Keep the Change

The Boatman

The man with the clipboard went down the line of men in front of the employment office taking names. Par Hamsun had hurried to be one of the first, only to find others ahead of him. He scolded himself for not leaving the house earlier. He hadn’t realized it would take him so long to prepare breakfast for his grandson, Christian, and get him to school. With luck, he’d get to see an employer and have an interview.

Born in Norway and raised on the fjords, Par grew up around boats. After he came to America, he continued to work around boats. He thought of the numerous places he applied for work recently, only turned away and the jobs given to younger men the employers felt more able.

Par took off his beret and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. He was hot and felt rather sticky. Standing around like this made his feet hurt. He wished he could sit down, but they might think him unable to do the job.

The man who’d taken his name opened the door. “If we haven't taken your name yet, you can go,” he announced. “We can't process anymore applications today.” Par heaved a sigh of relief. He was so afraid the man was going to tell them the job was filled.

The last man waiting, Par was next. With his veined rough hands, he straightened his jacket and pressed imaginary wrinkles from his trousers. Finger combing his thin, gray hair, he was ready. His weathered blue eyes were alert as he suddenly felt a spring of hope. The man came to the door and called his name. Par sprightly stepped forward and with his beret in his hand, he stepped into the small wooden office building. Just as hope had sprung, it completely vanished as Par saw a young woman sitting behind the desk. Surely, she is not the one doing the interviews, he prayed. Without looking up, she motioned him to sit down on a chair in front of her desk.

She’s so young, he thought. Well, another interview gone to waste. He didn’t move, just remained standing next to the chair.

When he didn’t sit, the young woman looked up and stared at him a moment. She saw disappointment on his face. Then she repeated, “Please have a seat, Mr. Hamsun.” She watched as he sat down.

Par felt he might as well get it over with, the sooner the better. Then they could both get on with other things. What would a slip of a girl know about running a boat yard?

“Mr. Hamsun, why do you want to work for me?”

Taken back by her blunt question, Par stuttered a second, “Well, Miss, I never thought about that. I didn’t know I wanted to work for you,” he replied. Might as well be honest, he figured.

“Well, if you were to come to work here, Mr. Hamsun, you would be working for me. Am I to understand that you weren’t aware of that fact?” She spoke sternly but there was a gentle tone, as well.

“Yes, Miss, I mean no, I didn’t know.”

“Now that you do know, do you still wish employment here and why?”

“I need the work, Miss.”

“Most people have been retired several years by your age.” Her dark eyes looked closely at him.

“Yes, Miss, but things happened I didn’t count on. I ain’t asking for charity, Miss. I've worked over forty years at my trade. I know the boat business. I have a store of knowledge that those younger men don’t have.”

“Yes, I bet you do have a store of knowledge. If your references are good...” her voice trailed off as she continued to read his application. “How’s your health, Mr. Hamsun?”

“I’m fine, Miss. Not as strong as I once was and my feet give me a bit of trouble now and then, but I am fine.”

“Please wait in the recept