"Do you want the job or not—stop wasting my time—I have ten other boys I can interview—do you want the job?"
I stood there speechless; stunned. I couldn't believe my ears. His words reverberated through my mind. It was the most bizarre description of job duties I'd ever heard.
The older man had just said: "The job is dishwasher. You'll wash all dishes and pots and pans and then mop the kitchen floor. In addition to your pay, you'll receive two free meals every day. Now, when I inspect your work, if I am dissatisfied in any way, I will take corrective measures. You will be required to submit to a spanking. I will bring you here, to my office; you will undress then lie across my lap. I will spank you with either my hand, or a leather belt. I will spank you hard and long--you will not make the same mistake twice. If during the course of the spanking you cause me to have an erection, you will use your hands to bring me relief. Do you want the job or not?"
I searched his eyes for some sign that he was joking with me—I saw nothing but his cold, brown eyes burning a hole through me.
In the past five days I had been to over twenty businesses in the area. No one was hiring. I knew the economy was bad, but I didn't think it was this bad. The money my mother had given me was running out. I had to have an income, and this was the only job that was offered me.
"If you think about reporting me to anyone remember this: I have been a well-respected business owner here for thirty years. Who would the authorities believe? Me, or a wet-behind-the-ears punk kid? This might be your only opportunity for work in this job market. What will it be? Do you want the job or not?"
He was right. I was eighteen with no talent or skills. If I turned this down, I could very easily end up sleeping in my car. The pay was minimum wage, but two meals a day was extremely important. Besides, I'm a good worker, if I do my job, he wouldn't have a reason to spank me.
"Okay—yeah, I want the job."
"And you accept the conditions I told you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. You'll begin today at three—come in at 2:30 and you can eat before you start work."
He didn't offer to shake hands so I left and walked home.
I thought about my mother and how hard she struggled to keep me and my younger sisters clothed and fed. My father had worked for the electric company and was killed while working on a power pole. My mother received a small lump sum payment and she had a good job so our family didn't suffer. But when she got laid-off from work our lives changed dramatically.
She was forced to do menial, part-time work to keep us going, and most of the time that wasn't enough. Then I began to notice that strange men would come to the house and they would disappear into her bedroom for awhile. I suspected what they were doing, but my sisters were too young to understand.
Through it all my mother remained positive and always had a smile on her face although I saw her once crying in her room. I asked her what was wrong and her face immediately brightened and she smiled and said, "Nothing, sweetie—I just miss your dad."
When I graduated from high school she came to me and said it was time I found a job and move out of the house; she couldn't afford me living there anymore. It was the second time I saw her break down and cry.
"Sweetie," she said as I was preparing to leave the house for good, "it's a tough world out there and you're going to have to do things you may not want to, but you have to survive. Do you understand me? Do whatever you have to do to survive!"
I assured her I would I do my very best.
The restaurant wasn't very busy when I showed up for work. I went to the counter and a waitress in her forties asked if she could help me.
"Ah, hi, my name is John—I'm the new dishwasher—I'm supposed to start work today."
Her eyes looked me up and down then a wry smile spread across her thin lips.
"Oh my," she said. "You are a pretty one, aren't you? I gotta admit The Old Man still has good taste in his boys."
I followed her to the kitchen wondering about her comment. She introduced me to a cook and his first reaction was to smile, too. He prepared a plate of food for me and directed me to a small break room and told me to eat in there.
I was hungry and the food was delicious. I hadn't eaten anything but ramen noodles for a week.
When I was finished eating the cook introduced me to the daytime dishwasher, Bob. He found me an apron and showed me what my duties were. I was grateful he stayed an extra hour to teach me.
I caught on quickly, it wasn't exactly rocket science. I finished up the last of the lunchtime dishes and pots and pans and then the dinner rush began. The dishes and glasses and silverware began stacking up, but I did my best to keep up and made sure everything was sparkling clean.
At 7 o'clock the cook handed me a plate with my dinner. The food was excellent again. I began to feel good about taking this job.
Everything began piling up again. Sometimes it felt like I was fighting a losing battle but I managed to keep up. Then the cooks brought me the pots and pans; they were grimy with burnt food stuck to the insides. I had to use all my strength to get them clean. I was falling behind.
"John," the head cook said, "The Old Man doesn't pay overtime so if you're here past eleven you're working on your own time."
I thanked him for the info and told him I'd get faster as I learned the job. It was half-past eleven when I finally finished mopping the floors. I double-checked my work and didn't find any mistakes. I felt good about my first day on the job.
The Old Man inspected my work. He made approving comments then he examined one of the large pots.
I heard him click his tongue and he said, "Uh-oh".
He motioned me over and I looked into the pot: sure enough, there was burnt food still stuck to the bottom. My heart sank and the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight as he watched me clean the pot.
When I was done he said, "Follow me."
As I walked behind him I felt like a kid going to the principal's office after getting caught misbehaving in school. I began to tremble.
He sat on his leather couch as I stood before him.
"You did a pretty good job for your first day, but you missed that pot—you made a mistake—what did we agree to this morning if you made a mistake?"
"Ah, I...that I would get a spanking if I made a mistake, sir."
"Do you agree that you deserve a spanking?"
"Y-yes, sir—I deserve to be spanked," I said. I thought total honesty might impress him and he wouldn't spank me too hard.
"What must you do now?" he asked.
I was confused, but finally said, "I have to take off my clothes."
"Very good," he said. "What are you waiting for?"
My face flushed and remained beet-red as I stripped in front of him. When I was naked he had me stand directly in front of him close to his knees. He instructed me to clasp my hands behind my neck and spread my legs apart. I was acutely aware of him ogling my body and specifically my dangling penis and scrotum.
He cupped my balls in his hand; I thought I would die from shame. He squeezed my balls until I winced in pain. He chuckled.
