My First Job Taught Me Adults Can’t Walk Off a Job Because They Hate It

Daily writing prompt

What’s a moment when you realized you were officially an adult?

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I knew I wasn’t a kid anymore when I got my first job in a chicken processing plant. I was so excited to think that I was about to earn my own money. But on the first day, I wondered if I could make another eight-hour shift. My job was to remove the craw from the already, thankfully, dead chickens. I was on an assembly line, and at 18, I was the youngest person there.

Being less than five feet tall necessitated standing on a box to reach the line. There were people on either side. They taught me how to do the job, and by the end of the first day, my hands were swollen, and I never wanted to see another chicken. I wanted to quit after the first day, but my mother said no. I was an adult now. And I had to learn to take the good with the bad, or I would never make money to care for myself. No job was perfect, so you just had to bear it.

I returned for about a month, and I was tired all the time. No time for playing, and on weekends, you just wanted to rest. Thank God for weekends! Then, I broke out in a rash all over. I went to work, itching and all. I missed a few chickens, which upset the women down the line. I knew that the woman next to me on the line had a knife in her boot, so I tried to keep up. But the itching got bad. It turned out I was allergic to chicken feathers, and I couldn’t work there anymore. I was a health hazard.

I was never so glad to have an allergy! I had a legitimate reason to quit. I then worked as a busgirl at the Chattanooga Choo-Choo! That was easier. But I knew that if I was ever to have a well-paying job I liked, I needed an education. The jobs I hated taught me to give eight hours work for eight hours pay, to appreciate the efforts of others, and even to admire them. The women who worked at the chicken factory for years had no other choice.

I admired their grit and love for their families that made them willing to endure such an awful job. That’s when you know you are not in kiddie land anymore. Those early jobs helped me appreciate being a college professor. I didn’t complain much, for I knew that there were worse things I could be doing!

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