“How’d it go this evenin’?” asked Mac, smiling. “Di’ ye keep the lads and lassies’ attention?”
“I believe so,” Richard said confidently.
“Ye seem happy, Richard, what happened?”
“Everything went real well.”
“That’s gude to hear, but could ye be a wee bit more specific, laddie?”
“Well, before we got started, I was pretty nervous. But after we got into it, it just seemed to come together.”
“Like it says in the Gude Book, ‘In God all things hold together.’”
“They sure did! There was an amazing thing that happened in particular. After the meeting one of the girls came up to me and said that for the first time she believed that God heard her when she prayed. And a lot of the others told me that I did a good job and they would like me to come back.”
Mac nodded and gave Richard a knowing look. “I knew ye’d do just fine. I said a prayer for ye when I heard ye leave the hoose this evenin’. Ye look a wee bit tired.”
“I am feeling a little sleepy; I didn’t sleep very well last night. So, I’ll say good night, Uncle. But I’ll be up with the birds.”
“Gude night my boy.”
8
Working the Graveyard
The next morning, Richard sat with his uncle after breakfast to talk about his experience with the kids.
“Di’ ye think ministerin’ to youth is somethin’ ye might want to do with your life?”
“Right after the meeting, I was thinking along that line. But later—this morning actually—I realized I wasn’t cut out for it. I don’t see it as God’s purpose.”
“Why di’ ye say that, laddie?”
“A youth pastor has to accept how one minute young people act like little children and the next like mature adults. You can’t become impatient or frustrated as I did, although I tried hard not to show it.”
“I hope ye’ll keep an open mind. Remember, in any kind o’ work, ye have to develop appropriate attitudes and skills.”
“Sure, Uncle Mac. And I’d be happy to substitute for Cal again sometime.”
Nodding his approval, Mac suddenly changed the topic of conversation.
“Ye know, Richard I’ve been ponderin’ somethin’. I remember how ye said recently that ye wished ye had more money saved in the bank.”
Richard nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“I was just talkin’ to a friend o’ mine whose son works at a vegetable cannery. Well, he says they need more help on two o’ their shifts. What di’ ye think?”
Richard wasn’t sure about working at a cannery; he tried to imagine the kind of people he’d have to work with. He knew that some of them would be pretty rough types.
“I guess I could check on it.”
“That’s the spirit! Look into it, and if ye found ye dinna like it or they dinna need ye, nothin’ is lost. And, it just might turn out to be somethin’ gude.”
Richard knew full well that his uncle understood his hesitation, that he felt such a job was beneath him. For the past two years, he had worked in the university library in a white collar job that his uncle had helped him get. But this summer the library didn’t need him.
“I’ll go apply tomorrow.”
Dressed neatly and armed with his resume, Richard ate a quick breakfast, and started for the cannery. Twenty minutes later, he spotted the cannery’s sign and pulled into the company parking lot, nearly hitting a heavily-loaded truck that was pulling out. The driver of the truck yelled something at him that Richard wouldn’t repeat in polite society. I’d better concentrate on my driving or I won’t need a job.
He parked and got out of the car in time to meet one of the employees who was hurrying toward an old pickup truck. He stopped the man and asked, “Could you tell me where I might find the general manager?”
“You go through that door over there,” the man pointed, “and then you turn to the right and Jangle’s office is third—no fourth—door down. His name is on the door. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you,” said Richard, encouraged by the man’s courteous manner.
Richard quickly found Mr. Jangle’s office door and knocked.
“Yes? Come in!” called a loud, high-pitched voice.
The short, middle-aged man with a round, red face and a fringe of red hair around a shiny pate was seated at a battered wooden desk, covered with papers and stained coffee cups.
“Yes, come in! Take a seat. I’ve been expecting you.”
Richard found this remark strange, since he hadn’t made an appointment. “You’ve been expecting me?”
“Yes, of course. You want a job don’t you? And, if I’m not mistaken, and I rarely am, you’re holding your work record. Let me have it, and then we’ll talk turkey . . . or rather vegetables.”
“Well, I am looking for a job.”
“Good!” said Mr. Jangle, slapping the papers on his desk, and taking the resume from Richard’s out-stretched hand. “I like a man who’s decisive.”
“Hmmm, says you’ve got computer skills. That could be handy. I see you sold home-canned peas and carrots at the County Fairground. Don’t see any reason for folks to can their own vegetables in this day and age. Do you?”
“Well I don’t . . .” began Richard.
“Glad you agree, my boy! You got to be loyal to our business. Besides, the average homeowner gets the temperature too high or too low.” Mr. Jangle spoke these words as fact.
“I suppose that’s possible,” said Richard in an agreeable tone.
“More than possible. More than possible,” answered Mr. Jangle. “Nothing worse than overcooked vegetables! Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Oh yes!” Richard hated mushy vegetables.
Visibly pleased that he had elicited such a positive response from the young applicant, Mr. Jangle waved Richard’s resume and said, “I can see by this that you’re neat, orderly, careful about detail. I believe we can use you. Yes, you’re hired! See J. S. Packer just down the hall. I’ll give Packer a call before you get there.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jangle. I’ll do my best.”
Mr. Jangle, already on the phone, smiled and waved Richard out of the office.
“Hmmm, ‘Packer.’ Good name for someone working in a cannery,” Richard mused as he stopped at the door that held the nameplate: J. S. Packer, Foreman. He knocked on the door.
“Come in, Mr. Hawkins!”
Richard obeyed, surprised to be called by name. The surprise apparently registered on his face.
“You probably didn’t expect the foreman to be a woman. That right? Please sit down,” J. S. Packer requested in a soft voice.
“Oh well,” replied Richard, sitting down across from the foreman seated at a table with a stack of time cards in front of her. “I . . . uh was surprised that you knew my name.”
“Mr. Jangle just called and gave me your name. He said you would be here in a couple of minutes. Actually, he put it more colorfully: He said you