My first job was working Saturday mornings for the Superintendent of Grace Hospital, Vancouver, B.C. Her name was Major Crosbie, a dear friend of my aunt Miriam, my mother's older sister, the head of the women's services with the Salvation Army. As an extention on my real aunt, we always called Major Crosbie Aunt Margaret. So I was working for Aunt Margaret every Saturday morning. I was 12. Grace Hospital was very close to our home so I would walk up and report to Aunt Margaret and be assigned my task. Sometimes I would be touring visiting Doctors, sometimes I was to serve tea to the members of the board of Directors and sometimes I was to clean Aunt Margaret's shoes and iron her white uniforms. I was good at ironing. My mother had bursitis in her right shoulder and could not iron so I got the job of ironing all the family laundry. My sister was 2 years older and I don't know why I got the job but I was elected. So I was experienced with ironing...especially cotton garments. My Aunt Margaret did not wear cotton uniforms. She wore those new synthetic fabric uniforms and the first thing I did was melt a hole in the inside facing of the front of the uniform. I can see the hole in front of me as if it was today. I had just ruined Aunt Margaret's uniform. I completed my tasks of the day,and before I went home I had to find Aunt Margaret, confess my error and offer to buy her another uniform. She was very gracious but stern and told me not to worry,but she would look at the uniform and be back with me. And she did. Aunt Margaret told my mother that the uniform was wearable, as the hole was on the inside, and that she should have realized I was used to ironing cotton, and she should have warned me about the temperature of the iron. In other words, I did not have to pay for the uniform and she would continue to employ me. Over the years her response to my error has come to my mind whenever an error was made my someone working with me. But I don't think I have ever told anyone else this story. It still reminds me of my stupidity.
Another time I was asked to fill in as a receptionist for the Kiwanis Club, over the Easter season. Again we lived in Vancouver, and I was now 14. I had been with my Father when he had a meeting in the Kiwanis office, and the man in charge asked if I could fill in for a few days. I'm sure he thought I was older than 14. After consulting with my Mother, I accepted. This was in the days of lots of wires and plugs and connections and releases. I was taught the switch board and I am a quick study, but I had( and still have) the concept that I got this stuff under my belt. The beginning of the first day went fine. One call came in, I connected to the correct party, then released the rope when finished. Before I could think about it, the switchboard was busy. Soon I have 4 or 5 calls coming in at the same time. And soon I disconnected the call to the Director. He politely told me. Then the same person called back and I apologized and connected them to the Director who explained that I was filling in temporarily. I could hear the conversation, as the offices were side-by-side. Then I disconnected them again. Not so polite this time so I was no longer thinking. And can you believe, but I disconnected the person a third time, before they even got to the Director. I still laugh about it. What could I do but laugh inside and apologize on the outside. The Director did not fire me and I soon learned the busy switchboard, but this lesson has stayed with me . If you really really make a big mess, the only thing you can do is laugh, and laugh and laugh. I mean... I did not do it on purpose, and the director should have found out I was only 14.
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