Old New Kid on the Block

Here I am back working in downtown Washington, DC.

Feels kinda like riding a bicycle.

The hustle; the bustle; the very strange outfits.

And I was concerned because I chipped my nail polish on the way in on my first day.

This time I have 25 years in the workforce under my belt and a much more accurate sense of self.

My first go ‘round in the big city was as a fresh college graduate in 1986.

I had all of these images of what success looked like.

Pin-stripped suit; white, pale blue, pink, or gray button down; polyester paisley bow ties in power red, blue, and yellow.

Look, it was the 80’s.

Back to my fantasy: I would have an office; commute to work in my sneaks until I bought my 1986 Nissan Maxima; and be systematically promoted until I retired with a gold watch at 65.

So you know how that panned out, right? But you couldn't tell me nothin' when I landed my first job as a Customer Service Representative at American Security Bank at 15th and M Streets, NW.

Many of our customers worked for the Washington Post next door and I remember seeing all kinds of dignitaries coming in and out of the Madison Hotel across the street.

I was surrounded by movers and shakers. I was deep within the bastion of wealth and power. I was stompin’ wit da Big Dogs.

The Branch Manager was a bubbly blonde who wore power suits and fancy perfume every day and had a gold Seiko watch I thought looked like a Rolex. (I didn’t know shit.) She answered the phone very professionally and with a smile. The Assistant Branch Manager was a tall, homely brunette who wore outfits that looked like she made them in home ec in high school (like a forest green polyester dress with a big collar and white stitching).


I chose to emulate Blondie.

Did I mention my salary? A whopping $15,400 a year.

I was rich!

After taxes (WTF? I thought it was $15,400?) and rent (good thing utilities were included), I barely eked out bus fare, let alone a Maxima.

And on top of that, I HATED the work!

I was the first line of defense for disgruntled customers and, let me tell you, those Washington Post people were mean! Not to mention that the ATM card had just come out and those machines would eat that thing at the slightest misstep.

After four whole months, I decided I was too stressed out and had to find another job.

This became a cycle for a decade or so as I hadn’t the foggiest idea of what I wanted to do.

But NOW I do. 

I have a Plan.

There's a skeleton with more than a little meat on its bones.

For the first time, I could actually tell my interviewer where I saw myself in the next three to five years and mean it.

I was buying, not selling.

And I got the job not only because I needed a job but also because I was the best candidate. I have value and am valued. I am making a contribution.

So here we are at the end of Week Two and I love it!

I’ll keep ya posted <wink>