Perils of Caffeine in the Evening

The other day, I received an email announcing that a young woman who has worked for me in various situations since she was 16 was promoted to be the corporate Treasurer of the company she’s been working for, and it gave me more than a little tingle of pride.

I first hired her when she was on summer break from college, to do some filing and data entry.  (No, actually I think the first time I hired her was to babysit our son when she was in high school.)  I had worked with her mother at a CPA firm, and that was the connection, but I saw that she picked stuff up really fast, so I kept offering her employment whenever she was around.

She eventually became my accounts payable, then payroll person and, after I’d made a couple of dubious hires for the assistant controller position above her, I threw up my hands and let her do that, too.  I moved on to other positions, and almost always seemed to have something for her to do.  It’s not that I was a great mentor or anything like that - it was usually more like my ass needed saving, and she came in, figured out what needed to be done and did it.  Along the way, we’ve developed one of those lasting foxhole friendships.

And now she’s all growed up.  One of the more gratifying things she’s told me as she moved into supervisory roles is, “I don’t know how you put up with us.  The next person who comes into my office in tears I think I’m going to brain with a box of Kleenex.”  As I said, though, I’m not taking any credit.  I feel more like Forrest Gump, upon first apprehending his child, stuttering hopefully, “Is s-s-s-he s-s-s-smart?”

So, to appropriate the exuberant slivovitz toast of a Latvian co-worker (who ended up stealing blank paychecks from us and forging a few of them), “I drink you!  I drink you! (roll the ‘r’s)”  All I ask is that you keep me in mind for that receptionist’s position.  I promise I’ll keep my armpits shaved if I wear tank tops.