Chapter 28 - Another Surprise

"Tell me again why we are doing this?" I mumbled.

It was Sunday morning. Far too early on Sunday morning since Saturday night had gone into extra innings.

"Because you're taking your parents out to brunch at eleven. You're doing this because you're a good daughter and love your Mommy and Daddy."

"And you're doing this to me because you wake up cheerful and know I don't."

"Isn't it a lovely morning, lover? The birds are singing and the breeze is blowing and… That wasn't very feminine."

"I'm too tired to be feminine. I'm too tired to be masculine. And you're too damn perky to be real."

"Will you be this grumpy when you have your operation? Maybe they could implant something to improve your attitude in the mornings. You know, sort of like that controlled-release fertilizer Mom got for her garden."

"So now I'm cow manure?"

"You've given me enough horseshit so far. Up and at 'em!"
 

A shower helped clear my head, I was starting to feel almost human by the time I got dressed, but Julie was still too damn perky. We made it to the restaurant with minutes to spare - having the unrestricted use of a car was wonderful - we would have never made it if we had to get up early enough to catch the bus.

We talked about the things you talk about with parents. Naturally, our wedding plans were one of the topics, just having been in someone else's wedding only hours before. Then Dad hit me with a curve ball.

"So what do you plan to do with your trust fund when you turn twenty-one in a couple of weeks?"

Trust fund? Birthday? I had almost forgotten in the excitement of a summer job and a fancy wedding. June 24th and I would be of age to drink - legally, that is.

"I haven't got any idea, Dad. Things have been sort of hectic."

"I can't imagine why," Mom drawled. "Getting engaged, becoming a radio star, changing your sex, being a bridesmaid, getting a job. Nothing major to distract you."

"I wish you could have known my parents, Connie." said Dad. "They were so proud of you when you were born, but I left my family on the other side of the country when I married your mother and we didn't see much of them. By the time you were old enough to remember them, they were gone. In their will they left a trust fund for each of the grandchildren, and compound interest has made it a very nice chunk of change."

"Really? I never asked how much."

"A bit over twenty-seven thousand, last I checked."

"Twenty-seven thousand… dollars?"

"Yup. Should help pay off those school loans, eh?"

"I don't know what to say."

"Well, since they aren't around to thank them, just think some good thought about them when you use the money."

"That's one heck of a birthday present!"

"I never dreamed I'd have a twenty-one year old daughter, but I can't say how proud I am, we both are, of the brilliant young woman we raised, even if we didn't realize we were raising a brilliant young woman at the time."
 

Wow! Suddenly I was a woman and rich. Twenty-seven thousand may not sound like a fortune today, but in 1971 the median income was less than ten thousand. After that brunch I was as perky as Julie. It lasted until Monday morning, when we reported for our summer internships.
 

Chapter 29 - Working Girls

"Business casual," I complained. "Just what what in blue blazes is 'business casual,' anyway? My father always wears a suit and tie, nothing casual about that. My mother wore a decent dress when she was on the sales registers at the Woolworths. Now she wears a nicer dress. She's even been known to set the old biddies tongues wagging by wearing slacks on some days."

"Shocking, simply shocking!" came Julie's reply. "She'll ruin the moral fiber of the nation."

"I suppose if the old biddies knew I was wearing dresses…"

"And the rot spreads…"

"I'll have to use some extra perfume. So what is business casual?"

"One thing it's not is four inch heels, darling."

"You had to remind me!"

"I tried to warn you to bring another pair of shoes."

"I'd trip over my dress if I wore lower heels."

"Modern women think to bring a change of clothes to a dance party."

"There's the problem! I'm not a modern woman."

"But nobody had better know that. You'd be better off with a skirt and blouse combination, more flattering for your figure."

"Of which I am sadly lacking."

"You're slim and vivacious, don't complain."

"My feet still hurt, I want to complain."

"Try my violet skirt with the crinkles. It would go nicely with my white blouse with the ruffle."

"I do like that ruffle."

So do the men. Nothing like a ruffle in front of your boobs to get a man's attention."

