Initiative
My grandfather is always walking a narrow line between being the world’s laziest Italian and being the world’s hardest worker. Having not been unemployed since he was a teenager—not even for a week—he’s worked a lot of great jobs. Crab fishing in Alaska (he hates the cold and at the time, had something of a seafood allergy), a weatherman in the Navy, and now he works a few hours a day at the local commissary as a bagger.
He doesn’t get paid by the commissary and relies on tips. I use the term ‘relies’ very loosely, as he really doesn’t need the job at all. And he blows the money every night at one restaurant or another.He does it for the same reason he does anything: to be doing something.
I always ask how his day went, and he usually tells me how much money he made. $40 in three hours, for example, and he assures me that the other guys made plenty more. The younger guys are steadily running back and forth from the market to the parking lot and back, to try and earn as much as possible while they’re there. He bags a load, walks them out, smokes a cigarette, chats with friends, and heads back in when he wants.
Tonight he’s proud of himself because, knowing it’s going to rain all day tomorrow, he’s fashioned a buggy cover out of a tarp, some bungee cords, and some D-clips. He’ll be able to keep everyone’s groceries dry. He’s excited to be able to offer something else with his service, even if he’ll most likely work at his own pace, and not really worry about how much money he’s bringing in.