APPLYING FOR A NEW JOB. . .

APPLYING FOR A NEW JOB. . .

Now that my home is an empty nest, and the Mr. is gone all the time on business trips or golfing with the guys, I find myself perusing the Linkedin job postings.

"Merill-Lynch and The State Bar of California are looking for candidates just like you." The Linkedin notification in my inbox promises productivity and deliverance from Seinfeld re-runs.

I spend hours poring over them.  Would I like to apply for an associate attorney position at Google with it's promise of drive, ambition and a young, hip culture or would I be enticed by an old-fashioned office with a door that closes in as general counsel at J.W. Michaels & Co. with a legal secretary transcribing my notes from the deposition of Brian at Clark Pest Control.

I fill my head with thoughts of browsing through the racks of pin-striped suits at the back of my closet; a relic from my days working at Morrison Forester in downtown San Francisco.  

"I haven't eaten any breakfast today," I happily remember.  Maybe I can still squeeze into my Ann Taylor size 2 navy wool plaid skirt with burgundy piping and matching jacket with its two short rows of antique brass buttons running down the bodice.  

My thoughts carry me to my car, an environmentally-friendly, Yuppie-worthy Tesla that I can see myself driving into the underground parking structure at Palo Alto.  Beep. Beep. I lock it and walk away with my tan weather-beaten briefcase clutched in my hand; another vintage item unearthed from my closet.  See how smart I was in not getting rid of it?  My husband had made fun of that unused part of my closet, calling it a waste of space and directing my attention to a closet organizer featured on the Today show who recommended tossing anything you haven't used in the last six months.  Toss it, Trash it, donate it.  You don't need it.  

Who's laughing all the way to the interview now?

I picture myself waiting on the uncomfortable chairs in the foyer, my skirt cutting into my love handles.  If nobody's watching, can I unzip the waistband, shimmy it down my thighs and allow my breath to escape?  I ponder on that happy thought and allow myself a silly grin.

Then I'm called to the senior partner's office, and my breath comes out in small, winded gasps.  He's asking me about amendments to the Code of Civil Procedure.  The latest attack on Roe v. Wade and the Supreme Court's stunning upset of that ruling.  There is a dense fog wrapped around my brain.  I can't remember a thing.  The latest Justice to be appointed to the Supreme Court?  Was it Anthony Scalia?  No, no, that's the one who died recently, wasn't he?  I honestly don't know.  I deflect.  I demur.  I'm no longer well-qualified or even well-informed.

 I waddle to the couch and pick up the remote.  I gather the dog in a warm hug.  The 50-inch screen flashes on.  The Real Housewives of Orange county are chewing each other up with angry accusations and recriminations. I lean in and grab the gold gift box of Godiva's chocolates resting upon the foot pillow.  Aaaaaah, this is where I belong!

 

 

Is the use of racial slurs more than a year before? Navigating Trump's America. . .

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Why I keep Karva Chauth . . .

Why I keep Karva Chauth . . .