I did major in English and dabbled in public relations in New York. I quit my p.r. job on moral grounds with $98 in my checking account and rent unpaid. This little stint was simply what you do when you are 23 and relatively unencumbered. I lasted about six weeks and then, desperate, went to a temp agency and said that I would not even consider jobs that paid less than $14K. I had my standards, darnit.
The temp lady sent me to an investment banking firm, research department. No, no, no, I wanted to make more than $14K and feel creatively fulfilled. Somewhere fun, like at a publishing house or an art gallery, something like that. Chainsmoking temp lady said the bank would start me at $18K. Good golly, where on earth would I even spend an extra four thousand a year?
The investment bank had me back in for a second interview. I had read in Working Woman magazine that if you are a good typist, you’ll always be slated for secretarial jobs. So at the second interview, I intentionally flubbed the typing test. (truth be told, I can clock in at 110 wpm if I put my mind to it.)
On the third call back, I just said point blank “Look, I’m a writer and a feminist and not a Republican and not Ivy League and, honestly, I think it is kind of rude to just come in to work and take a pile of money and devise schemes to make the pile of money bigger without even considering the plight of the homeless or the illiteracy in our nation and I just don’t think I’d be a good fit.”
They told me about their philanthropic programs and offered me $24K. I started three days later.
