I was 5 minutes late for the interview for the receptionist
position. Wouldn't you know it; Map Quest was wrong again! The street where my
building that I was looking for was supposed to be located on wasn't even on
the map that Map Quest had provided. And after the last debacle with my old Map
Quest, I was diligent in making sure that it was a recently published Map Quest
too! Map Quest was a local map available
on a CD, since this predated the Internet’s Google Maps. You know; the Internet, which VP Al Gore later
took credit for. It hadn’t been born
quite yet.
I pulled up to this nondescript trailer in my beat up, old, small
coupe with blue paint peeling off of it.
This was a trailer surrounded by dirt, and cactus located in the middle
of a street which was devoid of any buildings out in the middle of a desert. There
wasn't even a sign on the windowless building identifying it. The number
address was there, however, in tiny, tiny letters. I barely saw it. The street
sign identifying the street wasn’t even up yet.
It was a miracle I even found it at all!
I knocked, and knocked. No answer. As I
was knocking once again, while periodically trying the door to see if it became
unlocked, I said to myself, "Wait! I hear low male voices whispering. Mom
always says I got ears like a dog! I hear everything. I stopped knocking, and
strained to hear, "What are they saying?"
"Do you think we should open the door?" a gruff deep
voice asked.
"What!" I thought, "Yes, open the door! How else
do I get in here?"
"I'm not opening the door. I'm an engineer," another
deep voice answered pompously.
"Well, I'm not opening the door, either," the first
voice declared.
He cleared his throat, "I'm a highly paid engineer, not a
receptionist."
"Hey, I'll just open the door, and let her in," the
first male voice finally declared.
When someone had finally opened the door, I swear to God, 10
minutes had gone by while I stood quietly at the door. I had given up knocking,
and was just listening in at this point. At this point, I was now 15 minutes
late for the interview.
"Oh, thank goodness," I thought pouring in sweat in 115° heat,
wrapped up tightly in my pantyhose, and in my Power Suit, which was the 80’s
fashion trend name for the female business suit which was supposed to help
women establish their authority in a field professional environment dominated
by men.
I walked into the cool highly air conditioned lobby, and sure enough there on
the wall in giant letters as big as life was the name of the company. They
could announce the company inside the walls, but not outside? I had looked in
vain for a sign to find the place. In front of the wall was a big, brown, heavy
important looking receptionist's desk which set empty ready to be filled by
"someone knocking at the door."
It seemed like only one of the gentlemen whisperers remained. I use that term
gentlemen loosely since he couldn’t even open a door for a lady.
The one that finally let me in was dressed not in an important
suit like myself, but in more casual summer attire. This made more sense in the
115° Phoenix, Arizona summer's heat than my buttoned up ladies Power Suit which
was supposed to emulate men’s professional clothing. Dressed in a cool cotton short-sleeve blue
collared shirt, and khaki pants, he apologized for the delay in opening the
door, admitting to the argument about who was the least important. The designee
door opener said he finally opened the door in frustration, and politeness. And
he noted to his embarrassment that his discomfited cohorts had skedaddled.
We really need a receptionist, you see," he admitted. "We are a brand new company, on a brand new city street, and we haven't hired a receptionist, yet." Well, I thought I guess that explains why it wasn't on the map yet.
And then abruptly he just left. Just left me standing there alone. He didn't
say good-bye. Nor did he tell me that he would announce my presence to the
manager in charge. Apparently, he didn't plan to explain to anyone why I was 15
minutes late, and it was their fault for the delay.
I just stood there in the lobby alone trying to get my bearings from
bewilderment, and the change in light. Due to my night blindness problems, my
pupils had trouble adjusting from the bright Arizona sun to the inner indoor
dimmed soft light. "Now where is the man in charge?" I wondered.
Obviously, in this group this person was going to be a "he."
Soon I heard a voice, and looked down the long, narrow, carpeted hall. Behind a
partially closed door, I heard a man talking on the phone. Yelling was more
like it.
"She's late! Maybe not coming at all! Can't you send
someone over who knows the value of time!"
Silence.
"She should have called."
Remember, this predates cell phones. Although there were a few
in circulation. Big bulky Motorola
things. And who could afford a car
phone? Certainly, not me. I would have
had to find a pay phone to call to announce my lateness. Obviously, making me
more than a little tardy.
I can just imagine in the silence that followed what Theresa
thought. Theresa was the temporary employment agency recruiter, and coordinator.
And on, and on he went with Theresa for another 5 minutes, leaving me with my
thoughts. "Great, now I'm twenty minutes late. Why doesn't he just come
out here? Just to check to see if I have arrived, for God's sake! Why me,
God?"
F i n a l l y! He gets off the phone, sees me standing in the lobby, and comes
storming out into the lobby.
I profusely apologized, and accepted all responsibility for my lateness. So
after hearing quite a rant about me wasting "his valuable time," he
asked me to have a seat, and complete the interview with him.
Well, finally hours later after I had arrived there at two
o'clock in the afternoon, the interview was over! Hurrah! Gee, I didn't know a
temp receptionist job was so very important as to require hours, and hours of
interview time! My long ordeal was finally, over or so I thought! It was now dinner time, and boy was I hungry!
I left with a handshake from the manager, and I was told they had other
candidates, I hope they let them in, and I was told to follow up with Theresa,
nicknamed Terry, from the temp agency, about the temporary three-month
position.
When I called Terry from home I told her about the whole sordid
affair. Gee, I was only 5 minutes late to begin with! How did I know I had to schedule 15 minutes
into opening the door?
Although she sympathized with me, she also told me I should be
sure I knew where I was going before I left home, and if necessary drive there
the day before. And I would have if money for gas wasn't so tight after being
out of work for at least a year. My parents had filled up my tank for me. Terry
then told me the three month temporary position had been offered to a woman
from her agency who had interviewed with the electrical engineering research
lab the day before I did.
"You mean ... they let her in? Wish her good luck from
me," I paused. "I hope they give her a key, or you'll have to tell
them...Someone knockin' at the door...."🎶
Let ’Em In Lyrics
by Paul McCarty, and Wings
[Verse]
Someone knockin' at the door
Somebody ringin' the bell
Someone's knockin' at the door
Somebody's ringin' the bell
Do me a favor
Open the door, and let 'em in, ooh yeah
[Verse]
Someone's knockin' at the door
Somebody ringin' the bell
Someone's knockin' at the door
Somebody's ringin' the bell
Do me a favor
Open the door, let 'em in, yeah, let 'em in
You can find LS
Wagen’s work at lwagen@blogspot.com,
and at Amazon.com. I was in high school when this song first came out in
1976. This is a true story.
