Director
by Lorri—Age 44—Renton, WA
My most ill-suited job was as a babysitter, which I quit after a boy three years younger and two inches taller wrapped me in a rug and rolled me into the hall closet, singsonging his version of a popular commercial: “You know how my dad spells relief? F-U-C-K-I-N-G.”
My favorite job was as a clerk for district court, where one day a plaintiff, in answer to the judge’s request for proof that the neighbor’s dog had indeed killed his chickens, whacked a whole frozen chicken down on the desk in front of me. I’ve often wondered if it was the sight of my hot fingers on that stiff-necked cock as I searched for an appropriate place to put the “Exhibit 1: Dead Chicken” sticker that made the prosecuting attorney take a special interest in me, but soon after that I got pregnant, stole someone’s bail money to get an abortion, spent three days in jail, and then hightailed it out of town for college.
My easiest job was as a student, where I spent glorious years reading and writing until they stopped paying me (in the form of scholarships, grants, and loans) and I had to quit.
My first professional job was as a technical writer for HanZon Data, which I nicknamed, “Let me get my hands on your data,” after discovering what it was like to work in a company that employed 48 men and two women. Sadly, I was much too serious about being taken seriously to appreciate my situation, and now fantasize about going back, 20 years older and light years hornier.
My most fulfilling job was for SpaceLabs, which made, contrary to its astronautical name, medical monitoring equipment for ordinary earthly hospitals. I like to think that the manuals I wrote helped save lives, but what really left its mark is the pencil tip still embedded in my face fifteen years after the pencil itself was whizzed into my cubicle by either the closeted lesbian writer or the metro-sexual temp, with whom I was in an unconsummated love triangle.
My most lucrative job was for Boeing, where I was paid $30 an hour to write 500-page manuals that no one ever read.
My current job—as the Director of Domestic Bliss in charge of one man and two children—was the easiest to have and is still, after eleven years, the hardest to hold.
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