Aselin

When I was little I had great plans for my future. About the age of nine I decided I wanted to be Quincy, MD - a forensic pathologist. To my little mind it was the coolest job ever. Running around, solving crime, using a microscope and a cell phone the size of a briefcase. I mean, hey, the job made Jack Klugman look cool, so imagine what it could do for me.

I held on to that dream for many years, through the Ojai Valley Inn summer job, typewriter typing letters to club members one by one. (I threw away more letterhead than I mailed.) Through the mind numbing bookstore clerk hours spent on a stool behind a seldom used cash register. Through the steer (cow) sitting jobs for the neighbors, digging post holes, mucking sheep pens... I always knew I was destined for greater things.

Imagine my delight when standing in a food line today a man sidled up to me and blurted “Are you a receptionist?” Now, don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with receptionists, we need them, but there was no place inside my brain that thought this was a compliment. I’m turning 40 this year... I was dressed up in a skirt and heels... I’m not friendly on the phone...what about me says receptionist?

As my mind tossed around a jumble of responses he beat me to the punch and said “Gettin’ lunch for the boss huh?” Every neuron in my brain was firing, not in a good way. I almost had a seizure from the disorientation. The very sad thing is what I should have said to the original question, after I kneed him in the groin, was “No, I’m a neurosurgeon,” or, “a forensic pathologist.” But I was grappling with the truth that “No, I’m a housewife” doesn’t have the same smack down effect I was looking for.

Gratefully, my buddy wandered off to get utensils and I sulked in a puddle of professional envy. The thing that is the most frustrating for me about this whole experience is I really, really like my job. I’m not embarrassed, or looking elsewhere for employment, I’m quite fulfilled. And, I’m OK with people saying “Oh, you don’t work” to my housewife response. I just never pictured myself as a receptionist.

Luckily, the next time Buddy wandered over he changed the subject. Otherwise we were both destined to be a headline, “Housewife Pathologist in Non-Receptionist Looking Skirt Stabs Innocent Dolt with Fork.”