The Dinner Table

Every year Mom bought a half cow and instructed the butcher to package it up to her specifications for the freezer. Inevitably, that half cow included the organ meat. Consequently, once a year, we were served liver and onions for dinner.

By five o’clock my four-year-old sister, Susan, and I knew what was coming. We could smell the odor. I pressed my face deep into my bed pillow trying to breath in the scent of laundry detergent and fabric softener, but it didn’t help.

“Girls,” Mom called, “dinner is ready.”

Susan and I reluctantly appeared in the kitchen and obediently took our seats at the table. Dad sat down at the head, Mom to his left. Our plates were served, and Mom’s pressed lips indicated she was already anticipating what our response was going to be. We said our prayer of thanks and both our parents took up their forks and knives and began eating. I mashed my potatoes with the tines of my fork, applied a bit of butter, and pointedly ignored the liver. Susan stared down at her plate, a look of utter despair on her face.

“Eat your dinner,” Mom ordered, a note of irritation rising in her voice. I pushed my peas around and into my potatoes and took several bites. “The liver too,” she said, her index finger pointing clearly at the unappetizing blob on my plate.

“I don’t like it, Mom,” I whined. Susan’s head popped up, her look hopeful, her fear, that I had crossed the unspoken line, evident.

“You will eat every bite on that plate, young lady,” Mom crossly responded as her eyes bored into each of us. Tears welled up in our eyes and we both now stared at our plates. Dad continued to eat in silence and Mom joined him. I managed a few more bites of potato and peas but Susan hadn’t touched anything yet and was now openly crying. Tears plopped unheeded into her lap.

Mom and Dad finished their meals and got up from the table. “I don’t care if it takes all night,” Mom announced. “You both will sit there until those plates are clean.”

We sat. And sat. And sat.

An hour passed as Mom noisily washed the pots and pans, and the plates, glasses, and flatware she and Dad had used. Susan and I continued to sit.

“This is the most ridiculous display of stubbornness I have ever seen,” Mom now yelled in unconcealed anger. Susan began to sob, but I felt the throb of anger. “If that food is not eaten in the next 15 minutes, you both will be spanked and sent to your rooms,” she threatened. I was prepared to take the deal. A spanking was definitely worth not having to eat those liver and onions.

Ten minutes passed. Susan looked at me and squeaked, “Do you think she’s really going to spank us?” 

I nodded.

“With the wooden spoon?” she winced.

I nodded again.

Susan looked at her plate again and promptly vomited on it. I marveled at the way the vomit completely covered the food, how it teetered at the lip but had not spilled over the edges of the plate. It was a miracle.

“Oh for crying out loud,” Mom exploded. “Both of you leave the table immediately. I don’t want to see either one of you until morning.” We made a hasty and joyful exit and ran to our rooms.

Sometime in the middle of the night, my sister sneaked out of her room and crawled into bed with me. She snuggled close and whispered, “We didn’t have to eat the liver and onions.”

I patted her head in praise and said, “And we didn’t get a spanking either.”

Susan and I were never served liver and onions again. 

Copyright DJ Anderson 2011

Looking For A Job is Like Dating

After making a move to Tennessee for my husband’s work in 2003, I found myself unemployed for the first time in over twenty years. I spent the first six months getting our children settled in their new schools, our household items put away, and familiarizing myself with the area. With those tasks accomplished, I set about on the more daunting challenge of looking for a job. I cut an article out of the paper that outlined the top ten methods for finding a job. As I perused the list it struck me that the methodology seemed amazingly similar to the advice given for finding a successful love match. As I got deeper into my search for a job, I found that the parallels were indisputable. Looking for a job is like dating.

The number one way to find a compatible mate is through social networking—both the online kind and the person-to-person kind. It’s the same method in job hunting. First, after signing up for those online services, you tell everyone you know, anyone you happen to bump into, and generally all strangers who engage you in a conversation, that you are looking. Friends, acquaintances, neighbors, and even that woman behind you in the check out line at the grocery, will make recommendations. They may not know or understand exactly the kind of partnership you’re interested in, but they’re eager to set you up by giving you the phone number for a potential match—the blind date.

