The First Day in a New Job Does it Dictate Your Future Career?

Canute rang me the other day to give me an update from Antigua on a cricket match he happened to be watching and an analysis on rum punch, as I had just returned from a day working at Sedgefield Racecourse in County Durham and the only respite from the driving rain was when it eased off to allow the snow to fall, then I was not so happy to hear from him. Canute is loosely speaking my business partner, though he spends great swathes of the year swaning around regions of tropical beauty whilst I put on a fourth sweater because I cannot afford to turn the radiator up another notch.

I have mentioned in a previous article that he tells everyone that I taught him all he knows, this is because I showed him the ropes at a company that we both joined shortly after leaving our respective universities. I had this privilege because I had approximately three months more experience than he did, and this started me thinking about the impact that a first day in the job can have on a person.


When I joined the company in question I was put in the care of a gnarled, middle aged and slightly bitter sales veteran whom I had to meet on my first morning at 6.30 a.m. in Scunthorpe, which luckily for most of you reading this, is a place that you will not have experienced, it's a bit like downtown Mogadishu, without the charm but with a Woolworths.

I cannot remember how I got there at that un-godly hour, with no transport, but do remember a day slogging around the high spots of Northern Lincolnshire and South Yorkshire until at 8.15. p.m. being deposited in front of a rather shabby terraced house in Mansfield, a place that made me long to be back in Scunthorpe, and told that this was where I was to stay for the one week duration of my 'representative training'. My tutor thus drove off, still gnarled, a little more middle aged and even more bitter than on first acquaintance.

I went up a short path covered in a frosty moss that would have aided the preparations of the British figure skating team and saw the sign in a fairly grimy front window announcing "Mrs Persona's Guest House No Vacancies". Surely this was a good sign, after all a guest house in Mansfield, not a noted tourist destination, that was full in mid February, must be doing something right.

I imagined the aforementioned landlady as a cheerful Italian momma dispensing huge portions of pasta to happy guests, this would be followed by a few glasses of Chianti, a Grappa chaser and off to bed in a cosy little room that radiated the warmth of the owner's native Sorrento.

I rang the bell, the door opened and I was immediately bitterly disappointed. The lady was Italian, but not cheerful and welcoming. She informed me that I was too late for a meal, which if it had tasted anything like it's lingering after smell did not disturb me too much. She then grunted something which I took to mean follow her and we ascended four flights of stairs to a room in the attic. As I peered into this dark broom cupboard I could not help but notice that it contained three camp-beds. The one nearest the door and the one furthest from the door had clothes strewn over them and there were muddy boots on the threadbare carpet along with rucksacks and bags.Two construction workers hard hats perched on the only chair in view.

Now I do not profess to being the brightest person in the world but something did not seem quite right to me. I therefore quizzed my host upon the nature of all these possessions and wondered if in fact she was just showing me some sort of store room and my cosy little bedroom with an air of the Mediterranean was in fact tucked away somewhere else within the residence.

She seemed quite affronted and snapped that this was my room and that I had the privilege of sharing it with two gentlemen from County Cork who were helping build the nearby bypass and she had never had any complaints before from guests brought to her by my, "gnarled, middle aged, bitter guide to all things sales representative", obviously she didn't quite use this terminology but I guessed that she would have wanted me to paraphrase for her.

By 8.45.p.m. I had rung my mentor from the only phone box in town not vandalised, obviously not withstanding the broken windows and the smell of urine, and told him that, though I am actually in the main quite fond of natives from the Emerald Isle, I would not be residing in his charming town that evening and discovered from him where his first call was the following day stating that I would see him there. Then by foot, bus and train I made my way back to North Yorkshire got my father up in the middle of the night and blagged his car from him and almost immediately set back off to Nottingham to restart my career.

Awaiting me was my tutor and the Area Manager who had been rung in somewhat of a panic by the former. Nothing like this had ever happened within the company before. To be fair the Area Manager was a little shocked by my tale and even apologetic he was unaware that for year's trainee's had been subjected to accommodation that was like that Orwell had experienced in "The Road to Wigan Pier", and my trainer was consequently sanctioned for it.

Thus I went down in the annals of that company as a bit of a rebel. To show that they had no hard feelings after just three months they removed the training of staff from the gnarled one and gave it to me!

Canute was my first recruit. I met him off the train from his native Barnsley at Leeds station at 9.30.a.m. we had a leisurely coffee, and then mooched around some city centre bookshops, that was our business, book sales, and then we had a pub lunch. At three we nipped into William Hill to see what had won the Novice Hurdle at Uttoxeter and by 4.30. p.m. I had him back on the train, complementary copy of "Confessions of a Window Cleaner" in hand, so he would be back in Barnsley in time for a quick John Smiths Bitter' at his local pub before his mum had the Cottage Pie on the table at seven o clock.

He went on to be a senior manager with that company before becoming managing director of a subsidiary of one of the countries largest distribution companies; he then sold this to an international conglomerate becoming a multi millionaire. He then out of boredom came into business with me. I on the other hand remained the rebel and made and lost money until arriving at my present position of poverty fuelled manic depression. Obviously the experience of the first day of someone's career must have a profound life long effect.