The internship that kept Benjamin busy last year had a single goal.
Get a job.
They covered resumes, and dressing for successing, There were several rotations in which he learned the routines for housekeeping, data entry, and maintaining a coffee station. They taught him proper etiquette in the work place, and how to greet fellow workers.
But he has not yet been hired. Neither has he been fired.
Still on some level he understands that being fired means the deal is over. No more. Go away.
Of the dozens of social workers who have spent time with Ben over his score of years, Jamie shines the brightest. Early on she created a helpful response to situations that frustrate Ben.
"It's fired!"
Over the years they have fired cars that stalled, and printers that ate paper, lines that didn't move fast enough, and skies that rained. They have fired me when I ate the last brownie, and her when she forgot her wallet. One time she sent Ben to the basement to put laundry in, and told him that her husband would be down soon to tell him how the machine works. No one came. Ben stood there for fifteen minutes holding the basket, because that was what he was supposed to do. Finally Jamie
realized that he was still waiting, and came down.
"Lenny is fired!" They laughed. Because what else can you do when things go wrong?
Somehow the response is just right. No violence, nor revenge. Just a playful twist on what could be cause for anger.
I have never been a boss of anyone except my own children. And almost all of them have graduated to managing their own affairs. But the next time the computer confuses me, or the sewing machine jams, I know what to say.
