HOW TO NOT HATE YOUR JOB potx

HOW TO NOT HATE YOUR JOB
Jason Schmock
Copyright 2012 by Jason Schmock
Smashwords Edition
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given
away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase
an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it
was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your
own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedication:
This book is dedicated to my wife Amanda who always believes in me, my parents and step-
parents for teaching me the value of work, and Dr. Jim Loving, Dr. Leslie Crabtree, and Dr.
Timothy Rhodee for teaching me to write. Without you, this text wouldn’t be here.
Index:
Chapter 1 What This Book Isn’t
Chapter 2 Getting Stuck
Chapter 3 Cinnamon Roll
Chapter 4 Harrison (Remember the Benefits)
Chapter 5 Nikki (Listen to Yourself)
Chapter 6 Paul (Remember What Your Job Does)
Chapter 7 Christy (Do Your Best)
Chapter 8 Matthew (Working Is A Gift)
Chapter 9 Apply It!
Chapter 10 Good Luck!
Chapter 1 What This Book Isn’t
I’m sorry if you got this book because you thought it would help you figure out what career
would be perfect for you. I’m sorry if you bought this book hoping to get networking, goal
setting, and driven tips to take you to the top. I’m sorry if you got this book to get your foot in
the door at your dream job. I’m sorry because this book won’t help you do any of these things.
If you want that book (actually there’s about a million of them,) take this book back and get it.
Maybe after you read it, you will have your perfect job, rise to the top through your excellence

and be working at your favorite place in the world. But, I’m going to guess that you will be in the
same place you are now and wanting even less to be there. Or as I like to say, you’ll be stuck
hating your job.
I was there once too. I tried nearly everything I could to get unstuck. But, until I realized that if I
couldn’t not hate the job I had, that I would probably end up hating whatever job I got next
anyway, I would never be unstuck.
Over time I developed some thoughts and skills that have helped me. And, even though I have
never obtained a dream: job, salary, purpose in life, prestige or title, I have learned how to not
hate my job. YOU CAN TOO.
I don’t want you to hate your job, and I assume you don’t want to hate it either. I’ve been a
telemarketer, a janitor, a fast food worker and a bunch of other things too and I hated them. But,
guess what? Now I know that through the right approaches, anyone can be anything (with the
exception of a job that you consider immoral) and not hate it. Read, apply, and stop hating!
I decided to make the bulk of this book in story form. Why? I did this so you’ll read it. The main
people that need to read this book probably don’t read many non-fiction books, or don’t read any
books at all. If that’s you, don’t be offended. Most non-fiction books are written to make the
author seem smart and you dumb. Besides that, the fiction section in the library is huge for a
reason. People love stories, and a story is still the best way to learn to think differently.
As you read the story, you will come to relate to the characters and learn their job approaches.
With any luck, it will be entertaining too. At the end of it all you should, have some great new
approaches that will help you achieve the goal of not hating your job.
The rest of the book is a very short look at the principles and applying them. Don’t worry, these
chapters are short and to the point. Take a deep breath; let’s get on with this book so you can start
not hating your job.
You have just completed chapter one. You rock, do an air guitar solo!
Chapter 2 Getting Stuck
It was one of those Fridays in St. Paul, MN that travel agents get rich off of. It was just warm
enough to turn snow into its messiest form. And snow in its messiest form was falling at a steady
rate. The snow made the roads a messy, gray, wet slop kind of like paper Mache with a touch of
exhaust fumes.

If this kind of day had a terrible effect on city streets, it definitely had a worse effect on Patrick
Keys. He felt as sloppy as the snow and twice as cruddy. He was headed back to his job from
running an errand that left him no time for lunch, and missing lunch just made him feel cruddier.
He hated skipping lunch and he hated his job even more.
He fumed about his hatred as he navigated the streets of Minnesota’s capitol city. Actually he
fumed about it constantly to anyone who’d listen and even in random outbursts when he was
alone. It was like Yoda said, “Hate leads to the dark side.” Patrick lived in the dark side because
he hated his job so much.
As he was driving and fuming, he was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a flat tire. It was
his flat tire.
“Crap! Just what I need,” he said as he pulled to a curb.
Growing up in a family that believed that roadside assistance was for weak and socially
incompetent, Patrick Keys assumed the role of part seasoned mechanic and part NASCAR pit
crew member all too easily. He’d definitely changed a few tires in his day.
He grabbed his stocking cap and gloves from the passenger side seat and turned off the car.
Throwing on the cap and gloves he exited the vehicle and approached the rear. The winter streets
of St. Paul did a number on his navy blue pant cuffs in the process.
One quick sideways gaze revealed that the driver’s side front tire was the culprit.
“Okay at least it’s a front tire anyway, and this should get me out of that stupid job for the rest of
the day anyway,” he said aloud.
He simultaneously flipped open his phone to call his boss and opened the trunk. Luckily he got
the voice mail, which is what he was hoping for, and left a pathetic message about the situation.
He was relieved to get the machine for two reasons. One, he didn’t want to go back. Two, his
boss might talk him into coming back or worse even working late to make up the time lost.
He surveyed the trunk’s content of used sporting equipment and other guy in his 20s necessities
before making his way to a spare, a jack and an empty space where a tire iron used to be.
“For the love of Pete, this is just perfect,” Patrick Keys shouted. The dark side was growing
stronger in this one as he tried to recall the whereabouts of said tire iron. A flashback to about
three months earlier solved the mystery.
He had received a call from his buddy Knox. Okay, his name was Tim Knox but everybody just

