Working in Wilmington

Moving was a financial stretch for us, so I took the first job I could get – working as a cashier at a local bookstore. I had numerous jobs in retail before and the description was nothing new for me; however, this was a bigger city and with more people comes a bigger chance at running into thieves, perverts, and naturally difficult individuals. I experienced all of them working at the bookstore. It was not until I was sexually harassed and the managers of said bookstore brushed it off that I decided I definitely needed to find a job with a little more dignity. I had skills I was not using and it was time I began working on my career.
After looking for three months, I came across a help wanted ad for an administrator at an unnamed real estate company in Wilmington. It listed the required qualities a person would expect out of an administrator – clean presentation, responsible work ethics, and excellent filing and organization skills. The writer of the ad put special emphasis on the need for web savviness. Reading that, I knew I would be good for the job. I spent three years studying computer science and I was often the “Geek” friends and family called to fix their tech problems. So, I quickly submitted my resume and pushed it to the back of my mind, a self-preserving reaction. I had already applied numerous places and registered with a staffing agency, so I tried not to get my hopes up.
When I answered the phone two days later to hear Key Yessaad, the Chief Financial Officer of Exit Homeplace Realty, whose name initially registered in my head as a confusing jumble of vowels, telling me he would like to speak to me about my qualifications, I have to admit I was surprised. I knew I had been qualified for the job for some years, but to have someone else recognize that – I’m happy to say my mind was quick enough to recover in time to secure an interview.
The next morning, when my face hit the cold morning air of January, I was a bit hazy eyed. Working the night shifts at the bookstore in no way prepared me to be mentally awake so early in the day. Nevertheless, mornings spent in such a daze always force me to focus on doing one thing at a time. That day it was driving to Hampstead, a neighboring city. I had not been outside of Wilmington by myself since moving to North Carolina, because…let’s just say, my internal compass never pointed north. Accordingly, my main concern was not getting lost and still arriving on time for my interview. I was so focused, I got there 30 minutes early and was forced to kill time listening to a hillbilly radio show while sitting in the hardware store parking lot down the highway from the real estate office. Thirty minutes was enough time for my hands to turn cold and clammy, but not enough time for me to fully wake up.
When I finally entered the small real estate office and began filling out their application form, events started to skip by like shows fast forwarded on a digital video recorder. I was sitting inside the entrance when Key, short for a culturally amalgamated combination of names, introduced himself to me. He was a neatly presented man of medium complexion, who appeared secure enough to wear a bright pink shirt and an earring in one ear. His voice rolled from his lips with the accent of North Africa and he paused between moments of speech to choose words of precision…Then, I was in Key’s office…talking about conflict management and computers…in the conference room…meeting Martin Evans, the CEO of Exit Homeplace…listening to how he opened four realty offices…and shaking hands as he welcomed me to the company. I was hired on the spot and I was beaming. I was free from the company that had offended my value as a human being – a womanlyhood – and finally in the position I had been eagerly wishing for, an adult job.
When I applied for the position, I feared I was going to be a glorified receptionist making copies, answering phones, and filing. Lucky for me, the position of Administrator was much more than I had assumed. While I was still to greet clients when they came to the office, the main job of answering the phones was up to the agents, who were subcontractors of the company. While Administrator was my title, my main purpose was office management. I would be making sure the office remained presentable and stocked; new agents and their computers were setup in the office; all agents knew how to work required software and use appropriate forms; the company computers and network remained in good condition; listings were posted and updated online; all checks were collected and deposited; and listing and contract paperwork was submitted, entered in company software, and filed accurately. Plus, I would be building pages for our office web site. I had much more responsibility than I originally anticipated.
For the next two days, I trained in Hampstead under the company’s comptroller, Aggie, who also happened to be Hampstead’s administrator. I had to pay close attention to what she said. She was a tall, elegant Slavakian, whose soft accent sometimes made her hard to understand. But Aggie was intelligent and precise, much like Key, who deemed her the only person who could keep up with him. Growing up in rural Northern Michigan, I did not have many chances to experience different cultures and foreign accents. In less than a week, I had to learn to deal with two personalities very different from what I was accustomed.
On the third day, Saturday, I met Key and Aggie at my new office in Wilmington, which was empty of people. Seeing it for the first time, I was a bit intimidated. It was not only larger than the Hampstead office, which looked like it was converted from a house, but also more traditional. Its walls were painted stark white, silver nameplates were at each private office, and it shared a building with a couple of medical offices. The formal appearance showed me this job was going to be much different than those I had before.
Monday, I spent the day training with Aggie in the Wilmington office. I met some of the real estate agents. They walked in with mixed looks of confusion, shock, and politeness and awkward questions of what happened to the past administrator. Agents do not have set hours for the office, so many did not realize she was being replaced. The regulars understood why she was fired. Each had their own opinion and though some were friends with her, they could not deny she had issues that affected her work. Despite her shortcomings, I knew I was being watched, compared, and judged.
The next day, I was left on my own. Arriving early before many of the agents, I roamed around the office acquainting myself with flyer boards, files, office supplies – everything I could not stop and observe through the bustling past few days. Posted on the cork board in the room the company called the duty room, where the computers and copier were kept, was a flyer advertising something called “Exit Energy”, which was to include a guest speaker and fire walking. Cool, I thought. They’re going to have fire walkers there. I wonder if I get to see that. Expecting I would find out later, I moved on to acquainting myself with the supply closet.
When Key told me two weeks later that Exit Energy was the annual awards ceremony for our company (including all four offices and 100+ agents) and everyone was going to fire walk, I laughed off the latter to him trying to scare the new girl. A week later, the office was a-buzz:
“Are you going to walk on fire?”
“I don’t know. Are you?”
“There’s no way they’re making me walk on fire!”
“Heck ya, I’m doing it!”
Feeling very brave, I told Key I would do it. In my reasoning, not only have people been fire walking for centuries, but I had to set an example for the company and gain some respect from the agents. Who wouldn’t get respect for being brave enough to walk across fire?


