Most second chances are redemptive. They allow a repeat in order to attain a deeply sought goal or repair a fault.
I have had many of these small good fortunes in my life. Almost daily, I have the need to double back and get it right, and I am grateful for those opportunities when I recognize them.
Another kind of second chance, however, is an opportunity for revenge. These are mostly best put aside, but in one instance in my life, the chance for revenge left me with some satisfaction and the feeling of getting even. I don't regret it much. Perhaps I should.
I had just turned sixteen, and I was flipping burgers at the neighborhood fast-food franchise of a national chain. Punching in and out, uniforms, a paycheck, and getting to hang with my buddies was new and all fairly exciting. We were having a good time and taking very little of it seriously.
My friend and coworker Elaine had just turned seventeen, and we rustled up a cake and a few candles and crammed into the small break room and sang the song. It all felt swell watching Elaine enjoy the spotlight. As we were set upon by the manager on duty, Melvin, we scrambled to get back to our workstations. Mel was a letch, an older married man who would leer at any of the high school girls I worked with and make everyone feel like they needed a shower. Mel asked Elaine how old she was and made a very forward remark and a rude invitation for when she turned eighteen. I jumped in between him and her and called him many unflattering names. He was much bigger than me, and not impressed, and I'm sure his anger was about to run over. I escaped a slug but was fired on the spot and told to never return. Expelled from the club. Jobless.
I drove across town to the other burger joint, and in a few days, I was manning a grill again. I was back to filling my pockets with the minimum wage, but I was plotting revenge. The Christmas holidays were a few short weeks away, and I bided my time and hatched a plan. I needed a second chance.
When it got closer to the busy holiday season, I asked my current boss if I could take a few days off. With some schedule swaps with coworkers, I managed several free days. I returned to my former burger joint, begged Mel for my job back, and told him I'd reformed. Mel even admitted a fault or two. He gave me that second chance and let me start the next day. I signed up for a full load of work shifts. When Saturday came around, the busiest day, I clocked into work all decked out in my uniform. I waited until the height of the lunch rush. At the busiest moment, I loaded up every inch of space on all four grills with every piece of beef I could find and slipped out the back door to the parking lot. As I drove away, I beeped my car horn at Mel, who of course had a quizzical look on his face as he watched from the door. It wasn't a noble Norma Rae moment, but it sure felt good, and from the stories my friends told me later, it gave them some stolen smiles watching Mel scramble to man the grill for the rest of the day. He didn't last long after that. Mel's kind of sexual harassment isn't tolerated in the workplace much today, thankfully.
Many years later, at a speaking engagement, a man about my age came up to me and said, "Thank you." He explained that he was Elaine's brother and said that he remembered me from the incident on Elaine's seventeenth birthday. He remembered how much she needed that job. He remembered how relieved she was to be left alone at work after that.
—JOE
Most second chances are redemptive. Almost daily, I have the need to double back and get it right, and I am grateful for these opportunities when I recognize them.
