A Man Works as a Secretary
Upon my return to Washington, DC after the events of 9/11, I immediately took a job working as a secretary at a small law firm. The position had been held by a friend of my mother’s who had gone on to take a position with the Department of Justice. I didn’t care about the job, obviously. I just cared about paying the rent. I also cared about being able to finish the book I’d started writing with my father.
Answering phones and opening mail and greeting clients. That was the job. It was boring. It required me sitting for hours and hours on end. It required patience and kindness, and a way to bullshit the lawyers. Most of them were nice people. Except for the head honcho, the man whose name was on the door. He was an ass.
He had his moments of kindness, but I could tell by the way he treated his assistant that he didn’t much care for people he deemed beneath him.
During the time I was there, I wrote, edited, and marketed the book I was working on with my father, finally obtaining a publisher. On the day we received word that the book would be published, my father and I were ecstatic. We’d finally done it. I didn’t care what else I did, and I didn’t care how much longer I stayed at the secretary job. I’d done what I came to do, make enough money to get by while finishing something bigger.
After the book went out for publication, and I knew I’d have to do some editing, I decided to quit my job. It had been almost a year, and that was plenty of time in that position. Now, of course, I didn’t have another job lined up. But I didn’t want to work as a secretary for much longer. An attorney at the firm was about to leave as well, and he wanted me to move over to the new firm with him. I didn’t want to do that either, but I kept an open mind. It didn’t matter, I gave my two weeks notice and was content to wait.
About a week into that two weeks notice, the big man came to the front where I sat and threw some pieces of mail in my face. Literally. I had left them unopened, having found them difficult, and not wanting to rip them apart. He had come back previously and begged me to open them, which I had done, subsequently ripping part of the important document. He was pissed at me, despite the fact that I’d told him exactly what would happen if I were to open the mail. So, rather than argue with the man about right and wrong, left and right, up and down, I got my belongings, went around and said goodbye to everyone in the fofice and walked out the door.
If you’ve never stormed out of a job, well, let me tell you: try it. Especially if you’ve already got a foot out the door. There’s nothing quite so satisfying as leaving a place, knowing you’ll never be back there, and not regretting your actions in the least.
This job did teach me something, however — earning money while working on your own project is worthwhile. Forget what other people might say criticizing you for taking a job that’s beneath you. If you have something creative you want to do, and don’t want to be destitute, find a job that allows you to be creative on their time. Sure, you’ll have to watch your back; you’ll have to pay attention to what’s happening around you. But if you’re doing your job, people won’t care what you do in your down time as long as you’re not compromising the workplace.
