I really wanted this job. The pay wasn't great, but I loved the idea of working for RSVP, the Retired Senior Volunteer Program. It was a start up program in or city and I thought it would be exciting to help form it. The job was also part time, which I needed because I still had two kids in school. The description was "Secretary" (does anyone even use that term anymore, except for governement officials?).

I was determined to land this job and even went out and bought a suit with a skirt! I never wore skirts unless someone got married or died. I found the perfect gray linen suit with a pale yellow silky blouse and gray shoes and a matching purse! This was in the 80's mind you.

Then I read some library books about what to keep in mind in a job interview. There was a chapter with drawings about body language. Crossing your arms in front of you means you tend to be defensive or closed mined(or something like that). Of course leaning back and folding your arms behind your head was discouraged, and so-forth.

As the day for the interview drew nearer, I started to unravel. Should I really wear all those new clothes? Will that make it seem like I don't really need the job? Will I outshine the boss's outfit and tick her off? Does the skirt make my butt look big? Is that necessarily a bad thing? What about my car? It's old. Maybe too old, she'll think I won't be dependable? She thinks I'm a Joad descendant? My hair is long. Should wear it up? In a long braid to show I have uniqueness? Will that make me look like a hippie. Would she prefer hippie? Should I get it cut? Shave my head. YIKES!

Finally, the day arrived. I wore my new suit and a bit of makeup. I split the difference and curled my hair, but swept it up on the sides with combs. I had my old car washed and I used a bit of touch up paint and silver craft marker to make things look a little less tragic.

I arrived at a lovely old house that had been converted into an office building. The parking lot was behind the house and my potential boss, Linda, greeted me at the back door. She saw my car, but didn't seem to react in a negative way, but I learned that she was a classy lady and wouldn't have reacted if I'd arrived in a flaming chariot. Our outfits seemed fairly balanced and her hair was short and curly, not the same as mine, and more stylish than mine. That helped me relax. She escorted me into the basement of the house into a tiny room with a desk, a file cabinet and two

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