Despite the recent economic downturn, the job market remains strong in the Washington area, employing everyone who wants one to work. Well, almost everyone: our friend Bev Santoni is still stuck in a round of temporary jobs, even after eight months of looking for worthwhile permanent employment. Part of the problem may be in Bev’s definintion of "worthwhile"; until last June she hadn’t held a paying position in eighteen years, but she’s pretty sure she’s CEO material.
Recently she met her best friend, Suzanne McNaughton, for a brainstorming session over dinner in a quiet Georgetown restaurant. Bev ran through the list of the temp jobs she’d held, none of which had produced offers for permanent positions. In every case, the bosses had apparently felt threatened by Bev’s superior mind and obvious competence. As soon as she started offering her views of what they were doing wrong, they’d look for an excuse to fire her.
"Oh, give me a break, Bev," said Suzanne, rolling her eyes. (Bev and Suzanne are best friends in a way that is sometimes mistaken for bitter enemies.)
"Oh, they’re petty, all right, but you’d be surprised at how mediocre most managers are. You’d think that if someone came to your business and offered you a free and unbiased critique of your operation--I mean everything from personnel to decorationg schemes--you’d be grateful. But no. So, bottom line, I think the problem may be that I’m not assertive enough."
Suzanne made a noise that might have been either a snort or the start of a sneeze. Bev handed her a tissue and continued. "I should work up the nerve to make the changes I propose, instead of just talking about them. When they saw the results they’d know I was right and have no choice but to put me in charge. The problem is that I wouldn’t have the authority to make the changes, so I’d have to break a few rules. That’s what’s wrong with women, Suz, we’re raised to follow rules, not challenge them. We need to teach ourselves how to take charge. Oh, I know what you’ll say, I’m really good at being in charge, because I’ve run the PTA single-handedly all these years."
"Hello?" said Suzanne, who’s the PTA vice president. "Who does all the work?"
"Doing the work and running the organization are totally different," said Bev. "I wouldn’t expect you to understand this, Suzanne, since you aren’t a business professional like me. That’s the bottom line: these people all want someone to work, but my real talent lies in telling everyone else what to do. Somehow I’m not getting that across. After all those years as a housewife, I must have forgotten how to project an image of authority. I’m out of practice." She eyed the waiter, who was just then coming up to refill their water glasses.
"Leave him alone," hissed Suzanne, who had a glimmer of what was coming.
"You’re right, he’s too easy," answered Bev.
Two tables away a pretty woman was dining with a man some fifteen years her senior. Bev got up and strode over. "I need to have a word with the young lady," she announced. In a whisper that could be heard across the room, she went on, "Watch out for this guy. He’s got ‘lecher’ written all over his face."
The young woman’s eyes grew wide. "He’s my husband."
But Bev’s attention had been caught by a college-age couple near the entrance. "Lord," she said, "what is that kid wearing?"
She stalked to the front, and stood over the girl. "Excuse me, did you forget to get dressed this morning? Or did you figure that if your underwear is black, it’s okay to wear it to dinner?"
"We need to go," hissed Suzanne at her shoulder.
Bev shook her finger in the girl’s face. "You’re betraying everything my generation fought for!" Suzanne was dragging her from the restaurant, but she wasn’t finished. "And I’ll bet you can get any job you want. It’s frumpy middle-aged women like us who did that for you. The least you can do is not dress like a tart. My God, you’re as bad as my daughter!"
They were in the doorway. "Put that thing away," she ordered a man with a cell phone. "People are trying to enjoy a quiet meal."
Finally Suzanne got her outside. Bev was glowing. "Well," she said, "I think I did some good in there."
"You did not," retorted Suzanne. "People don’t want to be improved. And who are you calling frumpy?"
"I meant good for me. Still, I’m glad you think I helped people improve their lives a little bit this evening. Ultimately, of course, that’s something they have to do for themselves. I can’t run everyone else’s life for them.
"Although," she added, smiling through pursed lips, "I sure can try."