"That's not my intention, and you know it."

"Well, I like thinking about what's under the ruffle."

"You like to think about my plastic boobs?"

"More like thinking about when they aren't plastic. Sexy."

"This is not helping me get dressed."

"Then get a move on, you might even be dressed by the time I've finished my makeup."

"Slave driver!"

Arriving at the building where I had been fitted with my beautiful new breasts, we entered the main door this time. We went up to the receptionist and told her who we were and she smiled and handed us temporary badges.

"Please put these on and I'll call Mr Raglan." she said with a smile.

Mr Raglan would be our mentor for the summer. A few minutes later a short, balding man with an already dishevelled suit and a tie loosened at the neck came forward and greeted us. Was this what they considered 'business casual?'

Naturally, we were introduced to the HR people. I had been wondering about the name 'Conrad' on my ID papers, but there was no problem. Remember, this was in 1971, long before the gestapo supposed to be guarding our borders sent out highly inaccurate lists of names and demanded photo ID and all that stuff. They took me at my word as to my social security number and I simply used C. Cobb where appropriate. No hassle at all.

Those were the good old days! Or so I thought. Mr Raglan took us into a very large room filled with desks, row on row. Each desk had a typewriter and several boxes for papers. Each desk also had a woman sitting behind it. It took a moment for my overwhelmed brain to realize this was the typing pool. Huh?

I shot Julie a look and she raised her eyebrows back at me. Mr Raglan started to explain the duties of a secretary in the typing pool but Julie stopped him mid sentence.

"Mr Raglan, there seems to be some mistake. We are not here as secretaries, we are interns in the MBA program and are here for advanced training in our fields of specialization."

He looked shocked that a mere secretary would dare to interrupt him.

"Nonsense, girl! We do not put girls in such positions. If you want to work here you will be a secretary and that's it!"

"I'll thank you to refer to me properly as a woman. I left grade school some time ago."

By now the clatter of the old manual typewriters had ceased. The fact that they were manual typewriters should give you a clue (at least if you are as old as I am) as to the conservative nature of that business. The IBM Selectric had been introduced a decade previously and had largely replaced manual machines. Hell, we had Selectrics all over campus by then. For that matter, the receptionist in Sandra's department had a shiny new Selectric II on her desk. No wonder Sandra bitched about the people running the company.

"That is quite enough out of you! I don't think you are fit to be working here."

"Mr Raglan, you have obviously been misinformed. I suggest we return to the HR department before you cause any further embarrassment."

One of the women behind his back raised her clenched fist in salute to the woman who had called this asshole on his stupidity.

"Very well! Follow me, madam." He spit that last word with some venom.

Mr Raglan did not take it very well when he was informed that indeed we were not secretaries, but interns. If he had bothered to read his memos he would have been aware of that fact. The woman in HR was obviously his equal or superior in the pecking order and summarily dismissed him, taking us to the right office personally and apologizing for the error.

The no-nonsense bitch I was going to marry had disappeared along with Mr Raglan and Julie the understanding woman had taken her place, thanking the HR woman for her help. I don't remember her name, but Raglan is burned into the synapses somewhere in my brain.
 

Despite this ragged start, our experience as interns was a positive one. We spent two week stints in several departments, getting a taste of how things like accounting, business ethics, strategy, finance, managerial economics, entrepreneurship, marketing and supply-chain management work in the real world. Perhaps the most valuable lessons were in how people worked together to accomplish these tasks.

My older, cynical self laughs at how my younger, naive self found out how women, especially young women, were treated in a business environment. There were the avuncular old guys who treated you like some pretty little thing who couldn't possibly be serious about an actual career. There were the younger hotshot guys out to impress you with what rising stars they were and did I want to go out tonight? There were some women who were sure I was just trying to get their job and treated me like shit. There were primadonas - both male and female - bullies, wimps, clueless managers, and even a few people who really knew their stuff and were a joy to work with. By the end of the summer I was a lot more aware of how the real world worked and how to get along in it.