You know how you have a day, or sometimes even a week, where everything just goes to shit? And while filled with moments that make you smile, you still sit in bed at night angry at something, sad about something, upset by something. no matter how many times people send you their love in every capacity they can muster: facebook posts, texts, hugs, email, a phone call... something still eats at you and there's no way to shake it.
Well, it was like that this week. But then, you know how something will happen every so often that makes you forget about life for a while, and embrace everything good? Well, it was like that today.
I received a phone call from a woman at work today. She said her name was Fran, and immediately, I pictured an ugly someone in their late 40s or early 50s. That image vanished, as I listened to her talk. She sounded no older than 35. And kind of pretty. I listened to her plight, and took it all in. She was the spokesperson for this small dance troupe downtown, that's what she was really passionate about. The fact that she skated right over the fact that she's currently producing Hair on Broadway as though it was nothing surprised me a little, but I listened even more intently after that fact was ever-so-covertly dropped. She explained that the troupe was scheduled for a performance at our theatre in September, but she desperately needed a second performance added. My boss has been out of the country for two weeks, and she's due back in a few days. Fran hadn't known this, so I handled it gracefully, and told her what I knew.
"She'll be back by Friday," I said cautiously, "I don't know if that means she'll be back in the country on Thursday, and back in the office on Friday..." My tone quivered with the air of a question. "That would be my guess. It definitely sounds like we can help you out, but Leslie is the one you'll want to speak to, and I can make sure this is one of the first things she deals with after she's home and settled."
Fran seemed more than pleased. She felt bad for leaving multiple messages on Leslie's phone, and she said, "Tell Leslie, she can just disregard all those messages I left her. I feel just awful."
"Don't worry about a thing," I said casually, "she's probably expecting hundreds of messages when she returns. It shouldn't be a problem."
Fran then asked me for my name. I told her and she proceeded to give me a gentle version of the proverbial "third degree." She wanted to know what I did at Dixon Place, how I got my position. I told her that I was the Administrative Assistant, and I took over the position from a girl I had gone to college with who had been the previous intern. Fran then asked where college was for me. After I told her, she wanted to know what I was hoping to pursue, as far as a career. Forgetting who I was speaking to, I looked around the office at the revolting people I work with who seemed bemused by the fact that anyone would be having such a conversation with me. I made a face at them as if to say, "I know you guys! Haha! This is hysterical! Who does she think she is? Haha!" Then I rolled my eyes at their absurdity, and turned my focus back to my call. I told her I was in the performing arts, and I would love to pursue a career in performance or directing.
"Well, that's fantastic," she said. "I wonder if you wouldn't mind forwarding your resume to me. I don't have anything right now, but things come across my desk all the time, and you're just so wonderful on the phone. It's really a breath of fresh air. Let me give you my email address."
I was beside myself. Three months I had spent in this office, getting nothing but grief. And here was this one phone call, ten days before I was faced with the bittersweet combination of freedom from tyranny and lack of income. I finished up the part of the project I was working on before she called, and I emailed her my resume with a tailored cover letter for a job that may or may not even exist. I thanked her for considering me for hire and asked if there was any further information about the company which I could read in my spare time, to research a little bit about what they stand for, what I'd be assisting with.
After that, the day flew by, and I haven't felt angry or sad since. Still frustrated at the ignoble poltroons under whom I diligently work - of course. But hey, I could be working for a Broadway producer. That wins.
