Remembering that time I got fired

I ran across an old photo of me on the beach at Perdido Key, Fla., back during those days when The Lady of the House and I lived in Pensacola, Fla.

And as I always point out after I mention we lived in the Florida Panhandle, “Notice we returned to eastern New Mexico.”

In the radio biz, “on the beach” means you have no job.

And on that October day nine years ago, I had just been fired for the first time in my life.

It was at a Pensacola new-car dealership.

I started that September and sold five used cars and a new car that month.

On the first day of October the sales manager told all salespeople we each had to sell 10 cars by mid-month or we’d get the boot.

By Oct. 14, I hadn’t sold any.

That day the sales manager suddenly appeared at my cubicle.

“Walk with me,” he said quickly and sharply.

I followed him to an office. He shut the door behind me.

“Sit down,” he said, motioning to the chair in front of the desk.

I sat down.

As soon as he sat behind the desk, he said, “You’re fired.”

I laughed out loud and stood up.

“What are you doing? Don’t you want to know why you’re fired?” he said.

“I’m fired because I didn’t sell 10 cars by now. And you know, I never got used to insisting the customers turn over their car keys so you guys could keep them from driving away. What a crock,” I said.

“The owner spends an estimated $600 in advertising per person who walks on this lot. We’re protecting his investment. Making sure…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it,” I said.

He stood.

We stared at each other for a few moments.

I stuck out my hand.

We shook hands.

“Thanks for the opportunity, boss,” I said.

I walked out to my car and called The Lady of the House.

“Go back to the auto auction tomorrow morning and get back on there,” she said.

“Good idea,” I said. Working at the auto auction was my favorite job in Pensacola: It didn’t pay much, but I got to drive everything from Corvettes and Hummers to old beaters that barely ran.

I stopped at the supermarket, bought some deli fried chicken, picked up The Lady of the House and went for a picnic on the beach.

“I thought I might’ve gotten canned for telling the younger fellows not to spend more than 40 hours on the lot, go home to the family. Family is way more important,” I said to The Lady of the House as we sat picnicking on the beach.

There were more than a few times I heard some of the young guys off in a corner arguing with their brides about coming home.

Once upon a time I spent more time at work than home with the kids.

I regretted that.

A couple about our age came strolling down the beach.

We exchanged greetings.

They were visiting from Atlanta.

“Looks like you two are celebrating something,” the Atlanta man said.

“We are. I just got fired,” I said.

The man was visibly taken aback.

“Well, you seem to have a great attitude about it,” he said.

“It’s like a song by Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire that my momma liked, and she’d often sing it walking through the house, ‘Pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and start all over again.’”

Grant McGee writes for The Eastern New Mexico News. Contact him:

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