| Biographical Non-Fiction posted August 3, 2013 | Chapters: |
...6 7 -8- 9... 
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Continuing story of my early marriage years
A chapter in the book Chasing the Elusive Dream
A Rude Awakening
by BethShelby
"Okay, what now?," I asked myself. "Am I ready for the next chapter of this thing called marriage?"
I'd been the newlywed, the college student, the apartment dweller and the somewhat reluctant cook and homemaker. I'd made some dumb mistakes, and I learned a lot in two years. Now, I needed to become a wage earner. Surely I owed it to my long-suffering mate to try to help with expenses.
I had my BA degree with an Art major and Education minor. I had obtained a teaching license with an Art certification. I put out some resumes, but my timing was off. Schools were in the process of phasing out their art and music departments due to budget cuts. To be honest, I was a bit relieved because after practice teaching unruly classes of teenagers, I'd already decided teaching wasn't my calling. Still, I was determined to do something to help bring home the proverbial bacon.
Perhaps I should have chosen more carefully when selecting my major. My next choices might have been to become a doctor or an architect. But that would have meant even more schooling. I'd already stretched our money supply to the limits. I was lucky I'd gotten this far, but I was starting to wonder if having a college degree was any big deal.
At twenty-two, working outside the home would be a new experience for me. I didn't know where to begin. Despite the degree, I was going to have to start at the bottom. Businesses didn't want to hire someone whose employment record was blank. My neighbor across the hall told me about a loan company in need of a clerk typist. I'd not typed since high school, but luckily their hiring standards were lax. I got the job. It meant forty hours a week at minimum wage, plus five hours of time and a half for overtime. It didn't call for a degree, and it was certainly better than nothing.
I soon learned I was in for a rude awakening. For a married lady, I was still pretty naive. Up until this point, I had led a sheltered life. The Christian college which I attended had many students who were preparing for the ministry. My new boss was a sharply dressed businessman who paid little attention to me. His wife, the office manager, had a speech impediment, but her language was filthy and she loved lewd jokes. She would turn any innocent remark into something sexually suggestive. She enjoyed making me uncomfortable with her stories. She cultivated friends who came in to swap dirty jokes.
Dorothy, the other female loan officer, was the abused wife of an alcoholic husband. Her makeup was usually a failed attempt to cover a black eye and numerous bruises which she tried explaining away by saying she'd walked into a door. Grady, the other male employee, did appraisals and repossessions of the furniture, cars or whatever the customer put up for collateral on their loans.
Since we had started our lives together with no credit history, Evan and I were no strangers to loan companies. We had always managed to pay our loans off, despite high interest rates. Now, I realized most of the loan customers were very poor. It wasn't unusual for a man to make a loan for gambling money with no way to pay it off. Often his wife would have her furniture, which she'd worked hard to buy on her meager maid's salary, repossessed. In those days, it was rare for women to own anything in their own name. It was a sad business. I saw many people crying and begging for more time. The warehouse behind our office was filled with household goods and broken dreams. The repossessions were sold off to whoever might be looking for a bargain.
To make matters worse, Grady assumed having a young woman around was fair game and started making passes at me. He was a heavy driinker, and when he became completely inebriated, he'd call me up at home. My rebuffs did nothing to discourage his flirting. How was I supposed to explain that to my husband without him doing something embarrassing which might only make matters worse? I could handle the work but not the people, so when I was offered another job with a small art agency, I handed in my notice. I'd been with the loan company three months.
It turned out, my second job was a bigger mistake than the first. The owner wasn't looking for an artist, as he'd led me to believe. He wanted a bookkeeper and office manager. It didn't take long to realize I was in over my head. I could sit at the front desk, talk to customers, and answer the phone, but I had no idea how to do billing. No one offered to train me. An agency this small, with only two employees plus the owner, couldn't run without a cash flow.
The girl who had worked there before me, had been fired for distracting the owner's cameraman with her flirting. It turned out the cameraman was even more distracted by missing the apple of his eye. He couldn't seem to do anything right with her gone. When the owner realized he'd been a bit hasty about letting her go, he gave in to her pleading and took her back. Once again I had a rude awakening. It was deflating to my fragile ego to be let go after only working a week. As humilating as it was, I was relieved of the enormous pressure of being expected to do something which I wasn't qualified to do.
"Don't worry about it," Evan said. "You don't have to work. I make enough to support us. Stay home for a while and enjoy it. You deserve a rest."
