Workin' for a livin'.....

Oh joy, oh rapture--after TWENTY months of unemployment (well, some of that was UNDERemployment, but we won't quibble here...) I am actually gainfully employed full time once again! I am the Reference Manager at the Kenan Research Center which is the archives branch of the Atlanta History Center. To say that I'm thrilled would be the understatement of the year--I get to spend my days helping patrons use our collections for research into such diverse subjects as family history, Civil War history, architectural history, gay and lesbian history and a multitude of other fascinating topics--and I get a paycheck, full benefits, and a ton of paid time off during the year to boot! It really just doesn't get much better than this for a die-hard history geek like me.

I spent my lunch break on Saturday (I work Tuesdays through Saturdays) sitting at a patio table at the back of the museum building, looking out over the acres of spectacular gardens that meander through our campus. You have to understand that the AHC is located in the heart of Buckhead, one of the most upscale areas of Atlanta, and sitting at that table you would never know you were in the center of the city. With the wind whispering through the trees and the birds singing and the faint scent of gardenias on the air, I couldn't help but revel in my good fortune and reflect on other jobs I have had--jobs that were, shall we say, somewhat less satisfying.

One of my very first jobs after high school was working as a ward clerk at Indio Community Hospital in the emergency room. One of our attending physicians was a former MASH doctor who served in Korea and was famous for his good looks and somewhat unorthodox ways. My desk was in front of his and when checking in patients, I often had to bend over my desk to hand them their paperwork. Shortly after one such occasion I remember him leaning over me with a smile as he walked past my desk and advising me in a conspiratorial whisper, "You wave that thing in my face one more time and I'm gonna bite it!"

I remember when Randy was on his first WESTPAC deployment, I worked as a bookkeeper for an auto body repair shop in National City (a suburb of San Diego) where my boss explained that one of the perks of my job was that I could leave the building early enough to get out of the neighborhood before dark. I guess the concertina wire and junk yard dogs provided adequate security during daylight hours. I was pregnant with Benjamin at the time, and while fighting morning sickness it was not unusual to get that "somebody's behind me" feeling while sitting at my desk, and turn around to see a four inch palmetto bug (that's the polite term for a cockroach) crawling up the wall behind my desk. Once, I opened the office refrigerator to put in my morning sickness snack (cucumbers, cottage cheese, and soda crackers) to find the entire top shelf filled with the biggest fish I have ever seen--glassy eyes, scales, and all.

The Georgia State Farmers Market provided another memorable job for me. I worked as a switchboard operator and later as an accounts receivable clerk for a produce house in which I was one of very few women in the building. The fact that I was married with four children didn't seem to faze a number of the warehouse guys, salesmen, and even customers who were, I swear, THE most oversexed bunch it's ever been my misfortune to encounter. The theory was that because they worked six days a week from 5AM til 4PM, there was no time at home for romance so they spent all their working hours thinking about it. That was the theory. I liked them--I found their country boy common sense and southern dry wit really fun. But for some of them I think the "theory" was just a smokescreen for the fact that although God gave them a brain and their most valued body part, He only gave them enough blood to run one at a time. Their brains never stood a chance. I put up with five years of various and assorted good natured suggestions involving my anatomy and the copy machine and the nearest Holiday Inn, knowing that most of them were all talk and no action. It was sort of like working in a college frat house, I suppose, but I never felt threatened and, after all, none of them had anything to offer that was better than what I went home to every night. Here's a picture of me on my 40th birthday, enjoying my toilet-papered desk and "Lordy, Lordy, Sue's 40" decorations.


SO--on Tuesday when I go back to work, open my office door (YES, I have my VERY OWN OFFICE for the first time in 52 years!), and glance at my business cards (YES, I have my VERY OWN BUSINESS CARDS for the first time in 52 years!), I will sit there smugly and I will feel very, very grown up and very VERY grateful! (Oh! and the picture at the top of this blog? That's my Dad, workin' for his livin' at Boling Field in Washington, D.C., in 1947. I wonder if he ever chased my mother around the desk? ;-)