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Health & Fitness

A Working Girl

Life after high school and the memories of the first job

Well, who knew that the term “working girl” had another connotation? At 18, I sure didn’t. 

I earned a few bucks babysitting ever since we moved from SF to my new neighborhood in Rosemont, and soon became the most popular babysitter in the subdivision.  The kids loved me and the parents thought I was very responsible. I usually had a choice – do I babysit or go out on a date?  It came down to how much money I needed for the upcoming week.  If I needed the bucks, the dating was not on the top of my list unless it was some dreamboat I could not live without.  It is funny when you look back at what you thought was a dreamboat back then that probably would not even turn your head now, like my prom date.  I thought he was “dreamy” at the time.

After graduation I thought I struck gold because a family in my neighborhood needed a babysitter while the lady of the house went back to work.  I had not worked for her previously, but I had lots of good recommendations. I took care of two kids, straightened up the house, did laundry, and baked a cake for the family each day.  I forgot what I was paid, but it was just a little more than the fifty cents an hour I got for regular babysitting, no matter how many kids I sat for.  This was back in the middle 60s and that was the going rate for babysitting.

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My Dad said I needed a real job. He said that I had good skills and was wasting my time with this job.  Besides, our family could use some funds that I could earn and help contribute to the family. College was not in the cards for me. Dad didn’t think girls needed college because, after all, they would get married, have kids, and be a stay-at-home mom, like my Mom.  That little babysitting job only lasted two weeks because the lady lost her job and, therefore, I lost mine. Fate intervened.

My next door neighbor worked at HP and suggested I put in my application over there in Palo Alto.  I went there and took a dictation test and most likely failed.  I had never tried to write in shorthand the long chemical and mechanical words that they use everyday there.  High school did not prepare me for words like that. In shorthand, you actually write sounds and only words if they are phrases like “should be able” etc., so this test was beyond me and frankly, I did not want to drive over a bridge each day.  I felt that God was in control here and that was never in the cards for me.

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I checked the want ads and put in my application for the southern Alameda County city where I lived with my parents.  A chemical company in town scooped me up immediately. 

I knew how to drive but did not get my license, because I liked being chauffeured around, still do. My brother, who is two years younger, drove me to work and picked me up.  Sometimes it was scary because where our subdivision was used to be a cauliflower field and the land all the way down to the bay where the chemical company was located sometimes was fogged in to the point that you could barely see the emblem on the hood of the car.  My brother was fearless behind the wheel and to him it was a challenge driving in it.  God love him for that.  A condition of my employment was that I would get my license within a short time frame, which I did.

I had seen the movie, “The Best of Everything” starring Hope Lange, based on the Rona Jaffe novel when I was younger and it was one of my favorites that I watched over and over and I thought that movie depicted what a working girl was.  I was ready with my high heels, business attire, little thermos of soup, my sandwich in my lunch box, and my Cosmopolitan magazine.

My job at the chemical company was working the order desk in the office three days a week, processing chemical orders and shipping them out via truck or train, and filling in for the older lady who was the secretary for the president and vice president of the company for two days a week.  I was fresh out of high school and I could type pretty fast, my secretarial skills were excellent, and I took dictation at 125 wpm. 

When I worked for the president and vice president of the company, I was somewhat intimidated.  Their secretary was with the company for eons and here I was, just a kid.  They were very nice older men and welcomed my working for them.  Their secretary was also very nice and I am pretty sure she was way over retirement age. I remember thinking why would anyone want to work at her age. Times sure have changed. 

Andy, the Comptroller hired me. He was impressed that I knew how to use the comptometer calculator, the machine that had tons of keys and rather cumbersome to use but it was state-of-the-art in those days.  We sure have come a long way. 

Andy was a very kind, nice looking older man, who watched out for me there. I guess he knew he had to because the plant employed lots of men.

They did not give out keys to the office, so I had to go through the chemical plant to get to the office, via the back stairs every morning.  Lots of men worked in the plant and many of them lined the stairway each morning. There were many cat whistles.  Little did I know in those days what sexual harassment was, but I know that they were most likely looking up my dress, like dirty old men and dirty young men do.  I was so embarrassed but I didn’t know how to tell my boss so I lived with it.  I don’t think they could see anything anyway.  I was very self-conscious and I am sure my face turned fifty shades of red. All I was doing was climbing up the stairs to go to work and do my job.

It didn’t take long to figure out that having lunch with the guys down in the lunchroom was more fun than sitting at my desk upstairs and eating my lunch by myself. They were lots of fun actually, and I ended up dating a couple of the younger guys. One of the older guys acted like another Dad, watching out for me, which was very sweet. He introduced me to his wife and we became friends too.

I became frustrated that my job did not pay enough, and I felt that the chemical company was getting the better deal, so I started looking around for something that would pay better.  I gave my parents $80/week out of my meager earnings and that didn’t leave me with too much for my expenses. 

I had heard of a job in the public sector.  I put in my application just before the 5 PM deadline for a job as a Planning Department Secretary for a neighboring city, and after interviewing for the job, I got it. I had only been with the chemical company about nine months and it was tough to leave the nice friends I made there.

The people I worked with at my new job were great. One day we were in the front reception area inside City Hall talking about city business of course.  There were about six of us in the reception area.  Pretty soon, they all vanished and left me up there by myself.  Even the old maid receptionist, Alice, took off, and it was her desk that she vacated.

When I think back on it, Alice was only a 55 year old spinster but we considered her “old”.  She always called me ”kid.”  She was pretty moody so it was probably good she never married. 

So, after everyone left, this older lady came in telling me her problem.  Apparently, there was a man living under her house wearing a gas mask and poisoning her.  She explained the whole incredible story to me which was very very far fetched. 

Wow.  I had to maintain calm, refrain from laughing, and resisting the urge to say, “Oh come on lady, get real.”  But, she was as serious as a heart attack.  I took down her information and told her we would see what we could do.  When she left, all the five culprits returned to the reception area, laughing.  Apparently, this poor soul came in regularly with the same story, and when they saw her, they knew what this was going to be all about and left me there to handle this all by myself.  I am sure I called them all a bad seven-letter word that starts with an “A.”  They deserved it.

Sometimes, I feel like I am back there in the reception area when I am in my shoppe dealing with some unique individuals right here in Martinez.  I have heard some interesting Twilight Zone stories right here at home.  Sometimes I feel like their shrink. The things they confide in me would make my Mother blush. It begs the question, is it something in our water? Or is it something in the air? More to come…

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