Climbing The Totem Pole
Originally posted May 1999Note:Yep. We're still on hiatus ... and we're still foisting attractively-repackaged leftovers on you. [After all: if *you* haven't read it ... it's new to you.]
Monday Afternoon
The Human Resources Director Person stops by the reception desk in the middle of the afternoon. "When you've got a minute," she says, "I'd like to have a chat with you in my office."
Uh oh.
Being invited into somebody's office for a "chat"
is almost never a good thing. At least, that has generally been my experience. In high school it usually meant my GPA was "at risk." At the tuna label factory, the phone company, the doomed newspaper ... it usually meant my next paycheck was "at risk."
Here it probably means nothing more or less ominous than being drafted to organize the company picnic. But still. Almost in spite of myself, I am instantly transformed from the brilliantly competent/breezily confident SuperReceptionist I was, just moments before, into a quivering pile of terrified intimidated goo. I can't help it. I have been conditioned -- by forty years' worth of Authority Figure Issues -- to expect the worst whenever I receive such an "invitation."
Heart in throat, I ask Andrea to cover the front desk for me. And then I take the long, long walk down the hallway ... into that eerily formal No-Receptionist's-Land we call *Corporate.* And I knock on the Human Resources Director Person's door.
* * * * * *
More Monday Afternoon
David is at home today. I get a busy signal when I try to call: he is probably on the computer, tying up the phone line. So I fire off a frantic e-mail instead.
Subj: Tried To Call But Got No Answer
Date: 5/17/99 1:36:54 PM Pacific Daylight Time
From: tpolen@somewhere.com
To: draftervoi@AOL.COM
"They're offering me the Executive Ass position. I have until Thursday to decide. Acck. GET OFF THE COMPUTER AND CALL ME.."
And then I sit and wait.
Five minutes later he calls, and we conduct a hushed, sneaky conversation. I fill him in on the details of my meeting with The Human Resources Director. It's true: Catherine, the perky Executive Ass to Franz, the president of the company, is abandoning ship after only three months ... and my name has been mentioned as a possible replacement. If I'm interested.
"Am I interested?" I say. I'm asking myself as much as I'm asking David.
"I'd say you're very interested," David replies.
We agree to discuss it that night over dinner. Hopefully I will have more information to bring home by then -- money, job description, hours -- and we can make a more informed decision at that point. I hang up the phone, still quivering.
* * * * * *
Tuesday Afternoon
There is an e-mail from the Human Resources Director Person waiting for me when I come back from lunch. "You are scheduled to meet with Franz tomorrow at 2:00," it reads. This is it. The Big Interview.
Gulp.
Ironically, I am having one of my best SuperReceptionist days ever. I've been juggling multiple incoming phone calls, solving misplaced fax mysteries and soothing jangled client nerves with aplomb, all morning long. For all my griping, I really do love working at the front desk. And I'm very very good at what I do ... even if I could do most of it in my sleep. There is something to be said for a low-challenge/high-competence position ... especially for someone like me, who has only recently begun to discover that feeling good at work is possible.
Do I want to give that up so soon?
* * * * * *
Catherine -- who is looking decidedly haggard these days -- comes back from lunch right after I do. She stops by my desk. "You're thinking about taking the job?" she whispers, and I nod. For the moment it's supposed to be kept extremely hush-hush. She smiles -- not unkindly -- and shakes her head a little. "I think you will probably do just fine," she says. "Personally, I just couldn't stand that feeling of never getting anything done."
I'm dying to ask her a bazillion questions. How late does she have to stay on Fridays? Does she ever work weekends? What sort of boss is Franz? Can I have her laptop if she's not gonna use it? But this isn't the time or the place. Maybe we can have coffee later today? Or tomorrow? She says yes, that would be nice. And then she slumps off down the hallway toward *Corporate.*
* * * * * *
More Tuesday Afternoon
David picks me up after work, and I tell him about tomorrow's interview with the company president. "How do you feel about that?" he asks.
"I would probably 'feel' a lot better about it if I had something to wear," I garrumph.
Sigh.
I hate clothes shopping. I mean, I hate it with a PASSION. Apparently I am missing yet another one of those key *chick chromosomes* ... this time, it's the chromosome that makes an afternoon at the mall seem like fun. [Having a root canal performed by a blind dental student on crack would be more "fun" for me, frankly, than standing in a fitting room trying on clothes.] But I know I would feel better about interviewing tomorrow if I have something new to wear. And already I'm imagining myself dressing the part of the Executive Ass. The little flowery dresses and thrift store jackets and Avon jewelry are fine for the front desk, maybe ... but if I'm going to be moving to *Corporate,* I'm going to have to start paying more attention -- and more money -- on what I'm wearing.
