Tag: manager

About the Author, Story Time

School Storytime: Woodn’t That Hurt?

KC J. Hutchins

I was a theater kid in high school if I hadn’t said this before. Now, we possessed a small budget, which meant we needed to save money wherever possible. One way was to recycle old set pieces, using bits of it over and over again. This we stored in a closet. During my senior year, I noticed how disorganized it became over the years. Either I decided to take on the task to get my mind off things or I was assigned to it… I don’t remember. Whatever the reason it, I should’ve thought twice before agreeing. It. Took. Forever. To make things worse, it was very heavy. By the end of it I was sweating like a pig and sore beyond belief. Literally laid on the floor for a good twenty minutes to restore my energy. By the end of it, it was organized by size and easy to access. I was pretty proud of my work.

Closing night came for our musical and we were breaking down the set. They needed my height to help with it. I noticed groups bringing wood to the closet. Without a second thought, I reminded them I’d organized it and to please keep it that way. They agreed, but a feeling lingered in my stomach… So, once I was no longer needed, I went to check on it. Turning the corner, a clear yell erupted from my throat. Instead of my finely kept project, I was greeted with a wooden pile of chaos. My noise was so loud my stage manager across the way asked if I was ok. He at the time was putting away and organizing the props. Striding across the stage, his mouth dropped seeing the dilemma. He’d seen the finished product and said he’d talk to everyone later. Back to his spot, I tried to adjust a few pieces… and heard a bit of tumbling and creaking. I knew what was about to happen… crossed my arms and braced myself while the pile of wood crashed down on me. For a second, I just laid there… grumbling and growling from the pain. A friend of mine found me, yelling for others to help me. After a few pieces were removed, I shook off the rest while crawling out. I shot the group a look and walked away. I could hear some yelling at them, but I didn’t care at that point. Spent the rest of the time venting to my stage manager. On the positive side, I wasn’t required to do anything else for the rest of the night. It was a shame since it was the musical for my senior year. Left me with a bitter taste in my mouth… or was that just a mouthful of splinters? In all seriousness, I was fine by the end of it. No injuries to speak of that night. I wish there was a picture, because I guarantee it looked really funny with me under the pile.

About the Author, Story Time

Work Storytime: Ice Cream Cone

KC J. Hutchins

So, this was my first job with taxes involved. A bit more pressure to do things correctly. My boss was a very angry man who talked with his hands. It wasn’t abnormal to hear him shouting and knocking stuff over. This came from his desire to sell the business for the past couple years; thinking about it more as a way to make money rather than a passion. Given this added stress level, it made it all the more imperative to succeed… especially for a kid in high school. However, he owned a very mixed business… a combination of a deli, convenient store, restaurant (And I use that term lightly), and ice cream stand. This gave me a lot to learn in little time. Thankfully, he was rarely there. Doubly so since I could never do one simple task… swirl an ice cream cone. No matter what I tried I couldn’t make a soft serve stay on a cone… To the point where my managers wouldn’t let me try anymore. Laughing at the fact I could do anything else, but this one easy task. Now, this was happening for months, and it was a well-known fact by all members of staff. In comes my boss on one of his rare visits. Customer orders a twist soft serve cone. My manager says he’ll be there in a minute to do it.

Overhearing this, my boss says, “KC can do it.”

Without missing a beat, he responds, “No, he really can’t make one.”

The most bewildered and angry face went on my boss’s face. Growling he commands, “Show me.”

First attempt was too small.

“Come on!” He says.

Second time, too big and uneven. Now, I’m hearing laughter.

In between I hear, “One more time.”

This time it was just plain deformed. They both were trying to catch their breath, my manager grabbing the cone for the customer.

Finally, my boss was able to squeeze out, “I guess it’s fine you can’t do one thing. Easier on my wallet too if I don’t let you try anymore.”

After they recovered from on the floor laughing, the three of us sat at one of the tables. Each of us ate one of the messed-up cones with a smile on our faces.