Ma Bell: The Young, The Old and the Beotchy
I showed up for work the first day about 30 minutes early, something that I have done ever since beginning work on that day. I went up to the floor I was reporting to and entered the office, and nobody was there. There were two chairs in the front part of the office, a reception area, so I sat there and waited for the supervisor. People started drifting in the door, each one eyeballing me and each one ignoring me. At about 7:50, the receptionist showed up and asked me who I was. Gee, it was nice to be expected. She said the supervisor would be there about 8. A little after 8, the supervisor finally made her appearance. (She would have been marked tardy if she was not a supervisor,) Over the years, I learned that late supervisors were not a freak accident but the norm in some cases.
My boss's name was Faye, the late one. She spent the next 10 or 15 minutes getting coffee, chit-chatting, and going to the restroom. I was the most obvious thing in the room, and I could see some of the old broads working there whispering about me. Looking around the room, there were 5 young people, including me, 4 in their thirties, 2 in their forties, and the rest were waiting for imminent death or retirement, whichever came first. Remember that for later.
When Faye was finally finished wandering around the room, she sat down at her desk. I had been sitting in an empty chair next to her desk. (So that people could see me better and talk about me.) Faye started asking me questions about where I had come from, where I had worked, and personal questions. She had a very soft voice, but something about her was phony, and I wasn't crazy about that. And she had that phony laugh, heh, heh. So I am making mental notes on all of this stuff for future use.
Now it was time to introduce me to everyone, person by person. The first person I met was the department manager; he was part of the waiting for death or retirement squad. He was okay. Then I had to meet three of the management salesmen—one short, one tall, and one whose mind had left his body. The short one thought he was tall and a ladies' man. He asked me if I was "off the street." "What did you ask me?" My face was red; I could feel it. Did he just insinuate that I was a prostitute? I guess Faye realized that I was insulted, and she laughed her, heh, heh, laugh. Then she explained that he meant was I from another department or had I been working outside of the company. The "off the street" comment was a commonly used type of company jargon that I would hear a million times over the years. She answered the short guy's question, and then we walked away. The tall guy was an old pervert, I could tell. He was also in the retire or die group. He was about 6' 4," and I believe that he thought he was The Duke, John Wayne. He was undressing me with his eyes and making me feel very uncomfortable. The third guy was just in the outer limits somewhere. I was hoping that I didn't have to work with any of them.
The four younger people were all fine, nice, and friendly. All of the retire or die group were different except that I didn't like any of them as a group. Mental note, beware. There was one nice person, one of the forties group. Her name was Melva, and she was just a country girl with good manners and a sweet personality. She would be training me.
I worked in the National Yellow Pages or NYPS. The phone company has a million acronyms for everything. I was going to be keypunching the ads for the Yellow Pages phone directories. And editing the text for errors. Pretty easy. Kind of monotonous. It might be hard to stay awake.
Finally, it was break time. The building, which also had some government agencies, had a privately owned convenience store on the first floor. I chose not to go to break with any of my co-workers. That would give them an excellent opportunity to talk about me. True. I went to the store and bought my favorite snack, Dr. Pepper. When I went to the register, the guy introduced himself to me as Ed, the owner. He said he hadn't seen me before. And he knew he would remember my face. I laughed and told him my name and that I was new. He gave me the drink to welcome me. He was always a big flirt, but he really was a harmless guy. I liked him.
I went back upstairs and sat at the desk, waiting for everyone. The 4 younger people came back in a little before the break time was over. The others were all late, but that seemed to be okay—a mental note. I was sizing this place up pretty quickly.
I continued my training for the rest of the day. When I left and went home, I had a headache, and I was tired. I hoped that wouldn't be a trend. I really didn't think that I would like it in that office, but I had to stick with it. After 3 months, I would have free total medical care for myself and my kids and a list of other great benefits too. I was just going to have to bite the bullet. I could do it. But I was going to have to be mindful of that venomous group of women; they were not trusted.
The next day was more of the same. Faye was late getting to work. People went to break, the same group came back late—more keypunching. I was tired. Well, my eyes were tired, I wasn't, back to Melva's desk to check my work. I was sitting there watching Melva, and a really nice looking guy came walking down the aisle. It was 1973, dresses were short, way above the knee. He looked at me when he walked by. He made eye contact. My eyes were okay now. I stood up to go back over to my desk. The guy was coming back up the aisle. He walked by and turned around and said very loudly, "Well, hello, legs!" One of the old biddies said, "That's what you get for wearing short skirts." And I had to reply, "Well, good, I have more!" And that was the first time I met France. But it wouldn't be the last.
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