called him Knox for short. Anyway, Knox had a flat on said date three months prior and found
himself as our hero, up poop creek without a paddle, or a boat, or a tire iron. Knox called Patrick
and Knox brought the tire iron and continued to: 1. Help change Knox’s tire with NASCAR pit
crew like efficiency. 2. Put tire iron in Knox’s car trunk like an idiot. 3. Drive away unaware and
4. Realize he had screwed up three month later in St. Paul on a terrible winter’s day.
Patrick grabbed his cell again and called Knox up.
“Pat Keys, what’s shaking man?” said Knox on the other end.
“Hey you’ve got my tire iron in your car still. I need you to bring it to me now. I’ve got a flat,”
returned Patrick who could hear heavy artillery fire from a first person shooter XBOX game
through his friend’s end of the line.
“Um yeah, I can do that but I’m busy (busy playing XBOX,) it’ll take about an hour is that
cool?” It was not cool. It sucked.
Defeated Patrick lazily said “Yeah I’m at the corner of County C and Lauring by a diner called
New Horizons Café’ and a motorcycle shop called Vicious Cycle. You can’t miss me because I’m
the car with the flat tire and NO TIRE IRON!”
“All right bud an hour then,” said Knox hanging up.
Patrick locked his car up. Still hating the fact that he missed lunch, he made his way into the
New Horizons Café’. Just stepping through the doorway was enough to make him feel a lot
better.
The place was warm and well lit with plenty of red vinyl booth and table seating. Customers
schmoozed, laughed and gorged on Midwest comfort food. It was a steady and soothing noise
that made Patrick smile.
A waitress was quick to tell Patrick to sit “wherever honey” and he made his way to a counter
spot and grabbed a menu. He opened the menu while taking a deep whiff that was an ambrosia
blend of pork, beef, chicken and more accompanied by deep fried or gravy covered starches. In
short, it smelled like heaven.
He quickly zoomed in on a huge breakfast platter that included four eggs, flapjacks, choice of
meat, hash browns and the place even threw in the OJ all for $7. If it tasted half as good as the
place smelled, he knew he’d be all right.
A waitress took his order and Patrick shrewdly chose his eggs over hard and bacon as his choice

of meat. Everything is better with bacon. As he waited for his food, he passed the time between
daydreaming and his mental list of why he hated his job. None of his reasons for hating his job
were ones that you haven’t heard before. And his daydreams were not that inspired either. Patrick
was more stuck than his car.
About 14 minutes later, a heavy set guy in his early 60s sauntered from behind the kitchen
counter and out with Patrick’s feast. It looked amazing, it smelled better, and it tasted like a
dream come true. Granted Patrick’s dreams were already stated as being generic and lame, but,
still it sure was what you’d call a great meal.
As Patrick settled into his food, the cook leaned on the counter and threw his kitchen towel over
his shoulder. He looked straight at Patrick’s mid-sized frame and work uniform.
“Late lunch break from your job?” the cooked questioned. His voice was husky with warmth and
character.
“Sort of,” Patrick said crunching his bacon. “I’m not going back today; I’ve got a flat tire
outside.” He pointed to the window with his fork and then continued, “My buddy’s bringing me a
tire iron in a few minutes, any way I hate my job. Can I get more butter?”
“Sure Mac,” the cook returned and then handed him some butter pats. “Why exactly do you hate
your job?”
Now of all things that Patrick couldn’t pass up, complaining about his job had to be number one.
He unloaded like a full dump truck at a quarry. Every reason and story that came to mind he
delivered to this old guy. But, what was crazy was that he actually listened. Most people nodded
and looked for a way to get out of these mostly one sided conversations.
After the ranting was over and 85% of the platter was consumed, Patrick felt a lot better. The old
guy extended his hand and the two had a hearty and surprisingly un-awkward handshake.
“My name’s Phil and I know how you feel,” said the older man.
“Oh you hate your job too,” returned Patrick.
“No, I don’t. I said, ‘I know how you feel.’ I didn’t say that I felt that way now,” Phil corrected
him.
“Really, that’s cool, I’m glad you found a job that works for you. I hope I can do that some day,”
Patrick sighed and then swallowed down the last of his OJ.
“Well, I don’t know if I could help you with that, but I can help you not hate the job that you

have,” Phil returned.
For a split second, Patrick thought maybe Phil was a dealer of some sort, but his simple clothes,
glasses and gray hair seemed to rule that out. He didn’t look like a miracle worker either, not that
the most famous one ever did either. What was with this short order cook anyway? Besides
making the perfection of a breakfast plate, what did this dude know?
“All right how can you do that?” Patrick grudgingly asked.
Phil crossed his arms and raised his eyes, “You got Monday off?”
It was a minor holiday and Patrick did have it off. Most people didn’t, but he did.
“Yeah, I’m off why?” Patrick said.
“Well if you don’t want to hate your job, come here at nine a.m. That’s when the breakfast rush is
about over and I’ll set you up okay. I gotta prep for dinner, um what did you say your name
was?”
“Um, Patrick,” Patrick said, really still confused.
“Well, Patrick it was nice meeting you. See you Monday if you want the help,” Phil said as he
left and pushed forcefully through the Dutch door into his meatloaf preparation zone.
What had exactly just happened Patrick was not sure of. He was sure that Phil was awesome and
so was his breakfast platter #5. If he showed up on Monday, it could be awesome too. At the very
least, he could get one of the New Horizons Café’ cinnamon rolls that he had seen another patron
consume. It was as big as a small child. And with that as an incentive, he decided to return
Monday morning.
Patrick paid his bill. He met with Knox, fixed his tire, and went home to a normal weekend. He
watched the Wild win a game in overtime and the Timberwolves get slaughtered by the New
Jersey Nets. He slept in on Saturday and he went to church on Sunday.
As for Monday’s events, or at least Monday’s baked good consumption, he tried not to dwell on
too much. It probably wouldn’t mean anything, but at least he had found a new place to eat out of
the deal. It’s always easier to hate your job on a full stomach right?
Dude, you rule! You completed chapter two. Eat the best breakfast you can tomorrow to
celebrate.
Chapter 3 Cinnamon Roll
Patrick Keys was on his way to meet with Phil at the restaurant, when he realized something. He

