FARM LIFE FROM A FARM WIFE: Even with farm work ethic, get cash up front

Realization dawned, anxiety forming a tight fist in my gut, dismay filling my heart. He’s not going to show up. He said he would. I trusted him. I trusted him! How am I ever going to tell my boss?

My first real job fresh out of high school with my name on a paycheck, dressed up and with a title no less — assistant office manager. Unbeknownst to me, I was prepping for this job in my high school bookkeeping class, which almost everyone I knew found appalling. I found it fascinating. Numbers are so very stable. It’s like, two-plus-two will always be four. Bookkeeping and English, my delight. (Home ec? Not so much.) Deep inside I had labeled myself a nerd, but my friends didn’t think so. I hid that passion well, although based on public grade postings, they knew I enjoyed it.

“Kay, how’d you get so good at this stuff?” asked they.

Shrugging my shoulders, “It just clicks in my head, I guess.”

When I graduated high school, I didn’t go to college, something I regretted for a while, never thinking myself worthy, forever feeling rather short-ended. I had not “gone on,” like many of my friends, to get a degree. My farmer boyfriend and I were serious. We wanted to get married within a couple of years, and I aspired to make some money, beginning our life together debt free. The job posting for assistant office manager at a local Ford dealership piqued my interest. I applied.

“So what makes you think you’d make a good office assistant?” asked my soon-to-be boss, easing himself back from his mahogany desk, intertwined hands casually encasing the back of his head.

He’d posed that thought-provoking question during the interview process.

Taking a deep breath to calm the quivers, I responded, “Well, I was raised on a farm, so I know how to work. I’ll show up every day on time and will give you 100%. As well, I received A’s in all my bookkeeping classes and enjoy English, so I’m able to speak clearly and efficiently with customers.”

Nodding his assent halfway through, I’d grabbed him at farm kid. He knew we worked hard and that the work ethic didn’t stop at the farm. I was hired on the spot.

One part of my multifaceted job was to accept payment for services rendered. The service manager would bring me the work order and keys. Customers would come to my window to pay their bill and pick up the keys to their vehicle. I enjoyed interacting with people. I had led a very sheltered life on the farm, and because of that blessing I was taught to believe humans are intrinsically trustworthy — or so I thought.

A couple of months into the new job, an older, 40-something guy slid two crisp $100 bills slowly across the counter, holding my eyes intently. The box-like window framed his rather handsome face, which wore a welcoming smile. “Here you go, I’ll be back tomorrow with the rest.”

His voice dripped with honey. He smelled good. Seemed to be in a hurry.

I was hesitant, but so eager to please my new boss. I didn’t want him to think I was not a good judge of character, plus the guy seemed so genuine and he did have half; the repair bill totaled $400.56. My gut instinct was to trust. People are trustworthy, right? My low self-esteem and inexperience drug up its nastiness. I took the 200 bucks and gave him the keys. He smiled brightly and left with a “See you tomorrow!” I never saw him again.

A couple of days later, I was sitting across my boss’s desk in tears. The fist in my gut had morphed into a lead balloon, my heart as heavy. After a teary apology, I waited for my boss to speak, to can me on the spot.

“Kay,” he sighed heavily, “You gotta remember, you’re simply not on the farm anymore. You can’t trust everyone. If they don’t have the money, you must have them fill out a credit application and get references. Do you understand that now?”

He was firm yet kind, settling a resolve within my very being: Nobody’s going to dupe me ever again. That dawn of realization came sharp and intense, bolstering my confidence.

Because of his empathy and coaching, I was led to go on to work for him for 12 years and was promoted to be his agent, representing his business at small claims court disputes. I did it with confidence and courage and much prayer.

Farming taught me how to work, and outside of farming taught me new life experiences. I learned how to be vigilant and prepared and to be cautious, holding in my hand an approved credit application complete with verifiable references — or the cash. Before releasing keys. End of story. I vowed no one would dupe me ever again, and no one ever had.

Promises, smiles, smelling good, handsome, honey voice, half the cash — nope.

I had paid for my education with prayer, blood, sweat and tears — and off-the-farm experience.

(“I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.” Philippians 4:13)

Kay Reminger was born and raised on a dairy farm, and she married her high school sweetheart, who happened to farm for a living in Leopolis. Writing for quite a few years, she remains focused on the blessings of living the ups and downs of rural life from a farm wife’s perspective.