Whether you’re calling someone you don’t know to set up a date or calling for a job information interview, the blind date scenario can be awkward. You want to set up a time to see if you have any mutual interests, whether you click, whether there is a place for you in the person’s life. You have to be cautious about immediate chemistry in order to avoid making a bad choice by taking a job too quickly. This could result in the job equivalent of a one-night stand. Too many one-night stands or even its slightly more palatable cousin, serial monogamy (when you date one person exclusively for relatively short periods of time before moving on to the next), can look bad on a resume—a sort of job junky who is only looking for the next better, bigger, fix to come along.

In an effort to avoid becoming a job junky, I was careful about what jobs I applied for. Six months into my search, I was in serious contention for the perfect job. It had everything—the right hours, right vacations, right benefits. But, like one of those dating reality shows, I was one of many candidates vying for the hunky guy who fulfilled all sorts of fantasies. I was interviewed several times, asked bizarre questions like, “If offered this position, what kind of a commitment would you be making?” Having just come from a job I had held for twenty-one years, it seemed a bit like asking someone on their silver anniversary whether they believed in marriage or not. After all, what kind of person gets married with the intention of divorcing? My dating reality job competition came down to the last three players and I was one of them. I worked hard to achieve just the right balance. I wanted to give the impression of being interested without seeming too pesky or obnoxious. I really thought he’d offer me the job rose. We seemed to get along, and I seemed to have the experience and skills he was looking for. I had survived to this point when twelve other contenders had been told, “You’re great. I really like you. But, I’m afraid we have to say, ‘Goodbye.’”

But alas, I, too, was dismissed. And in a cowardly fashion. Instead of holding my hands while gazing into my eyes with sincere regret, I got a message on my answering machine during a time when he knew I would not be home to pick up the phone. It was as bad as breaking up by text message. And when I found out who he had picked, I was incredulous. It should have been me. Having come so close to true job love, I fell back into the game by joining a temp agency.

As with a dating service, the temp agency asks you a series of questions and gives you a battery of tests designed to match you up with compatible jobs and employers. Basically this method filters out the real duds. Mom suggested I take any job, “to get your foot in the door.” If the parallels hold true, would you date the first guy to come along just to get your foot in the door? The door to what? The bottom line is you have to focus on a good match or suffer the same pitfalls when looking for a job as you do with a mate.

And so, instead of “dating around,” I focused for four months on what I felt was a good match and great job prospect. The guy I interviewed with was the CEO of his own successful company. He employed about thirty people. The problem with the hire was that the person currently in the position had not resigned yet. She was on medical leave for mental and emotional health reasons. I heard about the job through my neighbor with whom this guy is good friends. Our first meeting went very well. We talked easily and understood our mutual needs and abilities. Then the flirtation, so to speak, began. We spoke on the phone and emailed many times. My heart beat a little faster when I saw his email address in my In Box.

And then of course, there were all the promises: he promised he’d make a decision about hiring me in two weeks. He was really hoping that his employee would resign on her own thereby saving him great anguish. A few weeks after that, he made a new promise to talk to her and lay out her options. Then he promised that he really had to pressure her to make a decision. Then he explained that he just wanted to make sure he had a clear conscience when it was over—that he had done everything he could for her. She’d worked for him a number of years and I honestly could respect and admire his loyalty and integrity. But after sixteen weeks, I really wanted to know whether he was serious about me or not. It was like dating a married man. He kept telling me he was going to leave his wife. But, he never did.

Copyright DJ Anderson 2004

Author’s Note—A full year went by before I was hired for the perfect job—and it ended up being none of the above. I’m well into my sixth year and am still in love with the place, the people, and what I do. Do you have a hiring story to tell that is like a dating story? Share with us here by clicking the Comment link. Or just Comment on any aspect of the story that resonated with you!