Retirement Means Going to Work!
Ever tried to come out of the mothballs and go back to work? After several years of looking after my husband and going through the final farewells, I moved back to my beloved Florida.
There I discovered something that stunned me…retirement simply isn’t the fun we all figured it would be, friends. Now, maybe if I had millions of dollars like those letter frauds promise, excitement might abound. Having no wealth, I opened the Sarasota Herald to the Help Wanted section and browsed the columns.
Yes, I know MS Word. Nope, do not know Excel or Power Point. Yes, I know how to input data and send emails. Nope, most of the copiers these days require a NASA scientist to operate, which, by the way, is also on the missing side of the board.
Ah, ha, data input only! I can do that! Dress casual? Okay, I can do that. After all, I live in Florida and casual is the way of life.
I called to make an appointment and the young man on the other end of the phone scheduled me for 2 p.m. I felt the excitement rising. A job! Working! Bringing in a paycheck! The good life!
Dressing for Success Leads to Failure
I pulled a casual white jacket and slacks from the closet. Loved that set. The silky material of the slacks brushes lightly against my skin and always feels beautiful. The jacket sluiced in nicely at the waist, the tiny front pleats shrink the middle. Coupled with a lavender ‘boyfriend’ shirt, tucked in at the waist and accented with bone colored heels and medium sized handbag, I thought the outfit shouted casual.
As had always been my way, I arrived thirty minutes early for any paperwork and maybe a few moments to chat with the receptionist to learn more about the workings of the company.
I walked up to the desk where, presumably, the young man I spoke with earlier asked me to wait in the lobby. Hmm, maybe the paperwork would be done later. I noticed, however, that when I came through the door, his eyes widened. Ah, I made an impression.
Talking to the young man did not seem feasible as he raised his feet to the desk and leaned back to chat on his cellphone. He did not even change positions when another man walked up. Putting the cellphone to his chest, the young man pointed to me and mouthed something. I would be talking to the janitor?
New Ways for an Older Woman
“Ah, er, Mrsss., er,”
“DiGiovanni,” I said. “Please, call me Maggie.”
“Okay, Maggie, come on back to the testing area.”
Gazing, no, staring at his mode of dress, I knew why the receptionist’s eyes widened when he saw me. Seems the man leading me to the testing areas was the president, not the janitor, of the company. Dressed in ripped jeans – not the fashionable kind – really ripped, old faded jeans with a dirty t-shirt slouching down past his rear end. Embellished with the flip-flops on his feet his whole being told me I might be slightly over-dressed. The pearl earrings added to my ensemble seemed a little old, out of date, pathetically wrong for this particular test and interview.
We ended in a room Mama would have demanded be cleaned before she sat down. I counted it as part of the ‘casualness’ of the business and gingerly sat on a torn chair seat.
Test First; Interview Later
Testing consisted of entering various materials into a computer, with one page mostly numbers, another words, another sentences with more punctuation than most people would find in several pages. I found myself keeping up with the younger people seated down the row from me. I am a senior; hear me roar!
The interview went well, my tests proved accurate and fast, however, my mode of dress, did not fit in to the current venue of the company. I sighed in relief, once out the door, just before I looked down and noticed the huge black grease mark down the left side of my jacket and slacks.
That does it! For my next interview, I’m wearing my thong underwear (be prepared), my living, breathing, heaving bra topped by half down the butt jeans with a tank top, ripped across the belly. Or, maybe like this…
I have learned that reading a help wanted ad is only half the battle. The other half is doing exactly what it asks.