September 18, 2017 – The opened letter.

This is an exercise from my Writers class.  

The prompt was open letter or opened letter.

However, I want to place the setting on this little vignette.

In the mid 1970s – If you’ve watched the TV show MAD MEN – they portray this era exceptionally well.

At the time, our state of the art computer for the corporation was a punch card computer used only for payroll for over 1,000 employees.   

Personal computers hadn’t been invented yet. We had thermal heat copiers. Mimeographs were still largely used. We used a teletype machine.  Fax machines hadn’t been invented yet.

Dictation was done by taking short hand on a steno pad resting on your crossed knees sitting across from the executive.

All upper level executives had personal secretaries, middle and lower management used the Steno Pool which had state of the art equipment in the form of magnetic belts – the cassette tape dictation units hadn’t been invented yet.

This was the Headquarter corporate office for seven plants in one town – much like the size Milliken still has is in Spartanburg, SC.

The switchboard operator was housed in a glass cubicle in the lobby and she connected all calls from outside and between all seven plants.

The executive washroom, which was next to my office, was for Men only and 3-martini lunches were the norm.

At the time this happened, I was about 20 or 21 and single.

This is autobiographical.

The opened letter

        One morning Mr. Burgwinkle, the Personnel Director, handed me a stack of letters. He smiled, nodded and cleared his throat as he watched me quickly pull the beige parchment envelope out of the stack and put it on top. There was my familiar handwriting directed to the blind Post Office Box 576 used specifically for the resumes for the new personal secretary for the recently employed new President of the Company.

        “Ah, so you know how this all works out, little gal,” he stated with his put on Irish brogue and puffed a huge, acrid cloud of cigar smoke in my small office.

        “I’m a big girl. I know I am out the door.” I said shrugging my shoulders and continuing to hold onto my false courage. I added,

“This is corporate America, a new President, requires a new personal secretary. I will be replaced by one of these gals.” I fanned the stack of letters to make my point.

        “Aye, is so.” He said. 

        Mr. Burgwinkle lingered as I mulled over my hurt and bitterness of losing my job just because a new President had come on-board.  It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair. I’d done a fine job. And, now I was being let-go for no reason other than some false theory of loyalty.

        I filled the sudden silence with another brave statement, “Don’t worry, I’ve already sent out over a dozen resumes and I’ve more going out today.”

       

        Mr. Burgwinkle cleared his throat again and launched into his typical policy speech.  I half listened to him as I opened each envelope, stapled the cover letters to the resumes, and turned them face down in a pile.   When Burgwinkle finished what the Company would provide me upon my employment exit, I stood and smiled at him saying,

        “Yes, a letter of recommendation from you would be lovely.”

        Then, I turned the stack over and straighten it.  I admired my flashy signature on the exquisitely prepared cover letter and resume that was now on the top of the pile and flatly stated,

        “The new guy will at least know my qualifications before he dismisses me.”

        I rose and walked down the short hallway to the new President’s Office. I knocked quietly and entered. With a forced, bright smile on my face, I delivered the mail by placing it in the In-Box on the corner of the polished mahogany desk.  The new President’s eyes glanced at the top resume and then quickly darted to me.

I returned his gaze until he waivered and looked away. I wondered, was his look a sign of surprise or slight admiration? 

Always the professional I asked in my most sultry voice, “I’ve just made fresh coffee; would you like some?”

        He declined graciously.

As I closed his office door, I chuckled to myself thinking. “He didn’t want coffee? He probably thinks I’d lace it with poison.”