This story is about why I quit my job. All I wanted was Labour Day weekend off. I didn’t think it was too much to ask.
After five months on the job, I was still last on the seniority list. When I asked, my boy-faced, rosy-cheeked boss said "no." I was insulted, even though I knew it wasn’t personal.
My sales numbers for August had surpassed those of my colleagues, and I hoped he would be kind enough to grant my request for a job well done. Of course, he had no idea how difficult it was for me to ask for anything, and when I did, it was of utmost importance to me. This was one of those times. My sister needed me, and I wanted to be there for her.
For 30 years, I held a responsible and steady job. In my late 50s, I was one of 30 people laid off due to a company merger and acquisition. After my severance ran out, it proved difficult to find another position I liked.
Then I stumbled upon this job — the description was intriguing, offering plenty of opportunities to learn an entirely different industry while applying the same skill set. I recall the day of my interview when my new boss extended his hand to welcome me aboard.
He said, “You’ll get on well here. But don’t be surprised — I never break bread with my staff, and I don’t supply computers or cell phones. Use your own if you wish.”
"Weird, but okay, no big deal," I thought.
I had my own devices, and I could write them off on my taxes. As I mulled it over, confident in my ability to land another job in the same industry and capacity, quitting seemed easier, especially given the strange company culture.
My younger sister, Nancy, was a single mother. She was a meticulously dressed career woman who looked after herself. Skincare products and sunscreen were part of her survival kit. She misted herself from head to toe with mosquito repellent for a walk in the park and was often seeing carrying her parasol.
Her eight-year-old son, Ethan, wanted to go camping. Although he took up the tidy game of golf, he had yet to sleep under the stars. Despite his mother not being the outdoorsy type, she promised him they would before the end of summer.
Nancy embraced the idea, and for weeks, camping became her top priority. First, she scoured the map to find the perfect spot—somewhere with a lake, dense woods, and not too far from the city. Once she made her choice, she was thrilled to discover that, in mid-July, an ideal campsite was still available for the Labour Day weekend. "This is a good sign. An omen. Ethan and I are going to have so much fun!" she exclaimed, before adding with a smile, "Me too, I think."
My sister’s fun began with shopping, which was her forte. If she was going to do this, the proper equipment was absolutely mandatory. She thoroughly enjoyed her time while diligently researched the wide array of camping gear — from stoves to chairs. Finally, only the most stylish camping attire, complete with UV protection built right into the fabric, would do. As she surveyed her recent acquisitions, she beamed with pride, but then her expression dimmed with apprehension. With everything still in boxes, she wondered how she would go about unpacking and assembling it all.
“I think I could do it,” Nancy said. She sounded defeated and expressed like a question rather than a statement. “How hard can it be? Right?” She added.
Before I could think of an encouraging answer, she spoke her mind. “The tent comes with all the instructions. The little stovetop does too, right? I mean, I can set it all up in the backyard first. You know, a trial run.”
“Would you like me to come along?” I offered.
“Oh, would you?” She gushed. “That would be good. Great, actually.”
Her face lit up, from doubtful furrows between her brows to enlarged pupils high on delight.
“We’d have so much fun! Especially Ethan, but we all would, now that you’re joining us. Not so much anymore of a chore for me, I mean, if I was by myself.”
“Of course, and a boy should try camping at least once in his young life. Who knows, he may love it and take you camping in the many years to come,” I said confidently. I was determined to show my nephew all the basics I knew in three days. Our conversation ignited memories of my old camping days with my son. The smell of campfires, roasting marshmallows, and s’mores had me eager to once again experience this very Canadian pastime. Hash browns, bacon, and scrambled eggs never tasted this good at home.
I had already decided and didn’t waste another moment thinking about my job. I focused entirely on camping for the rest of the week, leading up to five p.m. on Friday. Having spent twenty years of my adult life hiking and backpacking, I had everything. I was eager to dig into my storage and find my gear after work.
After seeing how happy Nancy was, I couldn’t let her down and had to ask for the time off. But it was with some consideration during that week before I took such drastic measures. When I told my sister what I did end of my working day on Friday, she asked, “Are you sure?”
“Sure, I’m sure. Don’t think about it anymore.” I smiled optimistically. “There’s another one out there for me.”
We were pleased with ourselves that we planned well ahead of time. The next morning, early on a dreary, overcast Saturday, we packed up the the last-minute items into her Subaru and headed northwest out of the city and over the Lions Gate Bridge.
“The weather looks threatening,” I said, not to dampen her spirit, but it was necessary information.
“Gee,” Nancy said, “Every long weekend seems to get rained on, am I right?” She looked over at me, worried. “I remember people abandoning their camping plans because of rain.”
“We may get a little rain, but we’ll manage. We’ve got all the right stuff,” I reassured her.
“I got us a fantastic site, close to the showers and just a short walk to the lake.” Chatty Nan was cheerful again, and with the thoughts of rain behind her, she looked fresh in her new camping attire. “Quick-dry tops for days and warm merino base layers for nights,” she chirped. She bought the best she could afford for this weekend.
Ethan settled in the backseat, enjoying the scenery. He’s composed and calm for an eight-year-old. He played Angry Birds on his device. Now and then, he followed along on the map he had on his lap. “It says seventy kilometres from here, Mom. When will we get there?”
"Well before lunchtime!" Nancy, eager to please him, answered quickly, then turned to me for confirmation.
I nodded.
We turned into the Alice Lake Campground at noon and easily found our site. We got straight to work. Ethan helped with the lighter gear as Nan and I carried everything else out.
Being short, I stood on the picnic table to rope the trees to hitch up our tarps and clothesline. The picnic table was under a smaller tarp, with the larger one over our tents.
The woman next to our site waved at us. “Hi, ladies, my husband is available to help if you need him.” She smiled warmly, sending us neighbourly vibes.
“Thanks!” Nan and I turned, and as her husband waved, I said, “I think we’ll be okay!”
He gestured with a thumbs-up, held high above his head.
Nan whispered, “Maybe they think we’re lesbians? With a child?”
“You think?” I said, laughing. “Let’s show them how capable we are!” I raised my fist triumphantly. Nancy, who looked freshly pressed and plucked out of the city, and me, a 100-pound, five-foot woman, looked needy.
Nancy and Ethan took my lead in good humor. We built a fire. After lunch, we explored before supper. We buried a treasure for Ethan to return to in ten years to retrieve it. We marked the location with a map, and he folded it neatly and stuffed it into his pant pocket as his face widened and shone with enchantment. ‘Boys love stuff like that,’ I thought, remembering my son when he was that age; he was now in his thirties.
After a hearty feast of chili and pasta, we debated on marshmallows or s’mores. A game of Rock, Paper, Scissors, S’mores came out the winner.
We sat around the campfire and talked. Nancy reminded Ethan of his silly but cute ways when he was three. “I said to walk faster, and you said you couldn’t because you would fall down.” She laughed.
“He’s right, you know. So logical and smart at three!” I said.
Nancy said, “Yes, still is.” She ruffled his hair. “Remember, Ethan, what you said when you got your first report card in Grade one?”
“Yeah.” Ethan mumbled.
“What, tell me!” I pleaded.
“He asked me why I get his report card when he did all the work?” Nancy bellowed with laughter.
“Again, he’s right, you know!” I said.
“Then the time he had his lemonade stand?” Nancy asked.
“Mom, that was important to me,” Ethan said. “I wasn’t going to close the stand down until every last drop was sold.”
I put my arm around Ethan and said, “You’re right to stand your ground. So how long did it take you to sell that last drop?”
Nancy cut in. “I wouldn’t let him. It was time for his bath. Ethan never forgave me for that. Still mad at me?” She shoved him playfully.
Ethan chuckled without answering. Although two years ago, he remembered it as if it were yesterday. We all laughed.
The reason we were all here was for Ethan. I thought these moments were precious, incomparable to work. We had only to gaze into the fire and talk about whatever popped into our heads.
“It was a big jar of coins.” Ethan said. “I haven’t spent any of it.” His face glowed from the heat of the campfire. “I’m saving up for something big.” He grinned with pride.
It was ten p.m. when we retired into our tents. I slept in my old, backpacking, single ultralight tent, which I could sit upright in and still put on a pair of pants. Nan and Ethan crawled into their roomy two-man tent for the night.
“Good night, Nan.”
“Good night, Ming.”
“Good night, Ethan.”
“Good night, Mom.”
It poured rain overnight. I thought about Nancy and Ethan, but the tarp above me had collected a heavy puddle of rain, which sagged and hovered about six inches from my nose. Although dry, I couldn’t sleep. I strained to hear anything from the next tent. Nothing. Good. They were sound asleep, so finally, I allowed myself to relax and eventually dozed off.
We awoke to find both tarps collapsed, and the disappointment on our faces revealed everything we were thinking. We heaved the heavy collection of rain over the side, carving a small creek from the foot of our tents to the edge of the forest.
“I have an idea! Let’s go grab breakfast in Squamish.” It was Ethan who spoke up, while Nancy and I thought it was an excellent suggestion.
After a hearty White Spot breakfast, the sun broke through the clouds and brightened our spirits. We tidied our site and laughed about our mishap.
Nancy said, “It could have been worse. Imagine if our tents had collapsed as well.”
“Nah,” I said, “That won’t happen because I made sure the stakes were firmly hammered in and securely tied down. Just the stupid tarps, that’s all.”
“Stupid tarps,” Ethan mimicked. “Stupid tarps. Mom, don’t they make smart tarps?”
The weather cooperated for the rest of our camping trip, and both Nancy and I were satisfied that Ethan’s first camping experience was more than fun. He took away a few lessons from the experience. When asked, Ethan said, “It was awesome.” His open smile stretched from ear to ear, exposing his braces like railroad tracks. That was a sign he truly enjoyed himself because he was usually shy about them and only offered the slightest smile whenever he was pleased.
Before I fell asleep on our last night, I thought about my stupid job and felt happy I made the right decision.
Canadians looked forward to one of the busiest long weekends of the year. It signals the end of summer and the time to enjoy precious family moments together. For Ethan, he camped for the first time in his young life, and it was exactly what he needed before school started. I reflected on the most memorable Labour Day weekend I’ve ever had. After all, this Statutory Holiday was first established in Canada for better working conditions in 1894.
Many of us do work on that weekend, and we wish to applaud and recognize ourselves — we deserve it. As for my job, I found a better one.
- Ming Louie Stein, Port Moody
You can find Ming Louie Stein on Facebook.
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