Whiskey

Though my work life was improving by leaps and bounds, my home life was seeing a downturn. Whiskey, had ailing health. I first got her when I was ten-years-old. I picked her from the litter and trained her myself. She protected me, loved me, and would never leave my or my mother’s side when we were sick. When she got old, my mother and I had a small wooden ramp built for her so she would not have to use steps. Once we moved to Wilmington, she took a turn for the worse. One by one, she was unable to do that which makes life living for dogs. She became incontinent so we changed her diapers. She stopped walking the short hall of my new house and shifted to rolling, so we covered the smooth wooden floors with soft blankets. She stopped chewing on her nylon bones so we bought her softer ones. Then, one night we noticed the brightness behind her sweet eyes had faded to black. It was the night before Exit Energy. As I sat with her on my grandmother’s quilt covering the floor petting her long, soft hair and crying, I realized I could no longer be selfish. I was trying to hold onto her, because she was the physical representation of my happier childhood memories and the desire for security that drove me to move. But I knew she was telling us she was ready to go and my mother agreed. The morning of the awards ceremony, I strained to help load her into my mother’s car. The thought of her taking one more of the car rides she always loved was the only thought to bring me comfort. Later, when my mother called to let me know it was done, she told me Whiskey had a stroke the day before. Circulation was constricted in half her body and she no longer had control of it. What we did was the right thing.
My mother and I agreed that we would wait a little while before getting another dog. Losing Whiskey hurt too much; however, thinking about the future, I was curious to know where someone might buy a dog in Wilmington. It was common for people in Northern Michigan to get their dogs from private litters, but I knew there were shelters in North Carolina. So, around doing my routine cleaning and preparing the office to be closed that afternoon, I went online and did a quick search. I found a Golden Retriever rescue service, but I knew it would be easier on us to try a different breed. Fortunately, I also discovered Petfinder.com. I knew my mom had a Collie before I was born. She loved that dog and often talked about him. So, I thought it would be nice for her if we had one similar. On Petfinder, shelters are able to post pictures, statuses, and videos of the pets they have. While searching for Collies in our area, I came across a video of a yellow lab-collie mix. He was not what I was looking for, but I could not help looking when I read he was scheduled for euthanasia three days later. In the video, the shelter volunteer, a female, was standing behind the camera getting him to play and he was bouncing around playfully in his kennel like Whiskey did when she was a puppy. I fell in love with him after seeing that, but I had to focus and finish my duties before the ceremony.