Working for the Mom

This archived article was written by: Cassidy Scovill

You’ve all seen that kid. The kid that has the job just because a member of his family works there, and just like that he doesn’t have to work as hard. He is given all the reward for doing none of the work, and does he deserve it? No some of you might say, but I have something I must admit to you. I am that kid, and all the things you heard about working with family are lies.
I began my career as a bagger in a grocery store after my mother got me the job. I was anticipating not having to do anything. After all, my mother was the boss, and that meant that being her son was sort of exempt work. I even told my friends that they should feel jealous, because I was about to get paid for doing nothing. They crowded around hoping that some of my luck might rub off on them.
The instant I walked through the door I decided that aprons were for cleaners and housewives. I wasn’t working for five minutes when my mother dragged me aside and told me to put on the apron. At first I thought she was just doing this to not make the other workers jealous, was wrong. I did everything in my ability to do as little as possible; it’s disgusting how lazy a human can be when they put their mind to it. This was not to be, because when mom saw me talking to a friend, she came at me. She told my friend off and in a hushed voice said, “Don’t you ever think that I will hesitate firing. As far as I’m concerned, you’ll do twice as much work as the others!” I have not known terror as I did in that moment and barely knew what hardships faced me in my future as a grocery bagger.
From that moment onward I was the whipping boy for Food Ranch, and if anything were to go wrong, I would likely get the brunt of it. Now I’m not complaining because my mother is someone that is the basic definition of merciless. Now the house was a battleground, where I normally would get yelled at, but work added another way for me to get yelled at. Now I’m not calling my mother Stalin but, if she had a mustache, I just might.
I eventually toughened up and decided that working wasn’t that hard, if those other baggers could do it, why couldn’t I? Well first things first I am clumsy and admit I am not the brightest bulb in the crayon box. Both of these are not my fault, but when I fall, you’d expect remorse from one’s mother. My mother laughs and when she laughs she puts everything she’s got into. If I slip and hurt myself, she’s there to see it and burst into laughter regardless of whether I’m bleeding or not.
The laughter and the slave labor were things I could get a hold on, but sometimes I try and push my luck. Everyone has told one inappropriate joke and almost everyone has probably got in trouble for it. I got much more than that, and in hindsight, suppose I am an idiot. My mother is a rabid liberal democrat, and during the presidential election, was for Hillary Clinton the whole way. She was sweeping and telling me why Hillary would be better president than Barrack Obama. I had no facts to back anything so my argument was a sexist joke and had to tell it. I said that the White House already has someone to cook and clean so she shouldn’t be elected. I stood there smugly until I felt the bristles of the broom scratch my face. This should have been enough but, she decided to break it on my arm. She had the nerve to attempt a groin shot after that. My friend and coworker laughed and cheered her on as she went to town. Eventually she couldn’t continue because she was laughing too hard.
So the next time you think that boss’ kid is getting little bit of leeway, remember this: It comes at a great cost.