hadn’t left his wallet or an important task at home undone. No, he realized that he felt optimistic
about Phil’s challenge. Now for you and me, this feeling of optimism may be a fairly normal one,
but for Patrick, as of late, optimism was foreign.As Patrick strolled into the café’ he found that
Phil’s estimate was dead on. The place was not that busy and only had a few senior citizens
finishing up their breakfasts and mulling over their second or third cups of Joe, depending on
caffeine tolerances and bladder limitations. Patrick smiled as he took in the comfortable
environment again and strolled to the lunch counter.
Phil spotted him from the kitchen window and stepped out with a cinnamon roll that completely
dwarfed the plate. Nearly the size of Patrick’s head, it oozed icing over the side and glistened
with margarine. The aroma of this beast of a pastry demanded a brightening to nearly any
Midwest morning. Phil glided the plate in front of Patrick and just as quickly scooped a pot of
coffee up and filled a cup with dark brown ambrosia.
Patrick grinned slightly and added his cream and sugar before taking his first hug from Grandma
Cinnamon Roll. Her embrace was sweet, warm, and comforting. One sip of honest brew later
and he was already convinced that this alone was worth getting up and out of bed early on his
day off for.
“Yeah, I could see you eyeball my cinnamon rolls last time you were here. Good thing I expected
you. I set this one aside for you otherwise we would be sold out,” said Phil in his husky and
confident voice.
“Thanmks,” mumbled Patrick finishing off another delicious bite. “So how are we going to do
this lecture professor? I’m all ears to learn how to not hate my job,” he said half sincerely and
half sarcastically.
“Eager huh,” chuckled Phil. “I like that, I like it a lot. But, I’ve actually got some friends who are
going to teach you the lessons.”
“Lessons, plural then, how many things are there to not hating your job?” questioned Patrick.
“Don’t you worry, there’s only five and they aren’t very complicated to explain, but then again,”
Phil Paused.
“Then again what?” Patrick pressed.
“Well they can be hard to apply at first. But it’s worth it!” Phil stated solidly.
Patrick gazed around at the café’, which had dwindled down to one Monday morning customer.

He didn’t see too many options for people. Guess I’m gonna travel some he thought.
“Okay,” said Phil digging out a sheet of notebook paper and unfolding it. “Just go to these places
and see these people. And you should be all right.” Phil handed him the paper with the thick and
hard pressed ink on it.
“Okay,” Patrick stated with hesitation. “Do they at least know that I’m coming?” He was afraid
to get advice from five total strangers. That fear would be worse if they didn’t know he was
coming.
“Yup, they know you’re coming. Go to the places and see those people. Well…,” Phil got up
with a grunt from leaning on the counter, “back to it. Meatloaf special doesn’t make itself.” And
before Patrick could even think of a thing to say, Phil had disappeared into his greasy spoon
laboratory leaving Patrick all alone to act.
Uh, bye I guess,” Patrick said to nobody. He ate the last two bites of his roll and sipped the rest
of his coffee. He then let the friendly confines of the New Horizons Café and into what lay next.
Although he didn’t know who he’d meet or what they’d say, he knew deep down that this was
going to be a very interesting day at least.
You finished chapter 3, and boy does it feel good. Reward yourself with a breakfast pastry
or cup of Joe!
Chapter 4 Harrison (Remember the Benefits)
As Patrick Keys gazed at the list and took in the warm winter day, he quickly realized that all the
places on the list were nearby. Since he had a good parking spot, and it was above 0 degrees
(Minnesotans' standard for a ‘warm winter day’ are significantly lower than most people’s,) why
not hoof it? At least I’ll work off half the cinnamon roll, he thought as he headed off to the first
destination: Klein Manufacturing.
Patrick had passed the Klein Mfg. white and royal blue sign many times. He knew it was a small
factory, but had no idea what they made or why. He assumed he was about to find out.
He opened the main door and was immediately at a security desk. The security desk clerk was an
older African American man that looked up smiling at Patrick.
“Can I help you?” questioned the clerk.
“Sure umm, I’m here to see Harrison,” Patrick slipped out.
“Oh yeah, he said you’d be bye, let me show you where he is.” The clerk said and ran his finger

stealthily down a clipboard then tapped it. “He’s on press seven today, follow me,”
The clerk strolled out leading Patrick through a door and into a whirl of machinery that shot out
plastic products of various types. Employees moved about like ants at a dropped Snickers bar, as
the employees performed their assigned tasked. The combination of machinery and human
motion had an exciting but intimidating energy to an outsider. Wow, what a crazy and repetitive
place to work, was the first thought that Patrick came up with.
Before he had a chance to get to another thought, the clerk stopped and pointed out his contact.
“That’s Harrison right there, check out with us when you leave,” the security clerk stated. The
clerk slid a pass marked “VISITOR” into Patrick’s hand.
Harrison had a muscular build and was in his late 50s as best Patrick could guess. He had a
medium pot belly, but was otherwise in good shape for his age. He had more salt than peppered
hair and wore triple stitched carpenter jeans, a Saint Paul Saints t-shirt and a faded navy Boston
Red Sox cap. He was working like a top at catching and putting plastic hangers in a box as they
spat out of a machine and on to a conveyor belt. There was a steady pile of these filled boxes a
few yards away too.
As best as Patrick could tell, the job at press six involved about four things:
A. Make sure press is working right.
B. Fill up boxes with plastic hangers.
C. Close the filled boxes.
D. Stack the boxes.
It reminded him of playing Legos but on a grand scale. In a way he found the task’s directness
comforting.
“Hey, good morning,” said Harrison loudly and warmly in an accent that was New England
splashed with Minnesotan. “Phil said you’d be bye to learn how to not hate your job today and
here you are,” he half laughed. Patrick didn’t know what was funny. But it was a good and hardy
laugh, so he smiled back.
“Well, I’ll tell you old Phil makes a great patty melt and he helped me not hate this job too.”
“You hated this job?” Patrick inquired a little confused given the smile and demeanor of the
obvious baseball fan.
“Oh yeah I hated it like the Yankees for a while,” Harrison paused and switched the boxes,

