A Job By Any Other Name

Once upon a time—a little over five years ago, in fact—hubby and I left glorious Kansas City for even more glorious San Francisco. In Kansas City I’d been a tech writing manager for a software firm. In San Francisco, at the end of the dot com busts, I was one of thousands looking for work in the computer arena.

Jack said not to worry about finding a job. After all, how often would we find ourselves living in the middle of one of the country’s most wonderful cities?

“So true,” I said with an enthusiasm that might have worried him if he’d taken a bit more time to think about it.

And we did have a fabulous time. When we left San Fran for South Carolina (after a temporary stint in Virginia), we didn’t think we’d be there long enough for me to find a good job, so I didn’t look. That’s when I started writing, and since then, erotic romance has been my “work.”

However, a couple of weeks ago, someone called and asked if I’d consider a position as a proofreader. Proofreading, I thought. That’s a job?

The money offered was pretty good and the distance to the workplace wasn’t too great, but I wasn’t convinced. “I don’t know if I should interview. What if I can’t do the work?”

“Are you kidding?” Jack snorted a laugh. “It’s right up your alley. Proofreaders have to be picky and you drive people crazy with your pickiness. You’d be fine.”

“But the hours are so long. When would I have time to write?” I wailed.

Jack looked at me with disbelief. “Let’s see. How many games of Solitaire did you play yesterday? How much time did you spend reading?”

Most of the time I feel like the luckiest woman in the world being married to my best friend who knows my heart and my mind.

Other times I just want to slap him.

“Look on the bright side,” he said, sporting an encouraging smile. “Maybe they won’t like you.”

Thanks, Sweetheart.

Okay, I started the new job Tuesday. My supervisor didn’t have a desk set up yet (not through any fault of hers), so she sat me at a counter in a file/storage room. A high counter, that could only be reached with a high chair.

Now, I’m not high. (I mean… Oh heck, you know what I mean.) The air couldn’t be let out of the chair until I could get on it. Every time I tried to boost myself up, the damn thing took off on its wheels across the floor. Finally I braced it against a file cabinet and squirmed on. I let out the air. Too much. The only way to pump it up again was to get off. I slid off and added air. Too much. I got on and let it out. I got off and pumped…. Half an hour later, I found about the right height for the counter, but the wrong height for the rest of me. Keeping my feet on the floor was impossible, and using the chair rail meant tucking my knees under my chin.

So there I perched, feet dangling until my ankles swelled like grapefruit, trying to concentrate on learning a new job. Was it time for lunch yet?

Now, while I know I’m not a genius, I don’t think I’m the dimmest bulb in the chandelier, either. But it seemed like every time I found an error noted in the proofreader’s procedural manual, the example I’d chosen to highlight was an exception to the rule. In fact, mostly what I’ve learned so far are exceptions. I’m still not sure I know any rules.

I’d never given a thought to all of the products lining the shelves in our stores, and what it takes to package them. Every word on every box, carton, bottle, can has to be proofread as to accuracy and claims. Just think (as I do now), how the box of a septic system product might read without a proofreader: Instead of “Use SEPTIC HEAVEN and you won’t spend your weekend mucking about,” you might see, “Use SEPTIC HEAVEN and you won’t spend your weekend fucking about.” Or on a box of poison for mice, instead of “Promises to kill all household pests,” you might see, “Promises to kill all household pets.” Oooh! Bad!!

So, this I is the reasoning I’m using to keep me going back. Today I had a cube space and a chair blessedly close to the floor, but (I’m ashamed to say) I spent the afternoon dropping off. Literally closing my eyes and wishing I was here at home curled up in my recliner. Or writing. :) Anyway, I’ve made it two whole days! It's not easy going back to work after five years! (Do you feel sorry for me yet?) Good! Then...

Help me stay awake! Make me laugh with your funny office stories, or even squirm over a few office fantasies. Lots of people I know met their significant others at work—bet some of you did, too. If you did, your time at work had to be more exciting than mine is proving to be, so help me out.

Unfortunately, I have no computer at the office—yes, this is a job from the dark ages, all done on hard copy—so I won’t be able to answer anyone’s comments until I come home tomorrow night. But don’t let that stop you! Let me hear all… Your office experiences will help get me through what's sure to be a long Friday!

Thanks for visiting with me today—

Dee