I might even have to wear shoes.
Acck.
* * * * * *
Tuesday Evening
A couple of hours later we're sitting at Taco Bell, at the South Shore Mall. I'm too nervous to eat ... so of course I'm launching into my second Baja Gordita.
There is a new suit in a shopping bag on the seat beside me: jacket and slacks, charcoal gray, marked down from sixty bucks. It isn't exactly High *Corporate* Fashion, but it will do.
I still don't have any details about the job opening, at least as far as money is concerned: The Human Resources Director Person left the office this afternoon without leaving me the salary information I'd requested. So David and I fumble our way through a list of "What Ifs."
- "What if the hours suck ... but the money is really great?"
- "What if Franz turns out to be impossible to work for ... but the money is really great?"
- "What if I take the job and I hate it ... but the money is really great?"
The fact is that there is no way we can make a decision until we know what kind of money we're looking at. Frustrated ... confused ... stuffed ... we come home and go to bed, where I spend my second night in a row pretending to sleep.
* * * * * *
Wednesday Morning
My boss is extremely not-happy. I have been invited into his office this morning to "chat." [I sense a trend developing here.]
"I hear that you've been offered the Executive Ass position when Catherine leaves next month," he says.
I squirm on the edge of my uncomfortable chair, plucking nervously at the hem of my new suit jacket. "I've been asked to interview with Franz today," I tell him honestly. "But I haven't made any decision yet."
My boss says he is "concerned" that this might not be a good career move for me. "It's not that I don't think you're capable of handling the job," he says. It is clear he is choosing his words with great care. "But Franz can be a little bit ... difficult to work for. And I'm concerned that this might be a little too much too soon for you."
Part of me is ever-so-slightly offended. Is he saying he doesn't think I can handle the job? That all I'm cut out to be is a receptionist? But another part of me appreciates his candor. He has worked with Franz for a lot longer than I have, after all, and he's got a better idea of what goes on in *Corporate* than I do. I've only talked to Franz face-to-face a handful of times, in the three months I've been with the company. He seems like a very nice person ... but what do I know?
[I also suspect that my boss is reluctant to let go of a really really great receptionist. Now they're gonna have to run that newspaper ad, all over again.]
"I'll let you know what happens," I tell my boss.
* * * * * *
Wednesday Afternoon
In the car, David makes a declaration.
"I want you to know," he says, " that I am committed to spending the rest of my life with you. You are it for me. And no matter what you decide, I support you a thousand percent."
I smile ... and burst into tears.
* * * * * *
Thursday Morning 2:17 a.m.
I have reached a decision. I'm not going to take the job.
The interview with Franz went just fine. He seems quite pleasant -- a bit tightly-wound, maybe, but pleasant. I know that the job duties for this position, as outlined, are well within the scope of my abilities. This is a great opportunity. But -- like my boss said -- this is just "too much too soon." For the sake of my health, my blood pressure, my new sobriety ... I'm going to stay at my low-stress/high-competence receptionist job, a little while longer.
I am so relieved, now that the decision has been made -- what a load off! -- that I nearly wake David to tell him. But he is snoring so peacefully on the pillow beside me that I don't have the heart to disturb him. So instead I allow myself to drift back into a shallow twilight sleep, where I dream about little flowery dresses and ringing telephones ...
* * * * * *
3:17 a.m.
I have reached a decision. I am going to take the job.
Yes, it's going to be hugely stressful at first, moving from my nice safe position at the bottom of the totem pole to someplace closer to the top. I still don't know exactly how much money is involved. But when the hell am I ever going to get another opportunity like this? I've been a receptionist for twenty years. I never finished college. I'm being handed an opportunity on a golden platter here. What kind of idiot would turn it down??
I am so excited, now that the decision has been made -- what a thrilling development! -- that I nearly wake David to tell him. But he is snoring so peacefully on the pillow beside me that I don't have the heart to disturb him. So instead I allow myself to drift back into another shallow twilight sleep, where I dream about Palm Pilots and charcoal gray pantsuits ...
* * * * * *
Thursday 8:17 a.m.
I intercom The Human Resources Director Person the instant I land in the office. "I need another day to make my decision," I tell her.
Fine. "We haven't had a chance to discuss money yet, anyway," she says -- [no shit] -- but I absolutely positively must make a decision one way or the other within the next 24 hours. After that, they plan to begin interviewing outside of the company.
Time = running out.
Panic = mounting.
"I'll have my answer for you tomorrow morning at 9 a.m.," I tell her.
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