quickly closed the full one, and stacked it neatly in the pile. “But Phil set me straight with the
five principles he learned.”
“Yeah five, what are they?” Patrick blurted out excitedly.
“Well, Phil said to just teach you the one that helped me the most and that will be it from me. All
five help, but not all five will help everybody the same way. Do you get that?” Phil asked.
Patrick shook his head yes. He then glanced again at the notebook paper. He was starting to think
he might have five new friends at the days end. He already couldn’t help but consider Harrison
one.
“Okay then which one hit you the most?” Patrick asked with a smile and perked up his ears in
anticipation.
“REMEMBER THE BENEFITS,” stated Harrison firmly.
“Umm like medical, dental and 401K? Patrick shot back in a discouraged tone.
“Well those are a small part of it I guess, but every job has way more benefits than just that.
There’s way more kid.”
Patrick was intrigued and pressed for more. “Like for instance?” he asked,
“Well take my job here. A lot of folks that work here just say, ‘I work in a factory and they pay
okay.’ But, Phil had me think about it bigger and better. Then I saw all the benefits my job gave
me.”
Harrison continued to explain all the benefits of his job over the next 20-30 minutes. During
which, he masterfully executed all the functions of press six too. He loved the hours because the
shift started and ended early. And, he also worked four 10 hour shifts instead of five eight hour
ones. So, every weekend was a three day weekend,
The work was physical, so he always got plenty of exercise. He even flexed his left arm and was
proud of being in better shape than most guys his age. He ate whatever he wanted and slept every
night like a rock.
The wages were fair. He had made more at other jobs he had, true, but this one had friendly co-
workers and was mostly stress free. When a shift was over, he rarely took his work home with
him.
But, baseball was definitely the best part of his job. No, at another press they weren’t cranking
out batting helmets. See, Harrison’s main passion was baseball and this job allowed him the time

and resources to develop the love affair.
Because his job let him out early, he had a ticket block to the Saint Paul Saint minor league team
and caught most every game. He also never missed it when his Red Sox (he was from
Massachusetts originally) came to play the Twins. But, best of all, was the three weeks of paid
vacation that his seniority at Klein Mfg. had earned him.
“I spend two weeks with the wife and family,” Harrison said with a smile as big as the Green
Monstah. “And, then I take the other week and go to Boston to catch the Bosox for a series. This
year it’s going to be against the Rays. Tampa Bay’s got some talent you know,” Harrison
chuckled again. He was giddy with excitement about the upcoming trip.
“So you see when I remember the benefits of my job, how can I hate it? Sure there are days I
don’t like it, but with all those great benefits, I just couldn’t hate it. Harrison concluded.
By this time, Patrick’s head was swirling with all the benefits of his job. Truth was that he had
never thought of them as benefits before. Just considering them for that brief moment made him
feel 10 pounds lighter. What if he applied this every day?
“Well you got some more names on that list Pal,” said Harrison. “And I got a lot of hangers to do
before 2:30. So I’ll see you, and nice meeting you.”
The two shook hands firmly and Patrick made his way out of Klein Mfg. Stopping of course to
return his visitors pass to security.
As he stepped into the crisp Saint Paul air, he felt even more optimistic and took a deep breath.
Remember the benefits, he thought to himself with a smile as he strolled along. He hated his job
less already and he still had four more friends to meet.
You finished chapter four. Great job! Make sure to go see a ball game this season to
celebrate!
Chapter 5 Nikki (Listen To Yourself)
The next location on the list was the Rice Street Library. In your town it may be weird that a
library would be open on a holiday, but in this neighborhood ,so many kids were there daily, they
stayed open on some minor ones. As Patrick Keys made his way to the library, his anticipation
grew. What would the next principle be? What would Nikki, the name on the list, be like? Would
he get shushed for being too loud like in junior high?
Bye the time he was out of questions, he was pulling open the front doors to the Rice Street

Library. The smell of new and old books, mildew, and furniture polish combined in his nostrils as
he stepped inside. The calming area with bookshelves, work tables, and computer stations was a
giant contrast to the organized chaos of Klein Mfg.
He stepped lively and made his way to the help counter. An aged woman with a bad make up job
met Patrick immediately. Her nametag read “Doris.”
“Young man, can I help you?,” asked Doris. Why do all librarians call any guy under 70 young
man anyway? Patrick unfolded the piece of notebook paper.
“Nikki, I’m looking for Nikki,” Patrick finally let out.
“Children’s department, down stairs, you can’t miss it,” Doris said, She then quickly turned
around and attended to a large stack of DVDs on a cart.
Patrick made his way down the stairs and into the basement and the children’s area. It was
brightly decorated and was even complete with bean bag chairs for kids to plop down for an hour
with Marmaduke, The Cat in the Hat, or Ramona Quimby age eight or otherwise. Just stepping
foot down the stairs made Patrick want to reread “Freckle Juice” again.
At a smaller, but piled high, librarian desk, worked away Nikki. Besides the nametag that gave
her identity away, she wore a comfortable dark red sweater and some sensibly fitting khakis set
off by some chunky shoes that were supportive, just cute enough and had the life saving traction
to navigate the streets of St. Paul this time of year. She was plus sized but very well
proportioned. And although she was likely in her mid 20s, she might possibly pass for a teen in
the right light and outfit. She had some geek cute glasses that matched her caramel and almond
locks of hair that hung around her eyes. But they couldn’t begin to hide her penetrating green
eyes if they had been twice as thick.
Patrick was sure, as he approached the desk, that there was at least one fourth grade boy or two
that loved to get homework help from Librarian Nikki. But, now the kids were in school and it
was his turn to get some knowledge. He took a short breath and approached the adorable
librarian.
“Uh, Phil sent me, my name’s Patrick,” he delivered.
Nikki smiled at Patrick and looked even more worthy of fourth grade male daydreams, and she
delivered in a soft but clear voice, “Great to meet you. You know old Phil is one of a kind and
one of these days, he’s going to give that peach pie recipe of his.”

