Happy birthday, Vi!
I remember the day I met Viola. Coworkers Elizabeth, Susan and I were tasked with taking the new empoyee out to lunch. Some task; the six secretaries begging to go was like listening to a bunch of nine year olds squabbling over who gets use the bathroom next. "It's my turn!" "Nuh uh! I haven't gone yet!" "Ooh-ooh--Me! Me!"
Of course we squbbled. Going out meant two whole hours of fancy lunch on the company dime. Out meant away; away meaning not in the office being verbally abused by the aristocratic overlords. Sadly, we didn't give a rat's patootie who Viola was and certainly cared even less about how entertaining she could be. We'd all dined with wet rags before; but dining with a wet rag over a rib eye and crème brûlée was entirely tolerable.
Little did we know that this mild-mannered British girl was actually one of the most cosmically insane and inspiring people we'd ever meet. I learned more in that lunch than I did in my preceeding 27 years.
Viola's life story inspires me to no end. And so, because she is a treasured friend, I share the lessons I've gleaned from her:
* Life is what you make it.Viola lived in what she called the "ghetto." Being a lily white girl, I had no idea what this meant. I envisioned some large brick tenement with poorly lit hallways. Upon visiting, however, I was inpressed by the grounds and the comparitively spacious apartment (compared, that is, to my expressway stinkhole). Looks can be decieving. Vi then told me about a murder that took place outside the apartment downstairs, about how the police roped off the area and about how they left the body laying there, unattended, for many, many hours.
A few months later, Viola's apartment was broken into by "crackheads." I presumed Viola's colorful vernacular meant "horrendous bastards." It was then that I learned that my dear friend was rarely, if ever, figurative.
Upon her return from vacation, Vi discovered that literal crackheads had literally broken into her literal apartment... through the outter wall. Bam. First they went into her attached storage shed, and from there, knocked a big arsed hole in her apartment wall, gained entry and stole what they could. Most people would sink down, cry, look for another apartment. Not Vi. Instead, this plain old secretary working in the same craptacular office as I, sold all she had-- and I mean EVERYTHING, down to her last pair of socks-- and bought a townhouse in Bowie, MD. BAM! Landowner.
* Occasionally, burn the bridges. Viola worked for a female higher up in the firm, who-- like her male peers-- was truly evil, just exponentially so. On her last day with Hell Pit Inc., Viola went into this woman's office and verbally let loose on her, calling her out for past wrongs, for her lies, for her petty behaviors. My favorite phrase was likening this woman to a bovine with sagging teets. You get the idea.
We all feared that doing so would lead Viola to the horrors of a dead-end work life. I mean, we all thought the bovine had connections. Apparently, none that Vi would ever need to worry about. And the calling out seems to only have made Vi stronger.
* Believe in yourself, or no one will. Vi changed jobs every few years, like every smart secretary should. It's the only way to remain in the profession and move up the seemingly invisible corporate ladder. She's worked for obsure and important transvestites. She's worked for the biggest DC lobbyists. (Yes, those ones, the ones you read about. Especially recently.) She has done it all.
Vi now lives in a 6,800 sq ft mansion in Maryland, living intuitively and continually moving ahead. It's not ever a question of can, but rather, the reality of is. Viola heeds her desire. She takes herself seriously and doesn't give a rat's arse whether anyone else does.
__
Simply, she emboldens me. She is an amazing friend in my storybook filled with wonderful people. Sometimes in life the Universe blesses you the presence of someone you might otherwise have no idea how they fit into your story, let alone why. In my life, Viola is like my personal deus ex machina, in the form of inspiration. Whenever I think I can't, or I don't know the way... my phone rings and this delicious British accent regales me with tales of her life. Wonderful. If only everyone were so lucky.
Of course we squbbled. Going out meant two whole hours of fancy lunch on the company dime. Out meant away; away meaning not in the office being verbally abused by the aristocratic overlords. Sadly, we didn't give a rat's patootie who Viola was and certainly cared even less about how entertaining she could be. We'd all dined with wet rags before; but dining with a wet rag over a rib eye and crème brûlée was entirely tolerable.
Little did we know that this mild-mannered British girl was actually one of the most cosmically insane and inspiring people we'd ever meet. I learned more in that lunch than I did in my preceeding 27 years.
Viola's life story inspires me to no end. And so, because she is a treasured friend, I share the lessons I've gleaned from her:
* Life is what you make it.Viola lived in what she called the "ghetto." Being a lily white girl, I had no idea what this meant. I envisioned some large brick tenement with poorly lit hallways. Upon visiting, however, I was inpressed by the grounds and the comparitively spacious apartment (compared, that is, to my expressway stinkhole). Looks can be decieving. Vi then told me about a murder that took place outside the apartment downstairs, about how the police roped off the area and about how they left the body laying there, unattended, for many, many hours.
A few months later, Viola's apartment was broken into by "crackheads." I presumed Viola's colorful vernacular meant "horrendous bastards." It was then that I learned that my dear friend was rarely, if ever, figurative.
Upon her return from vacation, Vi discovered that literal crackheads had literally broken into her literal apartment... through the outter wall. Bam. First they went into her attached storage shed, and from there, knocked a big arsed hole in her apartment wall, gained entry and stole what they could. Most people would sink down, cry, look for another apartment. Not Vi. Instead, this plain old secretary working in the same craptacular office as I, sold all she had-- and I mean EVERYTHING, down to her last pair of socks-- and bought a townhouse in Bowie, MD. BAM! Landowner.
* Occasionally, burn the bridges. Viola worked for a female higher up in the firm, who-- like her male peers-- was truly evil, just exponentially so. On her last day with Hell Pit Inc., Viola went into this woman's office and verbally let loose on her, calling her out for past wrongs, for her lies, for her petty behaviors. My favorite phrase was likening this woman to a bovine with sagging teets. You get the idea.
We all feared that doing so would lead Viola to the horrors of a dead-end work life. I mean, we all thought the bovine had connections. Apparently, none that Vi would ever need to worry about. And the calling out seems to only have made Vi stronger.
* Believe in yourself, or no one will. Vi changed jobs every few years, like every smart secretary should. It's the only way to remain in the profession and move up the seemingly invisible corporate ladder. She's worked for obsure and important transvestites. She's worked for the biggest DC lobbyists. (Yes, those ones, the ones you read about. Especially recently.) She has done it all.
Vi now lives in a 6,800 sq ft mansion in Maryland, living intuitively and continually moving ahead. It's not ever a question of can, but rather, the reality of is. Viola heeds her desire. She takes herself seriously and doesn't give a rat's arse whether anyone else does.
__
Simply, she emboldens me. She is an amazing friend in my storybook filled with wonderful people. Sometimes in life the Universe blesses you the presence of someone you might otherwise have no idea how they fit into your story, let alone why. In my life, Viola is like my personal deus ex machina, in the form of inspiration. Whenever I think I can't, or I don't know the way... my phone rings and this delicious British accent regales me with tales of her life. Wonderful. If only everyone were so lucky.
posted by @traciAWESOME
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home