Right after finishing up volunteering, I got a job as a clerk in a store called 'Perks' that stocked a nearly identical line of useless crap as The Sharper Image.

Perks' founder was Richard Clarke, the eldest son of R.J. Clarke, a once-famed Vancouver tobacconist. The father, also a 'Richard', was a hell of a nice man, but the junior Richard was, well, a 'dick'.

At the time I was hired I worked with just one other person, the store's manager, a guy named Brian, who, while bald and looking to be about 35, was actually only 22. Brian was great to work with; he taught me a lot, and being my first real retail job, it was interesting stuff.

Brian realized a lot sooner than I that Perks was a lame duck, and moved on just a few months after I came on board. This left me ostensibly the manager by right of being its sole remaining employee. I was young enough to be excited - even thrilled - at the promotion, vowing earnestly to 'wear it well' and never to let down the trust Richard placed in me.

Richard would not allow me to hire an additional staff member. It was January, and retail, he said, will be dead in Vancouver until the tourists return in the spring. Spring, my man, you can hire a staffer in the spring. Until then, it's you kiddo, and you're doing a damn fine job of it, so don't let anyone at the other (busier, well-staffed) stores tell you otherwise.

Could one of those other staffers be brought in, maybe just once a week, to relieve me?

No. They're much too busy, he said, and besides, your store is unique. It's your store, and you should own it as such. Keep up the great work, and don't forget those deposits!

. . .

I worked three months straight without so much as a single day off, working 12-hour days Thursdays and Fridays, locking the pathetic aluminum roll-down door grill whenever I needed to take a bathroom break, attaching a childish 'Back in 5' note to the bars.

Staff came and went. Turnover in retail is head-spinning, especially at the bottom of the wage ladder where we were. No sooner would I have someone in and trained than they'd explain how they felt they needed to move on, and no one could blame them.

When it was busy, the place crawled at a snail's pace. When it was slow, I would read entire novels sitting perched on a stylish black stepladder at the back of the store. I shit you not; so bored was I that I took up writing out numbers in neat rows on a notepad. Starting at '1', I believe I stopped 20 pages later at '55,000' or something close to it. It was an insane situation, clearly, and I started to look at other options.

At the end, nearly a year since coming on, I resigned my post with genuine gratitude for the experiences gained. I'd learned a lot, and for that I was grateful. I also knew much of the bullshit of working there was about paying my dues, which I was glad to know I'd done.

So where are you moving on to, Richard asked. I wasn't sure, but I was excited to apply what I'd learned from him, I said.

Richard, it seemed, could not find my replacement in time for my departure, so he planned to work the store personally until the spot could be hired.

His very first weekend - my first one off in countless months - he called asking how I was doing, and had I had any luck on the job hunt. None so far, I said, but I was hopeful.

Say, can you come down and cover me for the weekend? I could sure use the break.

I was too naive to really understand the degree of audacity he showed, instead I responded truthfully and asked if he remembered that I'd resigned and that I was now on my search for a new career.

Well surely you're not looking for a job on the weekends, he said, incredulous that I would speak such nonsense to him.

No, I wasn't, I said, but I needed the downtime, to rest and rework the resume and prepare for the coming week.

And you can't come down here, just for two days, to give me a break, is that it? After all I've done for you, is that how you intend to repay my kindness?

It was.