I appreciated the thought, but I wasn't ready to give up so easily. My ego was bruised, but I couldn't allow my self-esteem to suffer permanent damage.
As it turned out, something else was in the works for us. I just wasn't aware of it at the time.
"Okay, what now?," I asked myself. "Am I ready for the next chapter of this thing called marriage?"
I'd been the newlywed, the college student, the apartment dweller and the somewhat reluctant cook and homemaker. I'd made some dumb mistakes, and I learned a lot in two years. Now, I needed to become a wage earner. Surely I owed it to my long-suffering mate to try to help with expenses.
I had my BA degree with an Art major and Education minor. I had obtained a teaching license with an Art certification. I put out some resumes, but my timing was off. Schools were in the process of phasing out their art and music departments due to budget cuts. To be honest, I was a bit relieved because after practice teaching unruly classes of teenagers, I'd already decided teaching wasn't my calling. Still, I was determined to do something to help bring home the proverbial bacon.
Perhaps I should have chosen more carefully when selecting my major. My next choices might have been to become a doctor or an architect. But that would have meant even more schooling. I'd already stretched our money supply to the limits. I was lucky I'd gotten this far, but I was starting to wonder if having a college degree was any big deal.
At twenty-two, working outside the home would be a new experience for me. I didn't know where to begin. Despite the degree, I was going to have to start at the bottom. Businesses didn't want to hire someone whose employment record was blank. My neighbor across the hall told me about a loan company in need of a clerk typist. I'd not typed since high school, but luckily their hiring standards were lax. I got the job. It meant forty hours a week at minimum wage, plus five hours of time and a half for overtime. It didn't call for a degree, and it was certainly better than nothing.
I soon learned I was in for a rude awakening. For a married lady, I was still pretty naive. Up until this point, I had led a sheltered life. The Christian college which I attended had many students who were preparing for the ministry. My new boss was a sharply dressed businessman who paid little attention to me. His wife, the office manager, had a speech impediment, but her language was filthy and she loved lewd jokes. She would turn any innocent remark into something sexually suggestive. She enjoyed making me uncomfortable with her stories. She cultivated friends who came in to swap dirty jokes.
Dorothy, the other female loan officer, was the abused wife of an alcoholic husband. Her makeup was usually a failed attempt to cover a black eye and numerous bruises which she tried explaining away by saying she'd walked into a door. Grady, the other male employee, did appraisals and repossessions of the furniture, cars or whatever the customer put up for collateral on their loans.
Since we had started our lives together with no credit history, Evan and I were no strangers to loan companies. We had always managed to pay our loans off, despite high interest rates. Now, I realized most of the loan customers were very poor. It wasn't unusual for a man to make a loan for gambling money with no way to pay it off. Often his wife would have her furniture, which she'd worked hard to buy on her meager maid's salary, repossessed. In those days, it was rare for women to own anything in their own name. It was a sad business. I saw many people crying and begging for more time. The warehouse behind our office was filled with household goods and broken dreams. The repossessions were sold off to whoever might be looking for a bargain.
To make matters worse, Grady assumed having a young woman around was fair game and started making passes at me. He was a heavy driinker, and when he became completely inebriated, he'd call me up at home. My rebuffs did nothing to discourage his flirting. How was I supposed to explain that to my husband without him doing something embarrassing which might only make matters worse? I could handle the work but not the people, so when I was offered another job with a small art agency, I handed in my notice. I'd been with the loan company three months.
It turned out, my second job was a bigger mistake than the first. The owner wasn't looking for an artist, as he'd led me to believe. He wanted a bookkeeper and office manager. It didn't take long to realize I was in over my head. I could sit at the front desk, talk to customers, and answer the phone, but I had no idea how to do billing. No one offered to train me. An agency this small, with only two employees plus the owner, couldn't run without a cash flow.
The girl who had worked there before me, had been fired for distracting the owner's cameraman with her flirting. It turned out the cameraman was even more distracted by missing the apple of his eye. He couldn't seem to do anything right with her gone. When the owner realized he'd been a bit hasty about letting her go, he gave in to her pleading and took her back. Once again I had a rude awakening. It was deflating to my fragile ego to be let go after only working a week. As humilating as it was, I was relieved of the enormous pressure of being expected to do something which I wasn't qualified to do.
"Don't worry about it," Evan said. "You don't have to work. I make enough to support us. Stay home for a while and enjoy it. You deserve a rest."
I appreciated the thought, but I wasn't ready to give up so easily. My ego was bruised, but I couldn't allow my self-esteem to suffer permanent damage.
