Working Girl

It was 1997, and I was fresh out of high school. I was working at a home mortgage company in Anchorage, Alaska. I had been thrust from my trivial world of high school, into the "real world" with my very first "real" job. I was, admittedly, terrified! I was just 17, and I was surrounded by very mature, professional, people -- doing seemingly very important work. I worked in the business of home mortgages, something I knew nothing about -- I still lived in my parents basement!  I was so fresh out of high school that the confetti from graduation was still in my hair. I had no practical work experience. I was about as ignorant to the things of the world as a person could be.

My appearance around the time I was hired at the mortgage company. 

(This random image was taken when I got my patriarchal blessing from Patriarch Milliman) 

My job at the mortgage company was to assist everyone in the office, in anyway I could. I would act as the receptionist when she was out. I was in charge of shredding important legal documents. I would verify rents/mortgage payments/ income. I designed application documents. I organized client files. I did a little bit of everything. I even cleaned out my boss's office for her. (That was scary!) I had my own little cubical, and I would receive piles of files to go through, and complete anything with a "RUSH" stamp on it. If some random job needed to be done, I did it. There were about 30 people in the office, and I worked for all of them, whenever they needed help.

I had been hired at this company for one reason, and one reason alone: I was Mormon. 

When I was sitting in my very first interview, as a completely innocent (and oblivious) 17 year old -- the "big boss" who interviewed me told me she knew I was Mormon. (I came with a referral from a member of our Church, who was just being nice to me.) She (the big boss), was once a Mormon herself -- though not practicing the religion in anyway -- but she still knew what it meant. She knew I would do my best not to fail, or be dishonest. She knew that I -- as a practicing Mormon -- would try to be as good as I could be.

At the time, I had a blank employment resume, but I had a church resume full of service activities, and goal-setting accomplishments. That meant a lot to her, and she wanted to give me a chance. She also said to me, as she sipped from her coffee mug, "I like the way you look." I was caught off guard, and not sure what she meant by that. She did not say, "I think you are pretty, " or "you are a beautiful girl, " or anything like that. No, she "liked the way I looked" . . . because, well, I looked like a Mormon. Clean, wholesome, nice . . . and a little twinkle in my eye. She told me she wanted that as the image for her company. I was surprised she felt this way. But, come to find out, the main receptionist (the face of the company) was Mormon, too!

So, I was hired. But, honestly, I spent most of my time worried that I was going to mess everything up. There I was, with the pressure of being "Mormon." I did not want to let anyone down, or reflect poorly on my faith -- especially since I knew I was being watched because of it. There was a steep learning curve, but I had some very nice people who helped me along the way. And, you know, looking back -- I did alright. I was a good worker. I had a good work ethic. I was trying to do a good job . . . I don't think I was a horrible example.

Amongst many other tasks, I remember that one of my jobs was to include making the coffee in the front lobby. One of the ladies showed me the coffee maker, and I said to her, "I cannot make coffee, I don't know how, and I would rather not do it. " She looked at me kind of funny. I stood there,  petrified, worried that she would still make me do it, since it was "part of my job." But, luckily for me, those who actually drank the coffee did not want me ruining it for them. I was off the hook. I was free from brewing-up sin, and serving it to co-workers, and clients. (That was how I felt about it.) It may not have been a big deal to someone else, but to me, Mari Mormon -- it was huge. I was young, and the thought of making and serving coffee mortified me. (Just FYI, I still would not do it now.) Not to mention, it really smelled awful. Nasty, burned, black stuff. Gross. My boss would down 5 cups before lunch, and she was just getting started!

There was another defining moment for me, at this particular job. I was sitting in my cubicle and organizing one of my drawers. I reached to the back of the drawer and I found an envelope. Inside the envelope was $500 in cash. The envelope had obviously been there for awhile. Well, it was not even a question for me . . . I took the money straight to my boss. She was astonished that I found random money lying around (they determined it was stashed appraisal money, from a previously let-go employee), but she was more astonished that I would return it.  I believe my boss patted herself on the back at that moment, for hiring a Mormon. She spread the good-word of my honesty to the rest of my co-workers, and I was a hero, for a day. 

I stayed at the mortgage company for the Summer, before I started college at U.A.A. in the Fall. Instead of being timid and scared, I started to embrace the business world I found myself in. I began wearing business suits, I chopped-off my hair, and I considered pursuing a career in the world of home mortgages. (It was either that, or I was going to run off to Nashville to be a Country Music Star, but that is another story!) After my first year of college, the boss from the mortgage company called me and asked me to come back to work for them, again. And so, I did. I business-suited up and returned to the rat-race.

Image after chopping off my hair

I learned so much the second time around -- and not about home mortgages. My eyes were a little more open, and I learned about "life." I saw, clearly, the power-driven women I was surrounded by -- I watched their ways, and how some of them were so obviously trying to claw their way to the top. I saw a woman break-up with her family, then she ran off with the big-wig at the top of the bank. I saw men treating women poorly in the workplace. And I saw some men treating women a little too "nice." I saw the stress of deadlines turn normally nice people into wicked-witches, and ogres, who swore like sailors. I saw deceit, and dishonesty, regarding money transactions. I saw backbiting, and gossip, as it weaved its way through to unfortunate outcomes. I saw, and learned, a lot . . . about life in the workforce. Clawing, scrapping, pushing, shoving -- up and down the career-ladder. It was becoming clear that the business world was not as glamorous as I had once ignorantly imagined.  In fact, it was not glamorous, at all. The flashy business suits were just masks, covering the stress and anxiety of the people who wore them.

I did not go back to the mortgage company, again. Though the offer was extended for me to stay, and learn, and "progress." The ladder was there for me to climb . . . but I did not do it.

And I must say, now, that I am SO GRATEFUL. I am grateful I got to taste that world, just a little, and I am grateful that I could spit it out.

Now, I am especially grateful for Charles -- who faces this kind of ladder-climbing world, daily. He, my hero, faces the business-world that I left . . . so that I can be at home. I know it is not this way for everyone. But I am grateful that circumstances have allowed it to be this way for me. (Circumstances have sometimes been eating peas and croutons for dinner, having a zero balance in the bank, going without a car, and sleeping on a futon in the living room, mind you.)

But now, I am home. It is the most beautiful place to work. It is infinitely better than an office, or a cubicle, wearing business suits, and listening to workplace gossip . . . and everything else that is involved. (I have worked in a variety of other jobs, too, but that is for another day.) 

My home is my workplace now . . .  and I do not have to claw my way to the "top" here.

I am the "top" here.

I am the Boss.

And the only place higher to climb from Home is Heaven . . . which is the only place I would rather be.