Patrick made a mental note to try the peach pie as soon as possible and waited for Nikki to
advance the conversation further. She set a few more books onto a stocking cart and started to
wheel it away. She motioned with her pretty little head for Patrick to follow. Grasping an issue of
Captain Underpants she began to speak.
“You know I never really wanted to be a librarian at first, I just kind of fell into it.” She paused at
the Babysitters Club shelf and put a book in. Another installment in the saga was home.
“But some of the best things in life can be like that,” she continued. “The whole process to be
educated to get this job, my parents were against it. ‘You’ll make no money. You’ll get bored.
You’re capable of so much more.’ Stuff like that they would constantly say. I kept hearing these
voices for years from my parents and family, but even more often in my head.”
While processing her words, Patrick noticed that this lady sure just jumped into conversations
with strangers. But he had met her kind before. And right there underneath a poster of Kobe
Bryant encouraging kids to read, he was with her 100 percent.
“Oh yeah I’ve been there with my family and parents too,” Patrick encouraged.
“Yeah and my friends too,” Nikki stated comfortably. The conversation moved along with a
grace that can only happen among peers. “It made me upset and stressed and question things
and…”
“Hate your job,” Patrick delivered with flare and a quirky smile.
“Yup, hate my job,” Nikki responded with a slight chuckle. “Ann then one day I was talking with
Phil and eating a Chef salad with honey mustard on the side, and he started talking to me about
the five principles, and the biggest one to me was to LISTEN TO YOURSELF.
She paused and thought about her revelation for a moment and then went on.
“Phil said that we have to listen to our own voice in our own heads to hear what we have to say
about our job, not what others have to say. Some times we mix up what other people’s opinions
our from what ours are.”
Nikki continued to empty the cart and her heart on the subject. People had told her why being a
librarian wasn’t good and wasn’t for her so much that she couldn’t even hear her own opinions
anymore.
She explained that when she finally listened to her own voice she realized that she loved all the
main things about her job. She loved kids, books and reading. Sure there were some negative

aspects, but the core was all Nikki. She had a buzz when a kid told her about a favorite book.
And she found that the steady, then slow, then fast rate of librarian work suited her.
She understood that her family wanted prestige, endless challenge, and money, but she didn’t
need as much of it as they did. When Phil gave her the idea to sort all this out and the other four
principles too, she stopped hating her job.
“I know that I’m lucky to like my job the way that I do. But I really believe that If I didn’t, I
could still not hate it. All I have to do is listen to my voice more than everyone else‘s,” Nikki
reaffirmed.
Patrick let it sink in. He had so many voices in his head besides his own. They had really shaped,
no distorted, his opinion of his job. Why hadn’t he realized this sooner?
Nikki and him made a little small talk after that, and Nikki said if he wanted to talk anymore
later it would be fine with her. Patrick wasn’t sure if she was flirting, being Minnesota nice, or a
combination of the two. But, he definitely had enough to chew on without worrying about that
for now.
Patrick said goodbye to Nikki and made his way out of the Rice Street Library with more than a
book worth of insight. In a place that was built to be quiet, he learned there was a lot of noise
being made by voices in his head. He knew that he would use this to help him not to hate his
job, and maybe to make more important things come to light too.
You rule and have finished chapter 5! Celebrate by going to your local library and
getting a children’s book for a quick and fun read. (Or download one to your Kindle.)
Chapter 6 Paul (Remember What Your Job Does)
As the temperature was screaming to a near balmy 10 degrees, Patrick Keys was gliding down
the street. With a spring in his step, he strolled and gazed at the next contact and location on his
list: Paul, Andersen Associates.
Soon he found himself at a basic office building. The type that litter any Midwest city, but really
never standing out. He went inside and looked at the directory posting. Andersen Associates was
easy to find because alphabetically it was the first name on the list. It was off to the third floor.
Patrick found the elevator and pushed the up button. Immediately the door opened. He walked in
and pushed the silver button with the red three on it. The elevator quickly rose to the third floor
and opened its doors.

He exited into a well lit hallway and scanned for a sign of direction. He quickly spotted a sign
with an arrow pointing right along with the words “ANDERSEN ASSOOCATES,” all printed in
capital letters. Not being one to question the obvious, he followed the arrow.
As Patrick walked down the hallway, he wondered who Paul was and what he did. More
importantly he wondered how he would help him not to hate his job. As he finished pondering
this, he reached the door marked “ANDERSEN ASSOCIATES.” He reached out his hand, turned
the door and entered the room.
The room was buzzing with phone conversations, all at different stages. The people working
were as diverse as they come. Different sexes, ages, nationalities and traits all yammering away
on the phone to a similar, yet not exact script. At the front of the room was a desk that obviously
belonged to a supervisor and a dry erase board covered with information.
“Daily Goal, Monthly Goal and Quarterly Goal,” were the largest things written on the board.
Underneath them, were huge dollar amounts with names by them. Paul’s name was among those
on the list and he had one of the higher amounts up there.
It was obvious to Patrick at this point that Andersen Associates was some sort of telemarketing
firm. Patrick stopped himself quickly from diving into his own personal criticisms of
telemarketing and telemarketers. After all, it was his spatula yielding Yoda that sent him here, so
there was obviously a good reason. And at least Paul was good at his job of annoying people
during dinner.
By this time, most of the telemarketer eyes were on Patrick. The telemarketers exchanged
glances with each other back and forth, while our hero stood there under the magnifying lens.
Finally a slim and short Latino woman hung up her phone and approached Patrick holding out
her hand for a shake.
“Hi, can I help you with something sir,” she paused as she shook Patrick’s hand. “I’m Margo the
supervisor of this shift, are you from the agency? They send a lot of people bye here without
calling first.”
She was a little sassy, but polite and direct. Plus, she was in the trenches making calls too.
Patrick liked her immediately.
“No, I’m not from the agency,” Patrick said. “I’m here to talk with Paul.”
Margo glanced to the left corner of the room toward a really skinny guy with a brown plaid shirt

