talked to Muh’Dear or Rhoda in the last week, but both of them had called me several times while I was out and left messages with the front desk. I didn’t plan to call them back until I had something positive to report. The last thing I wanted was for them to know what a hard time I was having finding a job.
Two more agonizing weeks crawled by, and I was still going on useless interviews and spending more and more money on the hotel, food, and transportation.
The week of Thanksgiving was one of the darkest weeks of my life. Two more places I applied to couldn’t talk to me until after the holiday. The personnel rep at the newspaper office called me up the day before Thanksgiving and invited me to come in to interview for a receptionist position. I couldn’t sleep much that night. I got up bright and early, took a long, hot bath, and put on the best-looking business outfit I had been able to find. I felt glamorous in my dark red wool suit. I brushed my hair back into a neat bun, put on a little makeup and was on my way, strolling down the hallway on my way to the elevator. I felt that this was the job God had been holding for me. The woman who had called me had even said “no experience necessary.” The day before, I had applied at three restaurants and two factories only because I had already applied for all the clerical jobs listed in the want ads and some that were not.
I walked into the newspaper office’s front lobby and was directed down a long hallway by a security guard. Across from the personnel office was what appeared to be a typing pool, with about twelve young, attractive women. In just a few seconds I scanned the room. It was a bright, neatly organized place with pictures of young kids and smiling husbands or boyfriends on all the desks I could see. Most of the women were white, but there were two Blacks and one Hispanic woman. Then it hit me. They all looked alike, slim and beautiful. The ad had stated that a “front desk appearance” was one of their requirements. Compared to me, all these women looked like models. A couple of them glanced at me with blank expressions. One of the Black women looked me up and down, then went back to her work without a smile or even an acknowledgment. I took a deep breath and headed for the door marked PERSONNEL and knocked.
The personnel representative was even more beautiful than the women in the secretarial pool. She was a young blonde with hair that reminded me of corn silk and skin that looked like porcelain. Her big blue eyes shifted a lot, which to me usually meant a person’s uncomfortable or lying. After a few questions about my expectations, she told me what the job entailed and concluded by saying, “Um…do you have at least three references, Miss Goode?”
“Oh, yes, Ma’am.” I smiled, my heart beating a mile a minute. I prayed the interview would end before sweat started sliding down my face. I handed her a manila folder with a letter of recommendation and three references from the phone company.
She read my recommendation letter with one eyebrow raised the whole time. “Very nice,” she mouthed. “Well,” she said, rising. She handed me my folder back, then extended her hand to me. I rose with her, now trembling. “I’ve got three more interviews today. Thank you for coming down on such short notice.” She started walking from around her desk.
“When can I expect to hear from you?” I managed, sweating by now.
“With the holiday and so many people taking time off, I won’t be able to make a decision until sometime next week.” She patted my shoulder and snatched open the door. I thanked her, gave her another smile, then walked out with my feet feeling so heavy I could barely put one in front of the other.
On the way home I picked up a bottle of vodka and some lemon juice. I didn’t really like the taste of alcohol, but it was not the taste I cared about. It was what it would do for me. Back at the hotel I waved to the front-desk clerk and made my way to the elevator.
Holding the door for me was one of the down-and-out men who lived on my floor. “You lookin’