The Job

The tile floor was now wet and clean. I was a night custodian at Pope High School in Marietta, Georgia — and  a recent honors graduate from the University of Tennessee.  As I put my mop back in the yellow plastic mop bucket, a man walked right down the middle of my freshly mopped floor.  I wasn’t particularly happy about his rudeness and politely asked him not to do it again. What happened next taught me a valuable lesson that I’ll never forget. He looked at me and said, “You’re just a janitor. You can mop it again.”

His voice still rattles in my head. “You’re just a janitor.”

What a jerk.

Let me say this right now — there is nothing wrong with being a janitor. I worked with noble people — in fact, one of them is my mother-in-law (she has an amazing story of her own).  But his words stung. He made  “janitor”  into a slur.  His words cut my ego to the core.

Because I wasn’t “just a janitor.” I was more than that. I was working my butt off at night to make ends meet. I was a talented artist with a bright future. But at that moment it took a jerk to teach me something that has driven me ever since:  My job doesn’t define me. I define my job.

Eventually I did achieve my dream job. In 1996, I was hired as the editorial cartoonist for The (Jackson, Miss.) Clarion-Ledger. I’ve been syndicated nationally for years and have been named a Pultizer Finalist twice. I’ve had success as an author and a radio host. My books have been in Chick-fil-A kids meals.  I was named one of the top 100 employees for the company that owned the paper. I’ve been near the pinnacle of my career and I can tell you, the view is pretty darn good.

And it was very easy to start to base my self-worth on my job again.

But what goes up, must come down.  In 2010, I got a self-worth wake-up call: I was made part-time.  I felt the same way  I did that day when the man walked down my floor — except this time I had a family to feed and house.  But my saving grace was that I remembered something very, very important from that day at Pope:  My job doesn’t define me. I define my job.

My job status wasn’t a reflection on who I was. It just was. And it was up to me to do something about it.

Whether I am a janitor, an author, a cartoonist, a speaker, a marketing person or whatever — what is inside of me defines what I am doing. My core values. My effort. My energy.

When I took the job at The Clarion-Ledger, the Executive Editor  told me, “You can make this job anything you want it to be.” I chose to focus on the community because that’s who I am.  I got out and spoke, volunteered and tried to give back to a place that has given me so much. I didn’t do that because I had to. Or because it was in my job description. I did it because that’s who I am .  My goal, no matter what my “job” is, is to use the talents given to me the best that I possibly can.  I defined my job. My job didn’t define me.  I worked hard not to be cartoonist Marshall Ramsey. I was Marshall Ramsey, who happens to be a darn good cartoonist.

I’ve watched people fold when they lose their jobs.  I know a pilot who withered when he couldn’t fly any more.  I’ve seen editorial cartoonists suffer after they’ve been forced out of the newsroom.  I’ve seen laid-off co-workers struggle.  I’m sure a day will come when I am faced with the same scenario. When I will no longer be “Editorial Cartoonist Marshall Ramsey.”   When it happens, All I have to do is pick up a mop and remember this simple thought: