1st Day on the Job and Already Making a Splash--With My Coffee

My mom and I both started new jobs in downtown Ventura last month, just one block apart. We’ve lived in three states together, but never worked this closely. I hope she doesn’t bug me for lunch money all the time. Mom spent her first day as a volunteer down at the senior center and I spent mine at this newspaper.

Since I had the first-day jitters, I figured mom might have them too, so I called her after work to see how she had fared. “Fine and dandy,” she told me, “calm as a cucumber and twice as crisp.” And how had my first day gone, and had I worn a nice dress instead of those slacks that make my hips look wide?

I was encouraged to know I will grow out of such juvenile behavior as first-day jitters by the time I turn seventysomething. I’d forgotten what they were like, no matter what kind of new job you were starting. You pretty much show up that first morning focused on one goal, which is to give the impression to whomever hired you that they did the right thing.

I decided to take the bull by the horns and hit the ground running with a couple of bottom-line questions:

“Uh, could you direct me to the women’s room?” was my leadoff query. That turned some heads, let me tell you. But it wasn’t even my best question.

“Excuse me, do I press nine for an outside line?” I asked, and it was partly the way I asked it that made it so effective; full eye contact backed up by a natural authoritativeness.

I was shown the coffee room and told to pour myself a cup whenever I wished. Which I did, and which makes me want to pass on this little pearl of advice to first-dayers: If you’re feeling the teensiest bit nervous, four cups of black coffee before 11 a.m. may not be the wise path.

On the other hand, it could set the stage for another of those wheat-from-the-chaff, girls-from-the-women questions: “Excuse me, is this coffee free or is there a kitty?”

Other opportunities to make a lasting first impression that first day include multiple introductions to new peers.

” . . . like you to meet Steve,” someone was saying.

“Hi, Steve!” I said with lots of enthusiasm. And since it’s the ‘90s and we gals are full partners with the guys now, I stuck out my hand for a hearty handshake with Steve. Of course I wish it hadn’t also been holding my cup of coffee, but the little slop of liquid that washed over the rim when my cup brushed Steve’s knuckles completely missed Steve and just barely spattered my white linen blouse. I doubt that anyone noticed it for the remaining seven hours of the day.

I will admit I was grateful to finally get down to business when someone asked me a job-related question: “How many inches is that story?”

“Sex. I mean six,” I coolly replied.

And since, as I said, it’s the ‘90s, another first-day opportunity came my way when I sat down to learn how to log on to a computer system different from anything I’d encountered. I’d been told not to hesitate if I had any questions, so I looked up from the keyboard and snagged a smart-looking young man who was walking by.

“Excuse me, can you tell me which key I push to make a capital letter?” I asked.

“That one, ma’am,” he answered, and it was then that I noticed he was wearing a uniform, carrying a five-gallon bottle of water over one shoulder and headed toward the water cooler. (You can’t be too observant in this business.) I thanked him and told him how much I loved water.

At 4 p.m. the phone on my desk rang for the first time. “Could you tell me your mailing address?” the caller asked.

“Uh. We are catty-cornered from Plaza Park, sir,” I intoned, madly looking around the room. “And we are across the street from the Wells Fargo Bank.”

On my desk was a telephone book.

I frantically turned pages and looked up the address of where I was. “More specifically, that would be 93 S. Chestnut, sir.”

The next day I was as calm as one of my mom’s cucumbers. My guess is that when you master your capital letters, your address and your way to the women’s room, you’ve pretty much got the world by the tail.