on. He had an impressive mustache too, almost like in a western.
“Hey hot shot you got a guest here. Just go ahead and take your 20 minute okay,” Margo half
suggested and half ordered. Paul nodded in understanding.
Patrick followed Paul out of the call center and down the hall to a break room. A fridge was
humming away keeping people’s snacks and meals cool. There were lights faintly humming. And
there were two large stained tables with seats spreading around them. It was a break room all
right.
Paul motioned towards one of the tables for Patrick to sit down. They both exchanged eye
contact as Patrick sat down and Paul glided over to a counter that had a coffee station. He easily
poured himself a cup and added two sugars and stirred. Even with the added sugar, the coffee
was still oil black. Patrick assumed correctly that the whole telemarketing industry was fueled by
the Columbian grown ambrosia. From Paul’s smile after his first sip, it was definitely a fresher
pot.
“So you’re a friend of Phil, huh kid,” Paul let out with energy. Patrick nodded. “Oh yeah, old
Phil’s a character, He’s a got a way with a flapjack and with advice. Since you don’t smell like
syrup, I bet you’re here about advice.”
“Yeah,” Patrick returned, “I’m working on not hating my job. Phil told me you could help me
with one of the five principles.”
“I don’t know if I’d call them principles,” Paul said, “more like standards. And don’t worry, I’ve
got a standard for you.”
“I’m ready,” Patrick said eagerly.
“REMEMBER WHAT YOUR JOB DOES,” Paul stated firmly and clearly. He took another
sip of coffee and continued. “Every job does something that makes a difference. And, unless you
have a moral objection to how that difference is made or what that difference is, it’s a reason to
not hate your job.”
“That sounds…” Patrick paused.
“Way too easy,” filled in Paul accurately.
“Yeah, way to easy to work,” shot back Patrick skeptically.
“Sure it’s easy to understand, but it’s hard to apply for most,” Paul beamed back while lightly
stroking his Sam Elliot worthy mustache.

“Take it this way, I am a telemarketer for the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra and I sell ticket
packages and raise money for kids programs. With every call I help put classical music into
Minnesotan’s ears. That is an awesome thing to do,” he finished proudly.
“Yeah, I guess that is pretty cool,” Patrick bounced back in agreement.
“And almost every job works that way,” Paul started up again. “A janitor keeps things clean for
people. A nursery worker makes sure kids are safe. A fast food worker gets people the fries they
want. It goes on and on, but as long as you can remember what your job does, it will help you not
to hate it. And dude, if it can work for a telemarketer, with all the times I get yelled at, it can
work for anyone!”
The rest of the break was spent in discussion and splitting an everything bagel with cream
cheese. Patrick got to hear how Paul got into classical music. He was an accomplished musician
but not orchestra material.
This job allowed Paul to be apart of the orchestra and still play on the side. And of course, with
Paul’s casual, but strong gift of gab, he raised a lot of money to help other people be a part of it
too. Paul took a lot of pride in helping so many people learn too enjoy the music he loved to
listen to and play so much.
At the end of the 20 minutes, Paul went back to his calls and Patrick made his way out again.
Between remembering the benefits, listening to himself, and remembering what his job did,
Patrick was already feeling more than 100% better about his job. Each step out of the building he
felt more and more hate slip away and he still had two more principles, or standards to go!
You did it! Chapter six is done! Celebrate by air conducting to classical music on the
radio or in your head.
Chapter 7 Christy (Do A Good Job)
Patrick Keys sang what he could remember of an old Semisonic song as he made his way to his
next destination. The sun was doing a little better of a job in the 10:34 A.M. sky. Some storm
clouds were sailing past. With luck, they wouldn’t anchor in St. Paul. But you need a little more
than luck in this city that time of year for that to happen.
Christy was the next name on the list. She worked at a placed called Penalty Shots. Patrick had
met some people there a few years before. It was a sports bar with killer wings and decent
prices. It was always packed when the playoffs were on and every NFL Sunday.

