Monday, October 21, 2002

She stood in the lobby,

She stood in the lobby, waiting in her stretch beige pants suit. I had only been told that she needed to talk to a manager; I was pretty sure I wasn’t whom she wanted, but maybe I could help her figure where she ought to go.  She was in her fifties, with coarse, brassy hair, her face contorted in a smile that seemed to bear no relation to her other facial gestures. “I’m Diane,” she chirped. “Thanks for coming out to talk with me.” “Hello, Diane, I’m Dan,” I told her.  “I’m afraid I don’t know why you’re here; how can I help you?” She seemed taken by surprise, straightened up and pressed a hand up to her neckline.  “I am here responding to your advertisement for counselors.  You are aware of the position, are you not?” I admitted to her that I knew the job was open but that I was working in a different section altogether; I’d have to refer her to the Operations Manager, who could discuss the opportunity with her in greater detail.  “Oh really,” she exclaimed, as she leaned in toward me.  “What department do you work in?” I explained to her “development,” what I did for the facility.  She placed her palms together, held her praying hands above her heart.  “How many people are in your department?” she asked breathlessly.  I told her we weren’t hiring.  She insisted on learning my manager’s name, to set up a meeting for more information. 

She then returned her interest to the counselor position.  She said she was working part-time, temporarily, thought she was well-suited for the job because she loved the animals so much, and kept good paperwork and records.  She had faxed her resume and cover letter one week earlier and yet no one had gotten back to her; she’d left phone messages as well and thought she’d just drop in to see where we were in the process of recruitment.  She started asking questions about recordkeeping in adoptions, and I was obliged again to tell her that I didn’t have that kind of information.  She stood up straight, dropped her hands down to her sides, and cocked her head.  “Well,” she said, “here’s one I bet you know the answer to, but I don’t know if you will tell me.  What’s the salary for this position?” “All I know about that job is that the pay is hourly, not salary.  What we are paying by the hour, I can’t tell you.  The Manager of this department knows this stuff by heart. I promise I will have him call you.” She fixed me with her gaze, but suddenly one of her eyeballs veered abaft.  I realized this eye had wandered all throughout our conversation, going anywhere it wanted. She raised her hands again, palms touching.  “Okay,” she said, “it’s been a lovely pleasure meeting with you here today.  Please take my resume – I’ve already faxed it twice, but I haven’t heard from anybody here, so perhaps you’d better check to see if it came through.  And here’s my card, in case you need to call or page me.” She gestured with a stubby, richly-painted fingernail to the black box hanging from her belt.  “So you can reach me anytime.  About when do you think that this position will be filled?” “Really, I have no idea. The Operations Manager can fill in all these details; I’ll see he gets this information from you.” Her smile creaked a millimeter closer to her ears.  She leaned toward me, arms down near her body, her hands clasping one another at the level of her knees.  I could smell her hair spray, saw the line where she’d stopped spreading her foundation. Her left eye swung out to the side; the right one focused on me without wavering.  “This meeting with you really made my day,” she breathlessly intoned. “When will you be getting back to me?”