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MY ESCAPE BECAME A PRISON.

At 28, I was a world-beater. I was sure they would take me seriously.

Working as a mid-level staffer at a Fortune 100 company, I emptied my entire bag of tricks. Nothing worked. I simply could not escape from the shadow of my boss' thumb. She was a shrill, easily threatened under-director of public relations. Clearly, she was going nowhere, and neither was I.

Then the phone rang. An executive recruiter quickly courted me with an appealing job as a marketing director for a machinery manufacturer. She dangled a significant salary increase in my eyes. Within a week, I was motoring miles into corn country for a first interview.

I pulled into the visitor parking lot, just outside a huge factory. Stepping into the all-brick office wing, I glanced at the glass directory on the rear wall of the 1960s-era foyer. High heels clipped on the black linoleum floors, and a navy-suited secretary appeared. She quickly ushered me into the corner office, which was engulfed in smoke. The three men, seated in vinyl-upholstered armchairs, did not rise.

I SHOULD HAVE READ THE SIGNS.

For about a quarter of an hour, they read through my resume, line by line. They asked for clarification on minor points. Most of all, they wanted to know how much publicity I had been able to garner for my employer.

They tossed me a pair of plastic safety glasses and piloted me through the manufacturing facilities for the next half hour.

Finally, they pressed me for a starting date. They asked me how soon I could move to their small town and begin piling up press clippings for their company.

Within a month, we had purchased a home, and I had moved into my new office. Not yet thirty, I was the only woman in management in the entire company.

ENTERTAINING EDITORS

My responsibilities included courting industry media leaders, and court them I did. The company owned a hunting lodge in the woods. Key customers, reporters, and editors looked forward to the annual pheasant hunts.

That first season, I carted a few trade editors out to the lodge, where I brought the only estrogen in the entire testosterone-laden atmosphere. I grew up with several brothers, so this seemed like no big deal until the day of the first hunt. Entering the lodge, we realized that several of the sales managers were not accustomed to closing the bathroom door.

Not only that, but much of their humor belonged right there, behind the bathroom door!

For the rest of the day, I tried to stay out of the way and keep my editors happy. They bagged their birds, so the day was a professional success. In fact, each of them ran sizable features on my employer's new technology, so it seemed everyone came out ahead.

Everyone except me. I made the mistake of complaining that the hotshot sales staff had exhibited much more than their marketing skills.

CONSEQUENCES OF CONSCIENCE

Subsequently, I found it increasingly difficult to obtain information and professional courtesy from several key sales staffers. I stood my ground and fulfilled my required responsibilities. In short order, my clip file had grown, and I was able to strike off as a freelancer.

Since that memorable day at the hunting lodge, I have become considerably more selective about my business contacts and professional colleagues!

Learn more about this author, Linda Ann Nickerson.
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