When Patrick pulled the door open to Penalty Shots, it was like a ghost town. Mondays this early
and a sports bar were bound to be this way. One guy nursed a Coke at the bar and watched ESPN
while the small staff worked set up or pretended to look busy.
Christy was actually the person that came out of the bar area to greet him. She had a smile and
legible name tag that made Patrick at ease right away.
“How many today, just you? Christy said with pep.
“Actually I’m not here to eat,” Patrick returned.
“Oh, just sit at the bar then,” Christy responded politely.
“No, I’m here to see you. Uh Phil sent me,” Patrick pressed.
“Oh a list boy huh,” she laughed glancing her deep brown eyes at the piece of paper that Patrick
clutched.
Patrick quickly put the list in his pocket and for the first time took his host’s looks completely
in. She was a super cute, petite brunette. She had her hair tied back in a pony, light make up, a
pair of just snug enough jeans and a black Penalty Shots polo shirt. Her smile was warming and
her face made her seem a little younger than she was because she still had a few freckles hanging
around.
“Well, I’m prepping over at the bar, I can work and we can talk okay?,” she said.
Patrick nodded in the affirmative and he made his way through the shiny wood interior to a bar
seat. She first offered him a drink. He settled to wet his whistle with an iced tea and settle his
butt to rest on one of the padded barstools. He was quite comfortable and spun his eyes quick
enough to watch a quick second of sports before going back to Christy’s welcoming face.
“I’ve been having a crazy morning talking to Phil’s friends,” said Patrick. “So what do you have
for me?”
Christy was armed with a sharp knife by this point and slicing limes perfectly, when she begun
her reply.
“I hate to sound like your dad, but the advice I have for you is DO A GOOD JOB. That’s the
best advice Phil gave me.”
Patrick took this one in too along with a sweet sip of brewed iced tea. It was a simple enough
principle, but like the others, a little hard to grasp he bet. Do a good job. Do a good job. He tried
to imprint it on his brain before asking for more.

“How does that help?,” he simply questioned.
“Well,” Christy replied, “with me it was the hugest thing because I was doing my job just enough
to keep people from bugging me.”
Patrick really could relate to that statement. In fact, Knox and him always joked about how lazy
they could be at their jobs and not get bugged by people. Just enough had practically been his
mission statement for the last two years.
Christy continued, “When Phil challenged me with the principle to do a good job, I was
skeptical. But, the better job I did, the less I hated my job. Not only that, but my tips, customers
and co-workers all got better too. And it made my shifts go so much faster. That simple statement
changed my whole approach to work and my life,” said Christy smiling enthusiastically.
She switched over to prepping oranges. As she sliced, Patrick listened to her story. Her family
owned several bars and restaurants so she always had a job. She just went through the motions
for years, tending bar and doing other jobs. But with Phil’s advice as the catalyst, she was a
motivated worker and leader who was learning nearly every aspect of the family business.
Despite all the opportunities she had before, it was trying to do them well that really made the
difference. Phil had a theory that people were programmed internally to do a good job. Anything
else would make them unhappy. No matter what the task, it had to be done well to not bring
somebody down.
Patrick analyzed his work ethic and knew that it needed tweaking in the effort and quality
departments. He could sure do a better job. It would definitely make a difference to himself and
those around him. And as for time not dragging, anything was worth a shot. Sometimes it felt
like the clock was moving backwards.
Tons of fruit were ready to compliment drinks because of Christy’s good job. And, because of
her testimony, Patrick’s job would soon be garnished with more effort and gumption. She washed
up and they shook hands. Patrick said he’d come back for 40 cent wing night and he walked out
feeling more like an MVP.
You did it! You finished lucky chapter 7! Have a cold one of your choice with a slice of fruit
to make it extra special!
Chapter 8 Matthew (Work is a Gift)
It was about lunchtime, and one more name remained on Patrick Keys’ list: Matthew. Harrison,

Nikki, Paul and Christy had already spoke volumes to his life at work. Wait, spoke volumes to
his life period, Patrick corrected the path of his mental train of thought.
His mind was whirling with new perspectives, thoughts, goals and mainly a feeling of released
tension. These meetings had begun to lift a burden that he thought was immovable. Maybe with
some discipline, he could get it completely off of his back.
Matthew worked at Earth Foods. It was a high end grocery store complete with high prices, but
really well known for its deli and eatery. It was not expensive for a place to eat at, but was
expensive if you were doing all your grocery shopping there. Patrick had been in the store once
or twice before.
The blocks sped by with the bright Minnesota sun of winter making him squint. How could
something be that bright and produce so little heat he thought. As a Minnesotan though, he
simply put the winter out of his mind. Soon he stood in Earth Foods.
The place was probably more busy than usual being that some people had the day off. People
shopped, workers worked and the savory smell of fried and rotisserie chicken seeped in from the
deli area. The smell was too good to resist. It was lunch time and they had a renowned eatery.
So, why not eat lunch before seeking out Matthew and his words of wisdom.
Following his nose, Patrick soon found himself with lots of lunch options. There were chicken
meals, cold sandwiches, pre-made salads, soup and then the real answer struck Patrick to the
question of, what’s for lunch? A sign for Panninis. The grilled Italian sandwiches were among
Patrick’s favorites. He was sold.
He zoomed in on the Classic Italian Pannini Combo, which came with a sandwich, a bag of
kettle chips and a fountain pop. It was a little bit more than he would normally spend on lunch,
but this being a day of higher standards, why not treat himself. Besides, the bar that day had been
set high from the cinnamon roll that he had for breakfast.
He got in line behind an older African guy and two Hmong college girls and waited. The cultural
diversity of St. Paul was amazing. Come to think of it, the variety of people was an advantage of
his work place too. Wow, another reason he found to not hate his job while waiting in line for
lunch! Things were looking up for sure and it was now his time to order.
An older Swedish descent lady with bottle blonde hair took his order and cash with a smile. She
then called out in a crisp kitchen tone, “Matthew one Italian grilled up ASAP!”

