It took
me 20 years, and job searching in three cities to find my dream job with
Self-Help U.S.A. in Deerfield Beach, Florida. I got misguided by a psychiatrist in New
York City who turned me into a job whore when she convinced me that
taking the secretarial route in order to maintain an apartment so that I
could have a sex life was what I wanted.
“Wouldn’t you like to have a sex life?” she asked me. “Take a computer
course, abandon your career aspirations to work in a publishing company,
find a job as a secretary and have an active sex life.” Imagine that
— selling my soul for a sex life — as a secretary no less.
I labored as a legal secretary for 13 years, replete with nervous
breakdowns, but I did have a sex life. But I still wasn’t happy. I was
sexually fulfilled, but psychologically unfulfilled.
Enter another job loss, a 55-year-old
queen living on my couch in the next room, bank account dwindling—and
exit this writer from New York City to the greener pastures of
Florida—more specifically, into the bosom of my parents’ home. At 42,
I was working as a legal secretary for my friend from camp and living
with my folks when I answered an ad for a proofreader. Call it
overkill, but my faxing two resumes, clips and a cover letter begging
for a chance did the trick—I got a call for an interview.
I met with the Editor-in-Chief, a
handsome man who had a kind heart. He brought me into the conference
room, described the job, and my heart raced. I did not say much, but my
excitement showed in my body language—I was leaning over the table in
anticipation.
I returned to my legal secretary job
thinking there is no justice in the world if I don’t get this job…and my
faith paid off. I got the job offer. I left the secretary job with my
final check in hand, knowing I would not return.
The new company, Self-Help U.S.A.",
tapped my talents. The editor assigned me two books, one on writing
resumes and another one on writing your own last will and testament.
How did they know that my life up till then had consisted of going on
hundreds of interviews (the results of a well-written resume) and
contemplating death in every waking moment of my existence? Ironically,
I also wrote a booklet on how to interview for a job that was paramount
to the blind teaching the blind. Whatever the assignment, I always found
meaning—twisted and otherwise—in the work I performed for Self-Help U.S.A.
Whether it was proofreading books on marketing or writing how businesses
could incorporate in Canada, I found meaning.
However, it
was when my boss told me I was working too hard my first day that I knew
I had found a home. Add a lovely, friendly secretary who echoed his
sentiments and taught me the ropes from day one, and I was convinced. A
maternal secretary who looked after me together with a boss who
moderated my masochistic tendencies, and yes, I had found my dream
job. It was the happiest four years of my life.
