August 1, 2018 – “I am not allowed to ask that question.” I answered.

         “What do you mean?”

         “When you interview someone you can’t ask if they are married or single,”  I explained, “I want to bring her through to introduce you first thing.”

         “Yes, do that and I will ask that question,” Loyce said.  Loyce was a real estate agent who was the next-door tenant in the office building that I rented for the first title company that I managed here in the county. 

But let me start it at the beginning.

         I needed to hire a replacement for a gal who wanted to go on to bigger and better things.  I had called Kings College near Charlotte and had asked them to announce a job opening for a paralegal graduate.  I had also put the ad in the local paper and I had only a handful of applicants apply.

         Years ago, a personal manager advised me about the first or last theory in job hunting. He told me you are either the first one or the last one when it comes to being hired.  He explained that theory.  If you are first, then they compare all the other applicants to you and the rest don't muster up and you get hired, being the first.  Or, if they have been searching a long time, and you are the last applicant, you are fresh in their mind and you get hired because they can’t remember who was better than you.  So, sometimes a stale job posting could get you hired.

I scheduled the paralegal first so that I could easily compare her attributes to all the rest of the applicants.

My first impression never changed even after I hired her.  She was on time, dressed in business attire, with a firm handshake and a big smile and looked me straight in the eye.  She had an unusual quality of confidence for a young person.

She gave the impression that she was seriously interested in this job and asked for the job outright at the end of the interview.  After I had gone through my short punch list that included typing speed, if she enjoyed phone work and customer service, I asked my conclusion question to see what her personally, was like.

“What is your hobby?” I asked.

“Shopping!”  She said jubilantly.  I had noticed the stylish new bag she had carried and set down near her feet propped against the leg of the chair that she sat in.

“Shopping?” I returned it to her as a question with my delighted voice.

“Yes, you see, I must have this job, because I need to earn money to feed my bad habit, my shopping habit,” she said in a conspiratorial way.

I concluded that was all the questions I had and that I had five other applicants over the next two days and I would make a decision by Wednesday.

She was polite, and incredibly young – or should I say ‘youthful’. We walked to the front door where she shook my hand, thanked me for the interview and again asked for the job in a more professional way. She confidently walked to her car and got in like a lady and drove off.

She was a blonde size one.  She possessed the skills I needed, the raw material I would chisel into a great assistant.  She had great personality and a great hobby, Shopping!

And, I did compare her to all that followed and they all paled in education, skills, professionalism, and personality.  The rest of the interviews went rather quickly and I offered her the job.

She was so excited about getting the job. I was in for a delightful time training her.

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         “Ashley, come, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the tenants in the building. Give you the grand tour.”

         When we met Loyce a few moments later, Loyce asked all the questions that were forbidden.

         Ashley gave it all up.  Her church, her Mom’s maiden name, Loyce immediately connected Ashley’s family to people she knew.  Asked her if she was living with her parents or her own apartment.

         “I know some nice young men who are always looking for a gal to date,” Loyce said it softly, “or, are you dating someone special?”

         “No one special, we are just friends, but I am open to dating new men.”

         Just then, one of the tenants from upstairs dropped in to Loyce’s office with some missorted mail.

         “Oh, Ashley, how are you?”  Come to find out they were from the same church and we found out she was dating a fella by the name “Jessee” and she called him, “Just a friend.”

         “No, we are not serious, he’s just a friend.”  Was her assertive answer a second time.

         As we left, I got the “wink” from Loyce that all her burning questions had been answered and I knew a lot more about Ashley than I did when I hired her.

Fast forward six months on a weekday.

         Ashley comes in the door and announces.  “I’ve got a flat tire!”

         We go to the window and look out together.  “It got me here – but it is really flat now!” Ashley sighs.

         In between first cup of coffee and answer overnight messages, I can hear her trying to cajole her Dad to come fix her tire.  Then I get busy and don’t pay any attention to her solving her tire problem and the both of us are getting things done in the busy office.

         Mid-morning Ashley skips out the door as a young man arrives in a truck and she tosses him her car keys from three paces away and skips back into the office.

         While I am on a conference call, I swivel my chair and watch the young man jack up her car, and take the wheel off.  He drives off with it in his truck.

         A while later I am watching him put the wheel back on.  It is hot out there in the blazing summer sun and he is wiping his brow on his t-shirt sleeve.  He tightens the last of the lug nuts, and pops the wheel cover back on, lets down the jack, closes the trunk and walks to the door. 

Ashley is on the phone with a client and can’t get up.  He opens the front lobby door, walks forward silently and slowly slides her car keys across the desk to her waiting fingertips.  He then slowly turns and quietly leaves without saying a word. 

         I can see all this from my manager’s desk.  Job done, off he goes.

         Later I casually ask, “What garage came to fix your tire?”

         “Oh, that is just Jessee, he’s just a friend.”

         I repeat the word “just” softly and she gives me a puzzled look.

         “What?”  She adds. “We’ve been friends for years. Just friends.”

         I smile and shake my head.  “I may not know about your relationship, but that man – that man loves you – anyone who changes a tire in the middle of this summer heat – he loves you.”

         Ashley simply laughs at me.

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         It didn’t surprise me when I got a call a year and a half later, from Ashley informing me she was getting married. She had moved on to a bigger and better job and I had moved on to my own company.

         “Who?”  I asked with a picture of the tire changer in my mind.

         “Jessee!”

When I hung up the phone I whispered to myself

“just”.