A True Holiday Story of Captain Paul’s Early Years — Losing a job and gaining a life.
The Dubuque Canned Ham was my Christmas bonus. I carried it like a football under my left arm as I slowly walked to my car. In my right hand, I held a pink termination slip and my last paycheck. It was Christmas Eve, 1982, and I had just been laid off from my job as a photo printer at Photic, San Diego’s largest commercial photo lab.
My boss, Jim, or maybe it was Bob, or Tom… it doesn’t matter, was a tall, balding, chain smoker with a thick Chicago accent and rose-tinted glasses. With a head the shape of an upside down bowling pin, he sat across the table from me in the dingy break room. Two bare fluorescent tube lights gave the manila walls a prison-holding-cell feel.
“Alright, Paul, so, listen. — the Christmas photo-rush, it’s, uh… done. And the business is doin’ this thing where it don’t got enough money for`… people. For you… So, yeah… So, today’s gonna be your last day ’cause we gotta cut back here. You did OK, but you’re just not needed here. Anymore. Sorry, I know it’s Christmas and all.”
His voice trailed off as he slid the pink slip, my paycheck, and the canned ham across the table to me.
I sat for a long time in the driver’s seat of my lime-green Honda Civic, staring at the ham on the seat next to me, and wondering what I was supposed to do with this pink slip of paper.
I was 19, married, and my daughter was 2 months old. The unemployment rate was almost 11%. Jobs were scarce, and the minimum wage was $3.35 per hour.
Surprisingly, I wasn’t sad. Pissed off maybe, but not unhappy. Sure, the timing was bad. It was Christmas, and I had to tell my family I lost my job, but in those few minutes alone in my car, I had an epiphany. Out loud, I said, “I will never work for someone else ever again. If I fail, it will be my doing, and only I will control how and when I get paid.”
And there it was. Just like that, the harsh, brutal life of self-employment began. My beautiful, naive, 19-year-old mind, so ignorant that it bordered on idiocy, and oozing fearlessness, allowed me to believe that, despite lack of education, limited talent, and fewer than five clients, I could be open for business as a Professional Photographer.
While driving home, a wave of peace washed over me. Like my mother wrapping her arms around my shoulders, somehow, I knew it was going to workout. That eventually, I would win.
As we gather this week with family and friends, let’s take stock of just how lucky we are. Let’s turn off our TVs, or at least mute the Black Friday commercials, and for a few minutes, stop scrolling through the eternal doom scroll of IG content, and instead, let’s count our blessings. The people we love and things that matter.
Wishing you fair winds, following seas, and a wonderful Thanksgiving!
Paul & Victoria