I would never meet her, but Min, my predecessor at Andover Savings Bank, would forever stand on the ultimate pedestal as exalted best employee ever. Nevertheless, I gave it everything I had to push her off her perch.
It was my first job out of college—the one that our professors had told us we would choose after the dust had settled on all the offers we would receive thanks to our newly minted credentials as a holder of a BBA from Stetson University. Except it was 1980, the unemployment rate was over 9 percent, and I was looking for a job not on the national level, but in the quaint little town of Andover, Massachusetts, where my (also) newly minted husband had taken a job at Phillips Academy.
The search for work was rough, and I was stressing over the impending cancellation of my father's health insurance, which would only cover me for 14 days after signing my marriage license. To add to my stress, in those days, wives had to wait an obligatory 9 months before being added to a spouse's health insurance. So not only was it imperative that I find work with full benefits, but as a "fellow" at Andover, my husband's pay was about half the rate of a regular teacher. He was being paid in experience. We needed the money. And I needed to work not only for those benefits, but for my self-esteem, and to put an end to my husband's daily question: "Did you find a job today?"
After a number of failed attempts (some humiliating) I landed a job as a mortgage service clerk at Andover Savings Bank, just a half mile down the hill from Phillips Academy. I saw my first ATM machine as I walked in the door to meet with the president of the bank for my interview. The interview was short as we went over my resume, which was nicely punctuated with several banking jobs I'd held while in college. I took a very easy math test, and was offered the job on a Thursday to begin the following Monday. The president asked me to come in on Friday (I was not paid for that time) to fill out a W-4 as well as the medical and dental benefits paperwork. I was thrilled.
The head of mortgage service was a 40-something woman named Linda. Her desk was situated at one end of a large room that had one partition running down the middle. Three desks abutted the partition on either side. The six of us occupying those desks faced Linda so that we were in her sight line. We all packaged mortgages, and in addition we each had a speciality . For instance, Lois did insurance, Mary Elizabeth issued checks to contractors, and I posted mortgage payments using a machine that, for its time, was quite the tech marvel.
On my first day, Linda began by teaching me the filing system. She showed me how to assign numbers to each new mortgage, and how that number was to then be recorded on every document having to do with that mortgage. She showed me how to correctly put each document in its precise order in a folder, two-hole punching, stapling, clipping, and organizing in exactly the same way for each. She explained the significance of the timeline for the dispersal of funds, what documents had to be in the folder, and how to use the checklist to make sure everything was perfect for the closing attorneys. And at the end of each instruction, she added almost like a tic: "Min always did it this way."
“Who was Min,” I asked.
Linda's face took on a glow at the mention of Min's name. Her mouth formed a beatific smile, and her pupils dilated. She looked slightly heavenward, and sighed. "Min," she said, "was perfect." She went on, "Min was the kind of employee every manager dreams of. Her precision, her ethic, her efficiency, her innovation." I looked around at my co-workers as Linda sang on. They all were suddenly in deep concentration, eyes fixed on the fascinating papers on each of their desks.
Being a naturally detail-oriented person, I picked up the sequencing quickly, and soon was packaging 8 mortgages a day. The office average was 7. From Linda's daily reference to Min, I knew that she had been able to package 10 mortgages a day. Ten was a lot. To beat that number would be a challenge because a lot of time was required to check and double check one's work. Linda reviewed every single package, and was a hawk for details. She was very nice about any mistakes she found, and simply brought them to the attention of one of us clerks to correct our work. Linda was generous with her praise, but no one, absolutely no one, could beat the incomparable Min. Min had become, mythologically, a goddess of mortgage packaging. I became even more determined to topple her from her pedestal.
I was about 10 months into the job, and was itching to move into a management position. But after talking to the president again, and witnessing the elevation of a young man, who started about the same time I did, from teller to manager, I realized that it wasn't going to happen for a woman at Andover Savings Bank. When I discussed it with Linda, she took a long drag on her cigarette before confessing that she'd worked for the bank for over 20 years before she became manager of the mortgage service department. Instead of dwelling on that depressing news, I renewed my efforts to beat Min's record.
By the end of my eleventh month, I was packaging 11 mistake-free mortgages a day. But it didn't matter. Min would always be better and more competent in Linda’s eyes. My single-minded desire to replace Min as the exalted best employee ever was a fool’s errand. For, Linda did not love me. Nor did I want her to. What I wanted was her respect and acknowledgment for being the best. But you can’t best love.
Copyright DJ Anderson, 2015
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