The Veteran

This week, I met a former Marine who reminded me of a spontaneous encounter I once had with a returning veteran.

The war was over. We were victorious in the Persian Gulf. Washington D.C. was crawling with twenty-something military veterans who were marching in a victory parade.

In 1991, I won the coveted position of Advertising and Sales Promotion Assistant for one of the largest in the oil and gas companies in the world at their corporate headquarters in Northern Virginia. I had six months to show my stuff, working on all facets of national advertising and sales promotion campaigns. If I earned rehire status from all eight of my upper-middle level managers , I'd leave with an offer for a full-time, coveted marketing rep position.

After five months at corporate, I felt like a veteran myself. First, you had to have the required uniform: navy blue, black or gray suits with skirts only, stockings and heels.

Your desk was to be tidy or spotless at all times with no personal items, except a coffee mug. You were allowed to work with one of two files at a time, as long as they were neat. Everything else was to be out of sight. If you looked too overwhelmed with your current position, you would never get promoted to a higher one.

Corporate employees were required to begin their day no later than 7:30 a.m., but, if you were looking to get rehired, you got there before everyone else and were the last to leave.

Because we worked at U.S. Marketing and Refining division, everyone was required to drive to work separately, no car pooling. The only exception to this rule was the people who were transferred to Virginia from New York. They were so accustomed to public transit that a special shuttle was provided for them from the Metro to the office. The higher-ups overlooked my lack of car ownership because I was still enrolled in college in Philadelphia, where, like New York, it was a detriment to own a car.

Lunch was to be purchased at the corporate lunch room. The food was fresh and cheap, but eating lunch in the cafeteria was the best way to network with the VP's. You could get noticed and invited to join one of them at any time. This type of invitation could alter the trajectory of your entire career.

The U.S. Marketing and Refining division was comprised of various levels of middle to upper-middle management. Most had been with the company for more than thirty-five years. They were hired as marketing reps after the World War II. They had all begun their careers in the infantry as marketing reps. They were hardened by the politics of their service. They were all men.

As an attractive blonde, I got a lot of attention at corporate, simply because there were so few of us. The only women employed at U.S. Marketing and Refining were secretaries. Since they were getting pressure to promote women, they would have to hire some at the entry level. When I went out into the field, I noticed that the women marketing reps all looked like me. Blonde hair worn in the big, organized mess-style of the day, perfect makeup, well-fitting suits and very high heels. Basically, we looked like we had just walked off the set of Murphy Brown or Designing Women. We were all hired by the same guy. He was into blondes with big hair.

After I had assimilated all of these corporate rules and morés, I was supposed to be creative. I was so worried about blowing this opportunity that I was a nervous wreck. I thought that if I didn't do it perfectly, that I would lose.

My favorite thing to do was ride home from work on the Metro. I'd go exploring around town, meeting people and then inviting myself to join them socially. I didn't know anyone in Washington D.C. so unless I wanted to spend all weekend working or obsessing about work by myself. I fell into a group of three other women about my age. We were the Sex in the City girls in training.

I rode the subway to meet my friends the Friday night before the victory celebration parade when I noticed a very cute guy with short hair. I had become accustomed to introducing myself to strangers, but girls, not guys. Still, I had this strong feeling that I would deeply regret it if I didn't say hello. I prayed for the courage to talk to him, but he was sitting on the other side of the Metro car.

Then we exited at the same stop. We stood next to each other on the long escalator up. I took a deep breath and said, "Nice weather we're having," or some equally lame line.

He looked relieved that I had said something first. He smiled and said, "Yeah."

"Are you in school here?"

"No, I just got back from Iraq. I'm a Marine. We're marching in the parade tomorrow."

I gasped happily and said, "Really? Oh thank you so much. I'm so glad you are home."

He smiled. "Do you have plans tonight? I have to get back to the hotel. They let me go visit my parents in Virginia, but I have to have dinner with the guys. Then I might be able to get away, but I have to be back by 11:00. Could I meet you?"

"Well, I'll be busy for an hour or so. If you want to hang out, meet me outside the building at 7:00."

For an hour, I wondered and hoped that he would show up. I couldn't think of anything else.