After I had been working at Destinations, full-time, for about two months, I still didn't have a key to the door. This wouldn't have been a problem, except that there were many times when I needed to stay late and finish a repair, but Scott was going home and I had to leave, as well. Or, I would want to go in early, but I had to wait for Scott to get there and open the door.
I was told that I didn't need a key, and I wouldn't want the responsibility of having one.
One Sunday, in April, the day dawned sunny and unseasonably warm. Scott and I were the only two scheduled to open, at 11:00, and I showed up at about 10:45. I knew Scotty wouldn't be there until the crack of 11:00, so I settled in to wait.
After a few minutes, some customers rolled up, and asked if we were open yet.
"Not until 11:00, on Sundays," I told them, sitting on the sidewalk, next to the front door.
Three or four more cars pulled up, and we had the same conversation each time.
Eleven o'clock came and went. No Scotty. A half-dozen people were waiting for us to open, and all I could do was tell them that I didn't have a key. It wasn't that I wouldn't open up. I just couldn't.
Scott showed up at 11:35, looking a bit sheepish. After we got the first rush of customers taken care of, I walked over to Scott.
"Get me a damn key,' I said.
I had it before closing time.