2
“Melanie will see you now,” the receptionist says with a smile. I already like the vibe around here, very casual, no pretenses.
I get to my feet and follow her down the hall. “Thank you.”
When I finally get to Melanie Adam’s office, she stands and greets me. She is a small woman with dark hair and a wide friendly smile. She shakes my hand enthusiastically. “So nice to meet you, Abigail. I’m Melanie, the Family Services Coordinator. Please take a seat,” she urges, motioning to the two chairs across her desk.
I study her office. She’s a family woman. The bookcase behind her is full of pictures of kids and a photo of a cute orange cat. Her kids appear older, tweens perhaps. She must be in her forties, yet she looks younger. I already like her.
She settles in her chair and stares down at a red folder. She flips it open and digs out what looks like my resumé. “So I’ve been perusing your resumé and I really like what I see.”
I smile. God, I remember now how I hate interviews. Never are you more judged as when you’re in an interview. Well, perhaps a first date is similar. I despise dating as much as I hate job interviews. My friends have been bugging me to get back out there. I’ve been single two years now, since the divorce was finalized.
“I see that you’ve worked in addiction support, with youths and families. How long have you been doing social work?”
“Well…” I quickly do the math in my head. “I graduated with my MSW in 2009 and started work right away, so about eleven years or so.”
“I see you have your BASW. What were your plans when you first undertook your studies?”
“Well, I was planning to become a psychologist. I just wanted to help people, people battling addiction and foster kids, youth at risk…” I don’t tell her how I’ve seen firsthand how fucked up life can be for some people. I don’t tell her my mother died in a drunken fall and my dad was an alcoholic. I don’t tell her about the troubled kids I knew when I was young: drugs, sexual assault, even murder. I really don’t want to scare her off. “Then I realized I could help just as much being a social worker.”
She smiles. She likes that answer.
“Well, you have everything we’re looking for, Abigail. BASW, MSW, CSWE accreditation… LMSW, and over ten years experience.”
I nod.Yes, I’m kind of awesome. Now offer me the job.
She flips to the second page of my resumé. I hope she doesn’t ask me to speak Spanish. I indicated a knowledge of Spanish, but really, my Spanish is pretty rudimentary.
“Your first position was Youth Counsellor at the Juniper Juvenile Center. How was that?”
Before I can help myself, I blow out a breath at the recollection. “Tough,” I say honestly. “I was young… so I thought they could relate to me, but they still saw me as an authority figure, still rebelled against me, but eventually we all clicked. I grew up with kids like that… I mean kids at risk.”
Why did I just say that?Please don’t ask me about my past.
“And then you followed that up with family therapy. Why did you change jobs?”
“Well, after four years, I was looking for a change. And honestly, the kids wore me down.” Damn me, and my transparency. I always share too much.
She nods agreeably. “I get it. I worked with youth too. I know exactly how it is.”
Thank God.
“Yes, it was exhausting.” Not to mention, gut-wrenching and soul-tearing.
“I see that you worked for The Rivera Mental Health and Addiction Center with a focus on family therapy in your next position. How was your experience there?”
“It was great,” I say truthfully. “Hard at times, but amazing.”
“And why did you leave this position?”
Oh crap.
I can’t really get into the whole Michael thing. I still feel horribly angry and heartbroken about it all. I can’t tell her about the separation and divorce. I can’t fess up to the depression that followed. What do I say? I should have known this question would come up. I should have been more prepared.
“I loved the position but I was going through personal issues at the time.” I’m hoping this is vague enough not to encourage judgment, and I’m hoping Melanie Adams is not a nosy type. I hope I haven’t blown it.
“Uh… I see.”
