Girl, Out of Her Box

This was written last week, when I arrived early for an interview at Purdue and waited in the hallway, in a chair, outside the doorway of an English classroom...

It's been 16 years since I sat in these hallways. Back then, in my early 20's, I had on some old, ripped-up Levi's, sneakers, and a sweatshirt (probably inside out).

Today, at 40, I have somehow traveled full circle and am back where I started.

I sit here in my favorite designer suit with the kicky pleated skirt, wearing black slingback pumps of the same designer, my hands shaking slightly, my too-long hair pulled back in a sensible black barrette.

I am early. By 30 minutes. So I decide that a scan of the job description I am interviewing for and a quick study of my resume might be prudent at this point, but I am distracted. Young students, Dillon's age; grad students, barely older; and professors pass me in the hall, giving me a sideways glance, no-doubt wondering why I am looking so spiffy and uncomfortable in their hallway on a rainy Thursday afternoon.

The job I am here to interview for is something I don't really want to Do. It's a secretarial position. Of all the things I never wanted to be, "Secretary" was near the top of the list - I worked hard in college, my motivation avoiding having to be a secretary some day. (Ironic, isn't it?) But as life goes on, priorities change and at this point, being free of a dysfunctional relationship far outweighs taking a job that falls short of my career goals and in the end, after talking myself in yet another circle, I really do want this job.

So I take a deep breath, put on a smile, and return to studying my resume.

But I keep eyeing my watch, my stomach feeling tighter with each passing minute.

Finally, it's time...