Sometimes we "find ourselves" by looking in the wrong places.
ALL THE THINGS YOU ARE
By
Patricia Nolan-Hall
The piped in music could barely be heard above the machinery and shouting on the factory floor. The Archer Greeting Card Company’s attempt to boost employee morale was viewed as joke by almost everyone except Bobbie Davis. Bobbie was a twenty-year member of the card packers union. There had been no music when, at sixteen, her first summer job had been at Archer. Yes, it was a strain to hear, but the day seemed to go by more quickly knowing the “Showboat” medley was just before lunchtime. Bobbie’s mom taught piano from home and Jerome Kern was her favourite composer.
The lunchroom was always a mess by the 12:30 shift. Today was Bobbie’s turn to start the coffee and wipe down the microwave. She almost didn’t see the job posting on the bulletin board, the job posting she had been dreaming of for months: “Secretary needed for sales office. Pleasant self-starter. Knowledge of Dictaphone and spreadsheets required.”
What’s got you tied up there, Sunshine?” Kate was Bobbie’s supervisor, sister-in-law and best friend. Kate looked over Bobbie’s shoulder at the notice board. “You looking to move up?”
“Not up exactly. I’m just ready for a change.”
“Change?” Audrey asked. There was no such thing as a private conversation in the lunchroom.
Kate took her coffee to her chair at the head of the table. “It seems our friend here wants to join the nail polish and nylons set.” She threw the job notice on the table.
“Do you know how to do all that computer stuff?” Susan sounded awed.
“It’s not that hard,” offered Colleen. “We have one at home. My husband plays games on it.”
“Well?” challenged Kate.
“I’ve been studying at night school. I took secretarial and computer skills, marketing, accounting. It’s been really interesting and ---“
“Why haven’t you mentioned this before?”
“Kate, I didn’t want to say anything when I started in case I didn’t go through with it. Like all those sweaters Audrey was going to knit last year.”
“Hey!”
“And then, well, it seemed silly to mention when there were no job openings.”
“There are plenty of office jobs around,” Kate countered.
“Sure. But I wouldn’t dream of leaving Archer.”
“So why do you want a change?” asked Susan. “You don’t like being one of us or you just want to be one of them?”
“It’s not an us or them thing. It’s a me thing. Last fall, the first parent/teacher night at Julie’s new school, I’d had to work late and rushed to the meeting in jeans and Craig’s old hockey jacket. I was my reflection in a window and I – well, I didn’t want to be that woman.”
“Did Julie say something?” Kate asked. “You know how kids are.”
“No.”
“Was the teacher a jerk?”
“No.”
“Has Craig ever said he wanted to trade you in?”
“No. Nothing like that. It’s something I want for me.”
“They won’t let you in,” said Susan.
“What?”
“The office is another world. You’re one of us and they won’t let you be one of them.”
“Where do you get such ideas? I’m going to submit my application now. I bet I get an interview before the week is out.”
“You’ll get the interview because they’ll have to give you one,” called Kate, “but that’s as far as you’ll get.”
Craig and Julie were more supportive than her co-workers and by the morning of the interview Bobbie was feeling some of her initial excitement. Her one good suit, a navy Chanel-like skirt and blazer didn’t seem to fit as well as when purchased four years earlier but it felt right.
Archer’s office building was a pastel, air-conditioned heaven. Mr. Hillier apologized for keeping Bobbie waiting and offered her a cup of coffee. They eased into the interview on common ground. Last years’ Christ party, children – they grow up so fast.
Mr. Hillier glanced at Bobbie’s carefully prepared resume. How she had agonized even over which font to use. Mr. Hillier congratulated Bobbie on her accomplishment at night school. He had no idea she wasn’t happy in her current position. Management was more than pleased with her contribution and loyalty. Maybe someday she would be the company’s first lady foreman. Not to mention that tidy nest accumulating in her company stock plan. A plan, by the way, not currently available to administrative staff.
Somewhere in the middle of Mr. Hiller’s rambling Bobbie realized that he was trying to let her down easy. The job had never been hers. Mr. Hillier said something about looking forward to next years’ Christmas party and told her to take the rest of the day off.
The Eastside Mall had recently undergone a makeover from a discount strip to an upscale shopping center. That afternoon Bobbie made her first visit since the grand reopening. Where else would one shop while wearing a faux Chanel and uncomfortable shoes? Why not splurge on a foamy coffee? Who deserved a treat more? She could go for a decent cup.
The Coffee Pub boasted suitably outlandish prices and a clientele with time and money to spend. The owner was a sophisticated looking redhead who smiled at Bobbie, passed a warning look to an underling and concocted the order out of thin air.
That lady obviously has everything together, thought Bobbie. The only free chair was too close to the serving counter for privacy and comfort. How appropriate, the loser sits next to the kitchen. I should have asked for chocolate sprinkles instead of cinnamon. I should have stayed in bed this morning. Oh, it doesn’t matter what I should have done. What should I do?
“Look, this is ridiculous. We’ve been open less than a month and I’m two months behind in paperwork. I’ve got to be able to depend on you to cover so I can concentrate on this stuff.”
The redheaded boss lady was giving that young fellow more than a look this time. She’s looking at the situation backwards, thought Bobbie. What she needs is office help, not counter help. She needs to outsource her clerical work to a bright, energetic, motivated individual who graduated near the top of her class at secretarial school.
Bobbie almost laughed out loud. In the space of a moment she had gone from a loser to – what? Roberta Davis, entrepreneur! Why not? Her mother had a piano in the parlor. She could turn her pantry into an office. Okay. Maybe this is the woman I want to be.
First thing, type resignation, cash in stock options, take Craig and Julie somewhere special to celebrate, get business cards and talk to Red here. Okay. Slow down. First thing, finish this wonderful cinnamon coffee.
