It was eight o'clock on a Monday morning.
She was unkempt. She smelled really bad. Her glasses were thick and greasy. It had been one year since she dropped out of high school. She was the poster girl for the racist crowd. She had one thing that was stunning: Her application was a piece of art. Her hand writing was sharp and artistic.
She shook my hand as she gave me her application. It was clear by it that she had a purpose and confidence to make it happen. I spent a minute talking to her. I had ten entry level openings. I lied and said that if something came up I would call. She left. I filled the ten positions. She called me once per week for three weeks. I put her off each time.
The fourth week, midweek, one manager said he needed someone NOW. I decided that this was the time. I picked up the phone and told her that if she wanted work, she had to be in my office in one hour. She agreed. She came. I had collected some of our knee length work “blouses” for her. She was caught between tears and giggles. She covered herself with one of the blouses and folded her arms across the front in an act of confidence. I did a short orientation and released her to the manager of the department. I did a lot of things for her to help her stay clean and well fed. In less than one year she was a lead. In two years she was a supervisor. I was able to get the company to put her through adult school for her high school degree. Five years later, I left the company. I lost track of her. I am not afraid to dream that she is a sweet smelling, proud and loving mother of children as successful as she.
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