©Linda Goodman June28, 2016
Recently one of my friends saw a photo of me in a colorful
dress that I had worn to my oldest granddaughter’s high school graduation.
“You
know, you don’t have to dress up like an Easter egg just because you’re getting
older,” she advised.
I
objected to that remark. “What do you
mean? How do I dress like an Easter Egg?”
“All
the bright colors,” she replied. “Old
people think bright colors keep them from looking washed out. But they don’t.
They just make them look ridiculous…. like human Easter Eggs.”
I
resented that. I did not wear bright
colors because I was getting older. I wore them because I liked them. “I love
lime green, hot pink, and turquoise. And
I was wearing those colors long before I got old,” I explained.
My
friend just shook her head. “Well, you still look like an Easter Egg,” she
sighed.
As I
later pondered this exchange, a memory was jogged.
In 1999,
I was browsing through the merchandise in a vintage clothing consignment shop
in Richmond, VA. I was drawn like a magnet to a flowered suit that I found
there. It was a cream color, splashed
with bright purple and pink flowers, just like the suits that I had admired
back in the seventies. I loved it enough
to pay a ridiculous price for it.
That
same year, I decided to stop dying my hair and let my silver roots grow. I
liked my silver hair, but I resented
the fact that all of a sudden, every place I shopped was giving me its senior
citizen discounts without even asking first.
In
2008, the international corporation that I worked for decided to declare
bankruptcy. I decided to be proactive in applying for another job. I called an
employment agency and asked for an appointment. The counselor that I spoke to
on the phone asked me for references, so I gave him the name of one of my
previous managers. The counselor was impressed. “If T.K. recommends you, you must be good!” he
declared. “Come in tomorrow afternoon to fill out our application. Be sure to
wear a suit.”
As an
accountant with more than three decades of work experience, I had never been
required to wear a suit on the job; but the managers that I knew who
interviewed accountants for jobs preferred that interviewees wear suits. I was
hip to that; even grateful. Finally I would
be wearing my flowered suit to some place other than church.
The
next afternoon, I drove to the employment agency. The receptionist took me to a room at the back
of the office and gave me the paperwork to complete. I was on the third page
when the counselor that I had spoken with earlier walked in.
“Oh, my
God!” the counselor blurted, just
before his face turned a deep shade of red.
I was startled. What had I done to
make this man recoil so?
He quickly back-tracked. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “You’re not quite
what I expected.”
“I’m not quite finished with the
application,” I told him. “I have two
pages to go.”
“No worries,” he said. “I don’t
need the full application. After all, you were recommended by T.K.”
He took my papers from me. “No need
for an interview. I will call you if something comes up. In the meantime, don’t
stop looking on your own.”
Two months passed, and while I had
managed to secure some interviews on my own, I never received even one call
from the counselor who had shooed me out of his office so quickly. Then, one afternoon, I got a phone call from
T.K.
“Found a job yet?” he asked.
“No. Not even close,” I confessed.
“Then maybe this is my lucky day.
I’d like you to come to work for my CPA firm. Are you interested?”
Was I interested? T.K. was the best
manager I ever had! I gave my two weeks’ notice to my employer and reported to
my new place workplace the following Monday.
I was happy in my new position, but
my experience at the employment agency haunted me. At first I was confused.
Then confusion turned to resentment, and resentment turned to anger. Since T.K.
knew the counselor, I told him what had happened between the counselor and me.
“That’s odd,” T.K. commented. “I wonder what got into him.”
“I know exactly what got into him,”
I boldly claimed. “He took one look at my silver
hair and decided I was too old for his clients. He does not want to
represent old people.
“I really don’t think he is that
kind of guy,” T.K. asserted. “I have
always considered him to be a prince among my business colleagues. There has to
be more to it than gray hair.”
T.K. could think what he wanted. I
knew better.
A few weeks later, I was having
lunch at Wendy’s when a shadow hovered over my table and asked, “Do you mind if
I share your table?”
I tuned in my chair and recognized
the employment counselor who had hurried me out of his office months earlier.
“Of course. Have a seat,” I reluctantly
assented.
He and I chit-chatted for a few
minutes, and a lengthy period of silence followed. Finally he cleared his
throat and said, “T.K and I saw each other a few weeks ago. He told me that you
were upset at my reaction towards you when you came to my office to be
interviewed. I have been feeling pretty
embarrassed about that myself, but do you really think that I cut your
interview short because of you gray hair?”
“Of course it was because of my silver hair. What other reason could
there have been for you rudeness?” I answered.
He stammered, his face turning a
deep scarlet. “I suppose that I am not doing you any favors by not telling you
the truth. My rudeness, and I deeply
apologize for that, was not sparked by your hair. It was that suit! The
colors were so loud and obnoxious they startled me. I completely lost my
composure. Obviously you have never been taught how to select proper business
attire.”
“I resent that remark,” I
countered. “I am the consummate professional in all areas of my work, dress
included.”
“Do you think what you're wearing
now is professional?” he asked.
I was wearing a knit dress with
horizontal red, white, green, and orange stripes from top to bottom. I had
thought it was professional that morning. Now I conceded that I could be wrong.
The counselor and I shook hands and parted ways.
“I know you are a good accountant,”
he said as he left the table. “T.K. recommends only the best. I
know he is thrilled that you came to work for him.”
That afternoon, I asked T.K how he
felt about the way I dressed.
“Linda,” he said, “I am interested
only in the quality of the work that you do. Wear what you want. Besides, you're in your office with the door closed all day. Who’s going to see you?”
I am now retired from accounting
and am telling stories full-time. I have found that children love loud colors,
and not just on Easter eggs. I dress more subtly for grown-up audiences,
though. Black dresses are just the thing to highlight my silver hair.