By
Patricia Nolan-Hall
The piped in music could barely be heard above the machinery and shouting on the factory floor. The Archer Greeting Card Company’s attempt to boost employee morale was viewed as joke by almost everyone except Bobbie Davis. Bobbie was a twenty-year member of the card packers union. There had been no music when, at sixteen, her first summer job had been at Archer. Yes, it was a strain to hear, but the day seemed to go by more quickly knowing the “Showboat” medley was just before lunchtime. Bobbie’s mom taught piano from home and Jerome Kern was her favourite composer.
The lunchroom was always a mess by the 12:30 shift. Today was Bobbie’s turn to start the coffee and wipe down the microwave. She almost didn’t see the job posting on the bulletin board, the job posting she had been dreaming of for months: “Secretary needed for sales office. Pleasant self-starter. Knowledge of Dictaphone and spreadsheets required.”
What’s got you tied up there, Sunshine?” Kate was Bobbie’s supervisor, sister-in-law and best friend. Kate looked over Bobbie’s shoulder at the notice board. “You looking to move up?”
“Not up exactly. I’m just ready for a change.”
“Change?” Audrey asked. There was no such thing as a private conversation in the lunchroom.
Kate took her coffee to her chair at the head of the table. “It seems our friend here wants to join the nail polish and nylons set.” She threw the job notice on the table.
“Do you know how to do all that computer stuff?” Susan sounded awed.
“It’s not that hard,” offered Colleen. “We have one at home. My husband plays games on it.”
“Well?” challenged Kate.
“I’ve been studying at night school. I took secretarial and computer skills, marketing, accounting. It’s been really interesting and ---“
“Why haven’t you mentioned this before?”
“Kate, I didn’t want to say anything when I started in case I didn’t go through with it. Like all those sweaters Audrey was going to knit last year.”
“Hey!”
“And then, well, it seemed silly to mention when there were no job openings.”
“There are plenty of office jobs around,” Kate countered.
“Sure. But I wouldn’t dream of leaving Archer.”
“So why do you want a change?” asked Susan. “You don’t like being one of us or you just want to be one of them?”
“It’s not an us or them thing. It’s a me thing. Last fall, the first parent/teacher night at Julie’s new school, I’d had to work late and rushed to the meeting in jeans and Craig’s old hockey jacket. I was my reflection in a window and I – well, I didn’t want to be that woman.”
“Did Julie say something?” Kate asked. “You know how kids are.”
“No.”
“Was the teacher a jerk?”
“No.”
“Has Craig ever said he wanted to trade you in?”
“No. Nothing like that. It’s something I want for me.”
“They won’t let you in,” said Susan.
“What?”
“The office is another world. You’re one of us and they won’t let you be one of them.”
“Where do you get such ideas? I’m going to submit my application now. I bet I get an interview before the week is out.”
“You’ll get the interview because they’ll have to give you one,” called Kate, “but that’s as far as you’ll get.”
Craig and Julie were more supportive than her co-workers and by the morning of the interview Bobbie was feeling some of her initial excitement. Her one good suit, a navy Chanel-like skirt and blazer didn’t seem to fit as well as when purchased four years earlier but it felt right.
Archer’s office building was a pastel, air-conditioned heaven. Mr. Hillier apologized for keeping Bobbie waiting and offered her a cup of coffee. They eased into the interview on common ground. Last years’ Christ party, children – they grow up so fast.
Mr. Hillier glanced at Bobbie’s carefully prepared resume. How she had agonized even over which font to use. Mr. Hillier congratulated Bobbie on her accomplishment at night school. He had no idea she wasn’t happy in her current position. Management was more than pleased with her contribution and loyalty. Maybe someday she would be the company’s first lady foreman. Not to mention that tidy nest accumulating in her company stock plan. A plan, by the way, not currently available to administrative staff.
Somewhere in the middle of Mr. Hiller’s rambling Bobbie realized that he was trying to let her down easy. The job had never been hers. Mr. Hillier said something about looking forward to next years’ Christmas party and told her to take the rest of the day off.
The Eastside Mall had recently undergone a makeover from a discount strip to an upscale shopping center. That afternoon Bobbie made her first visit since the grand reopening. Where else would one shop while wearing a faux Chanel and uncomfortable shoes? Why not splurge on a foamy coffee? Who deserved a treat more? She could go for a decent cup.
The Coffee Pub boasted suitably outlandish prices and a clientele with time and money to spend. The owner was a sophisticated looking redhead who smiled at Bobbie, passed a warning look to an underling and concocted the order out of thin air.
That lady obviously has everything together, thought Bobbie. The only free chair was too close to the serving counter for privacy and comfort. How appropriate, the loser sits next to the kitchen. I should have asked for chocolate sprinkles instead of cinnamon. I should have stayed in bed this morning. Oh, it doesn’t matter what I should have done. What should I do?
“Look, this is ridiculous. We’ve been open less than a month and I’m two months behind in paperwork. I’ve got to be able to depend on you to cover so I can concentrate on this stuff.”
The redheaded boss lady was giving that young fellow more than a look this time. She’s looking at the situation backwards, thought Bobbie. What she needs is office help, not counter help. She needs to outsource her clerical work to a bright, energetic, motivated individual who graduated near the top of her class at secretarial school.
Bobbie almost laughed out loud. In the space of a moment she had gone from a loser to – what? Roberta Davis, entrepreneur! Why not? Her mother had a piano in the parlor. She could turn her pantry into an office. Okay. Maybe this is the woman I want to be.
First thing, type resignation, cash in stock options, take Craig and Julie somewhere special to celebrate, get business cards and talk to Red here. Okay. Slow down. First thing, finish this wonderful cinnamon coffee.
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