As it turned out, something else was in the works for us. I just wasn't aware of it at the time.
I'd been the newlywed, the college student, the apartment dweller and the somewhat reluctant cook and homemaker. I'd made some dumb mistakes, and I learned a lot in two years. Now, I needed to become a wage earner. Surely I owed it to my long-suffering mate to try to help with expenses.
I had my BA degree with an Art major and Education minor. I had obtained a teaching license with an Art certification. I put out some resumes, but my timing was off. Schools were in the process of phasing out their art and music departments due to budget cuts. To be honest, I was a bit relieved because after practice teaching unruly classes of teenagers, I'd already decided teaching wasn't my calling. Still, I was determined to do something to help bring home the proverbial bacon.
Perhaps I should have chosen more carefully when selecting my major. My next choices might have been to become a doctor or an architect. But that would have meant even more schooling. I'd already stretched our money supply to the limits. I was lucky I'd gotten this far, but I was starting to wonder if having a college degree was any big deal.
At twenty-two, working outside the home would be a new experience for me. I didn't know where to begin. Despite the degree, I was going to have to start at the bottom. Businesses didn't want to hire someone whose employment record was blank. My neighbor across the hall told me about a loan company in need of a clerk typist. I'd not typed since high school, but luckily their hiring standards were lax. I got the job. It meant forty hours a week at minimum wage, plus five hours of time and a half for overtime. It didn't call for a degree, and it was certainly better than nothing.
I soon learned I was in for a rude awakening. For a married lady, I was still pretty naive. Up until this point, I had led a sheltered life. The Christian college which I attended had many students who were preparing for the ministry. My new boss was a sharply dressed businessman who paid little attention to me. His wife, the office manager, had a speech impediment, but her language was filthy and she loved lewd jokes. She would turn any innocent remark into something sexually suggestive. She enjoyed making me uncomfortable with her stories. She cultivated friends who came in to swap dirty jokes.
Dorothy, the other female loan officer, was the abused wife of an alcoholic husband. Her makeup was usually a failed attempt to cover a black eye and numerous bruises which she tried explaining away by saying she'd walked into a door. Grady, the other male employee, did appraisals and repossessions of the furniture, cars or whatever the customer put up for collateral on their loans.
Since we had started our lives together with no credit history, Evan and I were no strangers to loan companies. We had always managed to pay our loans off, despite high interest rates. Now, I realized most of the loan customers were very poor. It wasn't unusual for a man to make a loan for gambling money with no way to pay it off. Often his wife would have her furniture, which she'd worked hard to buy on her meager maid's salary, repossessed. In those days, it was rare for women to own anything in their own name. It was a sad business. I saw many people crying and begging for more time. The warehouse behind our office was filled with household goods and broken dreams. The repossessions were sold off to whoever might be looking for a bargain.
To make matters worse, Grady assumed having a young woman around was fair game and started making passes at me. He was a heavy driinker, and when he became completely inebriated, he'd call me up at home. My rebuffs did nothing to discourage his flirting. How was I supposed to explain that to my husband without him doing something embarrassing which might only make matters worse? I could handle the work but not the people, so when I was offered another job with a small art agency, I handed in my notice. I'd been with the loan company three months.
It turned out, my second job was a bigger mistake than the first. The owner wasn't looking for an artist, as he'd led me to believe. He wanted a bookkeeper and office manager. It didn't take long to realize I was in over my head. I could sit at the front desk, talk to customers, and answer the phone, but I had no idea how to do billing. No one offered to train me. An agency this small, with only two employees plus the owner, couldn't run without a cash flow.
The girl who had worked there before me, had been fired for distracting the owner's cameraman with her flirting. It turned out the cameraman was even more distracted by missing the apple of his eye. He couldn't seem to do anything right with her gone. When the owner realized he'd been a bit hasty about letting her go, he gave in to her pleading and took her back. Once again I had a rude awakening. It was deflating to my fragile ego to be let go after only working a week. As humilating as it was, I was relieved of the enormous pressure of being expected to do something which I wasn't qualified to do.
"Don't worry about it," Evan said. "You don't have to work. I make enough to support us. Stay home for a while and enjoy it. You deserve a rest."
I appreciated the thought, but I wasn't ready to give up so easily. My ego was bruised, but I couldn't allow my self-esteem to suffer permanent damage.
As it turned out, something else was in the works for us. I just wasn't aware of it at the time.
 Recognized |
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wd Ct 900
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