied.
“That’ll do,” Charlie said. “Well, Mr. Mitchell, ya kinda had me worried there at first, but it looks like you’ll be okay. How ‘bout startin’ tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? You mean you’re gonna hire me? That’s it? What about my references?”
“I hire folks mainly on their handshake and the look in their eye. If you want the job, I’ll start you on a little probation period at first, maybe three bucks an hour until we see if things work out.” Charlie smiled and laughed to himself. “But if you’re as good as that fancy resume says, I’ll need ya for the rest of the summer and then after school starts.”
“But what will I be doing?”
“A little of this, a little of that. Don’t worry. We’ll show ya tomorrow. So whattaya say?”
Ross looked up at Charlie, who was shielding his eyes from the sun with both of his hands. Charlie did not look like he had the patience to let Ross think about it. Then again, what was there to think about? It was the only job for miles around and Ross needed money. Three dollars an hour was below minimum wage, but hopefully that would change when he passed probation.
“Sounds good,” Ross said enthusiastically, and stuck out his hand for Charlie to shake.
They walked out of the chain-link fenced area together, Charlie locking it behind them. He noticed Ross rubbing the little lines the baling wire had dug into his palms.
“Next time you’re out here, remember to bring some gloves,” Charlie said matter-of-factly and handed Ross back his envelope and tie. “Well, thank ya, sir. I’ll see you in the morning, a little before 8:00. Wear somethin’ you don’t mind gettin’ dirty.”
“I’ll be here,” Ross said enthusiastically. “And thanks for giving me a chance, Mr. Dickens.”
“Mr. Dickens? Call me Charlie.” He waved a final goodbye and followed a customer toward the store.
Ross was left standing in the parking lot. It was half-full with worn out cars and pickups. The building into which Charlie was headed was as ragged as the cars and looked like it has been added onto, one room at a time, for the last 50 years. The exterior was painted in mismatched shades of brown with lettering on the walls declaring what was for sale inside – everything from ice to chainsaws. A mechanical horse that ran on quarters guarded the entrance. Ross heard a bell ring as Charlie opened the door for the customer he was chatting up.
Ross suddenly worried that Charlie might change his mind about the job. What if someone waiting in the store who was stronger than Ross? It could be someone who did not know Mr. Jack and would not let a resume and a tie get in the way of his hay throwing. Ross did not want to give Charlie the chance to take back his offer, so he jogged across the worn pavement of the parking lot. He grabbed his bike, which was propped against the side of the store, and then scrambled up the dirt embankment that led to the main highway.
So far, he was perfect when it came to job hunting. No thanks to his 9th grade English class.
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