“Okay,” yelled back a voice with a smile and a delayed pattern that obviously communicated that
he was mentally handicapped in some way. The owner of the voice then pieced together the
sandwich perfectly and painted the outside of the sandwich with generous olive oil brush strokes.
Then with confidence, Matthew placed the sandwich on the grill press and set the timer.
“Are there any other Matthews that work here?,” Patrick questioned quickly the lady that had
rung him up.
“No, he’s the only one and I sub all over this store in different departments, so I ought to know.
There’s only one of our Matthew,” she responded.
Patrick’s jaw dropped a little in response as he stepped aside dumbfounded and stared at
Matthew while clutching his receipt. Now Patrick had not known Phil long, but he was sure that
this was the place and Matthew the guy. But, as for the lesson he was supposed to learn, Patrick
was mystified. He was pretty sure that Matthew couldn’t really carry too much of a conversation,
let alone a deep one providing insight on the final principle.
Patrick stumbled out of his thought as Matthew approached with his tray loaded with the
sandwich chips and cup. “Thank you!,” Matthew said enthusiastically. His crooked smile was
awkward, innocent and challenging all at the same time.
Patrick could not really contemplate his next move. He took the tray, filled up his cup with Diet
Coke and found a seat. All the while his eyes gazed at Matthew. He studied Matthew working
away, while he ate his lunch.
Matthew stood about six foot three and had curly brown hair. He wore the standard uniform for
the deli staff. White shirt, black pants and a forest green apron with matching ball cap. He
worked well despite his limitations.
If watching didn’t reveal it, then tasting the sandwich definitely would have. It was crunchy,
creamy, savory and tasty. This kid was a pannini master and made the price tag seem not so high.
The lunch was great, but Matthew definitely wasn’t going to come over there and educate him
like Patrick’s other new friends.
Matthew had to be spoken to plainly and supervised heavily to do the Pannini job. How was
Patrick going to learn this one? At least he had a good lunch to enjoy while mulling it over.
Patrick gazed up from his sandwich with a sigh. Then he was surprised and relieved to see his
friend Phil, without his diner uniform, waddling his way. He wore a soft smile and carried a

plastic fork and small container of red skin potato salad. He easily slid out a chair and sat across
from his pad wan.
Taking the lid off of his potato salad and digging his fork in, he smirked at Patrick.
“Okay, you got me, what does this Matthew have to show me?,” said Patrick. “Is it about
gratefulness?”
“Sort of,” Phil responded back. “It’s actually a simpler principle though and here it is: WORK
IS A GIFT.”
“A gift, well I can think of a few better gifts,” said Patrick with a grin. But he was still waiting
for the knowledge to drop. His wait was short and ended with a response a little muffled by red
skin potato salad.
“Not everyone can work. You can ask Matthew, not everyone in his group home can work. He’s
one of the lucky ones like us, he can do a job.
For various reasons all around us there are many people who would love to be working and
can’t. When someone forgets this or mocks it, it’s like spitting in Matthew’s face!,” concluded
Phil on the blunt side.
Patrick let it sink in. He pushed the sandwich on his plate an inch. Then he looked back at Phil to
tell him he understood.
“I love my grandson Matthew, and it has been hard to watch him go through life,” said Phil.
“But without a doubt, since he has gotten a job here, he has been better. He accepts the gift of
working and gets joy from it, and so do his family and coworkers that know him.”
“Wow Phil, I guess I got a lot to think about now, especially this last one,” Patrick sincerely
responded.
That’s to be sure,” said Phil with his smile in tact but wiping a few tears from his rough cheeks.
“But the best thing is, even if you apply a little of what you learned, your work can be better. Of
course if you can apply it all, who knows about you and your job.”
“Yeah, “ said Patrick in agreement as he let it all sink in and as he glared at Matthew working
happily away with the same huge smile that his grandpa had. “I think things are going to get
better from here. I can do this!”
The two new friends finished their food and chatted for about half an hour. Phil properly
introduced Matthew and Patrick too. Then they all parted ways, but only temporarily. Patrick

became a regular at both New Horizons Café and at Good Earth, for whenever he needed his
stomach filled with food or his head filled with perspective.
As for Patrick and work, well he doesn’t hate it anymore. I could tell you that he stayed with his
job and rose up the ladder. I could tell you that he left his job on good terms for greener pastures
in employment. Still, I could tell you that he kept the same job at the same place, but found peace
within the five new principles and using them.
I’m not going to tell you any of that though. Because, I think you know now that those things are
all possible. I’ll leave Patrick and his destination up to your imagination. As for you and work,
I’ll leave that up to your imagination too. Because, without imagination you and your job will
never change.
Good job friend you finished chapter eight! Score yourself some potato salad from
the deli, red skin if they have it. It goes great with a Pannini by the way!
Chapter 9-Apply It
At this point a lot of books in this genre would challenge you with a fill in the blank section.
Now I guess in my book we’d have to call it a Phil in the blank section though. Bad puns aside
though, they are mostly a pain to me and I usually skip them anyway. There is power in writhing
things down, but if I haven’t motivated you to change yet, I don’t think a fill in the blank section
will help much. But here’s some tips for you in not hating your job.
Tip #1 of 3- Don’t apply what you already do.
If there is something that you already do and think from our five principles, don’t freak out that
you have to take it to the nth degree. Just know that it’s good you do it and there’s power in it.
So, keep it up!
Tip #2of 3-Admit that you hate, and admit that you don’t want to.
Odds are pretty good that people close to you already know that something’s up. If they see this
book in your e-reader directory that may tip them off too! But seriously tell someone you trust
about your feelings and where you want to go.
It’s a pretty good chance that this will clear the air, get you an ally for your journey and help you
to get there. With nobody on your side, any task is harder.
Tip #3 of 3-Remind yourself of the five principles
I don’t think you have to memorize these principles, but writing them down and putting them

somewhere you’ll see them would be a good idea. Text it to yourself, e-mail it to yourself, face
book it to yourself, whatever. Reread the book if you like it. Pass it on if you really do!
Hey, you finished chapter nine oh yeah! Give a high five to the next person you see.
Chapter 10-Good Luck
Good luck in not hating your job. You’re done with this book! Remember:
1. Remember the benefits.
2. Listen to yourself.
3. Remember what your job does.
4. Do your best.
5. Working is a gift.
P.S. if you want to e-mail me with a testimony go ahead: