I have a secret, and I’ve been keeping it for the past 8 years. It’s my job. See, for the past 8 years, I’ve been been embarrassed about what I do for a living and have mostly kept it to myself. It’s my dirty little shame.
I am a secretary.
You might ask, why is that so embarrassing and shameful? Or you might not need to, and that would be the reason I chose not to disclose my occupation. Until now. Maybe I don’t care anymore.
Often, people ask me what I do, and I whince and reply that I work in an office. “Nothing interesting, don’t worry,” I say. And they usually reply, “Oh, I thought you were a designer or a writer or something.” Sadly, I am neither. I am “something” though, and that something is an Office Doris. Amongst other things, my duties over the past 8 years have included opening mail, answering the phone, and booking travel, and as you can probably imagine, it is a very fufilling position for someone who excelled in school. And that is why it is embarrassing. I promised myself I would never end up being a secretary, and look what happened.
I blame my mum. This is because when I was about 12 she took me to her office for a week during school holidays for “work experience” (otherwise known as child labour – I distinctly recall her paying me $20 for a week’s worth of work, that cheeky woman! That said, $20 was a lot of money to me back then). This was my first introduction with the magical machine that is the photocopier. I remember finding it far too fun (no office catalogues in the toilet for me though). I also remember doing something with finances and balancing figures. My mother obviously had faith in my Form 2 maths. Somehow, during this week of what should be totally fucking boring and a shitty way to spend my school holidays, I found out I actually enjoyed it.
I went on to high school, where my favourite subjects were photography, French, and chemistry. I never really decided on What I Want To Do For A Living, but many things passed through my head – involving photography, graphic design, living in France and doing something undecided, an art teacher, and a scientist (oh yeah, I wanted to cure cancer – I aim low). By the time I finished school, I was still no closer to chosing anything. All I knew is that I didn’t want to spend $30,000 on a degree I didn’t really want. So off I went to work.
My first full-time job was a Stock Controller for a paint company. It was as exciting as it sounds. The best (worst) part of the job was, what we call in the business, “cyclic counts”. This meant me walking around the factory wearing steel-capped boots, carrying a clipboard and pen and randomly counting paint cans. I shit you not. This, however, was the best time to partake in something I love so dearly – work avoidance. And anyone who knows about work avoidance knows that the best way to do it is by walking around with paperwork and a pen (this is seconded only by shitting at work, something I wholeheartedly recommend). I found out that the least busy and most hidden part of the factory was the wood varnish section. The wood varnish section was my friend, until the day someone dropped two pallets of semi-gloss onto the factory floor and we had to evacuate the area and in came the guys in the white hazard suits. That was totally rad.
I eventually moved on and got was one of my wonderfully kind then-friend called my “first real job”, because my first job wasn’t a “real job”. In 3 years I had doubled my salary, and was living comfortably in town and had enough money to start travelling. And it never stopped. Somehow, I managed to travel around the world working as an administrator, and ended up earning loads of dosh (well, for that line of work anyway) in the States as an assistant to directors and office manager.
I now work part-time in the United Kingdom as a “secretary”, although my job wholey consists of fixing and maintaining computers, finances, and desktop publishing. I don’t earn much money, but it gives me time to do the things I enjoy – photography, writing, and fucking around. I’ve always been good at fucking around.
I’m now at a point in my life where I’m about ready to move back to New Zealand and get on with a “real” life (although I do so enjoy being a travelling hobo). Shouldn’t I now choose my career? I’ve come up with: photographer, writer, makeup artist, cafe owner, musician, bum. Eight years on and I still have no fucking idea. Great. Why God, did you put me on this earth with nimble fingers and a Jedi-like knowledge of Microsoft software?
