Peeling Potatoes Episode 44: First Jobs, First Lessons, and the Smell That Never Leaves

Okay… we are live.
Are we live? Yes, we’re live.

And before anything sensible happens, there’s singing. There has to be singing.
A slightly off-key, fully committed, no-going-back-now kind of singing.

“Happy birthday, Mr. Mayor…”

And just like that, the tone is set. A birthday, a joke about age, and a gentle reminder that time is doing what time does best—moving, whether anyone is ready or not.

The Mayor leans into it, as always. Not working, he says—just creating chaos and having fun. It sounds like a joke, but it isn’t really. There’s something underneath it: a quiet refusal to slow down, a decision to keep going, to keep building, to keep showing up until… well, until he doesn’t.

Fruitloop laughs, nudges, keeps him grounded. That’s the rhythm. One expands, the other anchors.

And then life seeps in, as it always does.

A neighbour complaining about cats.
A destroyed fig tree.
A butter churn arriving like a symbol of regression—or maybe progress, depending on how you look at it.

Because somewhere between planting vines and losing trees, there’s a lesson: things change whether you approve or not. You adapt, or you sit and mourn what used to be.

So they plant grapes instead. Of course they do.

And then, almost casually, they land on the topic.

First jobs.

Not in a structured, “tell me your career journey” kind of way. No polished LinkedIn summaries here. Just memories. Messy, vivid, slightly exaggerated memories.

The Mayor starts.

KFC.
Hot oil, pressure fryers, the smell of chicken that refuses to leave your skin.
A Saturday shift that doesn’t end when the clock says it does—because the work follows you home.

Strip at the door. Shoes in a bucket. Scrub everything. Start again next week.

Thirty dollars a week.

It doesn’t sound like much now. But back then? It was something. It was independence. It was proof that effort turns into something tangible.

And then the Italian restaurant.

A job he wasn’t qualified for, given to him anyway. Because sometimes life doesn’t check your CV—it just throws you into the kitchen and hopes for the best.

And then the mistake.

Leaving expensive meat outside the freezer.

Not just a mistake. A smell. The kind of smell that lingers in memory longer than the lesson itself.

But that’s the thing. The lesson stays.

Responsibility isn’t theoretical. It smells. It costs money. It sits with you.

Fruitloop’s story is different.

Sixteen years old.
Running a liquor store.

Technically not allowed. Practically in charge.

Opening the shop. Handling money. Managing stock. Dealing with people who are… not always at their best.

And that’s where her lesson lives.

Not in the transactions. In the people.

The quiet ones who come in, buy, and leave.
The friendly ones who ask about school and life.
The ones who talk too much.
The ones who shouldn’t be there at all—but are, because they need something more than just a bottle.

And then the harder truths.

Addiction doesn’t announce itself.
But you learn to see it.

You learn the difference between someone having a drink… and someone needing one.

You learn to treat everyone the same, even when it’s difficult. Especially when it’s difficult.

Respect becomes a habit, not a reaction.

And then there’s money.

First paychecks.

Not saved carefully. Not analysed.
Spent on ice skating. On shoes. On small moments of joy.

Because that’s also part of it.

Earning money teaches responsibility.
Spending it teaches freedom.

And somewhere between the two, you figure out who you are.

They circle around failure again.

Not dramatically. Not with heavy music in the background. Just… matter-of-fact.

A missing 3,000 rand.
A scam so smooth it almost deserves respect.

Shock. Confusion. A bit of fear.

And then—realisation.

You can do everything right and still get caught out.
And sometimes, it’s not about blame. It’s about learning how quickly things can change.

But maybe the biggest lesson isn’t in the mistakes or the money.

It’s in the people.

The Mayor talks about teamwork. Not leadership. Not being the boss. Just being part of something. Watching, learning, copying, growing.

Fruitloop talks about confidence. Starting shy. Learning to speak. Learning to stand.

Neither of them planned these lessons.
They just showed up—and life did the rest.

And then, quietly, the conversation shifts.

From jobs… to adulthood.

Not promotions. Not salaries.

A car ride home from the hospital.
A child in the back seat.
A moment where everything changes without asking permission.

That’s the real “I’m an adult now.”

Not a job. Not a paycheck.

Responsibility.

And yet, somehow, they end where they always do.

With something small. Something light.

Talking to animals at 2 a.m.
Arguing with cats.
Wondering if they understand.

Because maybe they do.
Or maybe it just feels good to think they do.

That’s the thing about these conversations.

They start with jokes.
They wander through chaos.
They trip over stories.

And then, without warning, they land on something real.

Work isn’t just work.
It’s where you learn how to deal with people.
How to handle mistakes.
How to carry responsibility.
How to become… yourself.

Not perfectly.
Not cleanly.
But honestly.

And that’s enough.

Same time. Same place.
Different topic next time.

Because there’s always another potato to peel.