My daughter came home from her first job working the concession stand at a minor league baseball stadium—hot, smelly work done in very close quarters—and complained, “I am literally breathing air that was in someone else’s mouth ten seconds ago.”
Little did I know that in a few years, that would be a valid complaint. But this was 2013, pre-pandemic, so I just said, “Your first job isn’t supposed to be your dream job. You’re learning the value of a dollar, and why you should go to college.”
I don’t know why I thought I had anything to teach my kids about the value of a dollar. I had always dreamed of being a writer, and though my father didn’t discourage this he counseled, “have a trade you can fall back on.” Reflecting on this wisdom, I set off for art school to learn how to be a potter. Feel free to laugh.
My first job, like my daughter’s, had been in the food services industry. Friendly’s. Picture late ’70s suburban Connecticut, blue-and-white polyester houndstooth uniforms. I waited tables, washed dishes, and took turns on “the make,” where ice cream sundaes were concocted and cones were scooped. I was soon warned that I was cutting into profits by making the cones and sundaes too big, and after repeated warnings was told, “Donovan, you’re off the make.”
Now you know that the first line of my book jacket bio, “Gail Donovan was fired from her first job for making the sundaes too big” is, in the words of David Sedaris, “true-ish.” I wasn’t fired fired, but I was forbidden to pick up a Friendly’s ice cream scoop. My editor liked the line, though, saying it sounded like Sparrow, the main character of my new book. And it does.
Sparrow is a lively, compassionate kid who would definitely make you an oversized sundae if she could. And when the neighborhood cat lady falls and breaks her hip and her seven cats need homes, who’s on the job? Sparrow. That’s just Sparrow Being Sparrow.