I was watching Jeopardy the other night and heard one of the contestants say that he was a “Stay at home son.” Now, usually when Ken Jennings spends a few minutes asking the contestants about themselves, I go to the bathroom. I don’t know where they find these weirdos but the stories they choose to tell about themselves are always painful. I once heard a woman talk about the time she got stuck in a rental car because she couldn’t find the door locks. She couldn’t figure out the basic function of a car door but she knew everything about Greco-Roman philosophy. 

Apparently, “Stay at home son” is a phrase that means “unemployed.” This particular Jeopardy contestant had graduated college, but he had no foreseeable future employment. “I’ll take Unemployed Nerd for $400, Ken.” Now, I didn’t go to college right away. Since I had spent the last three years of high school majoring in Alice Cooper Concerts and Glam Rock Fashion, my dad wasn’t going to spend any money on college. And, in the late 1970s, “Unemployed Daughter” wasn’t an acceptable profession. Of course, my dad has his own way with words. It was “Get your ass out of the house and get a job.” 

My aspirations had always been to move to New York and become a famous rock groupie, or a Playboy Bunny. At five-foot-two and 85 pounds, with an A-cup bra size, I didn’t see either of those careers as viable options. That’s how I ended up as a file clerk in a local urology office. Needless to say, I didn’t fit in. As a pale, skinny 18 year old wearing a too large white uniform and still sporting my David Bowie haircut, I looked more like a medical experiment than a medical employee. And there was no way I was going to make friends in this place. 

As a file clerk, I had to sit in a file room about the size of a walk-in closet. My job was to look at the appointment schedule and then pull out the patients’ files for the next day. At the end of the day, I refiled them. I think the men who came in there and had scopes shoved into their privates were having more fun than I was. There was another file clerk with me and she was so interesting and fun that I can’t even remember her name. However, some of the other staff are etched into my brain; and not in a good way.

First of all there was Robin. She sat at a desk near the mail machine and cried all day. I learned that her boyfriend had recently broken up with her and left her alone with her two teenaged kids. Robin needed to go out with Joan. Joan was the lab technician who sometimes let me look at sperm samples under the microscope. Anyway, Joan came in one day and announced that she met a guy at the bar the previous night, she took him home and now he was going to live with her. Marcy was the payroll person. She was middle aged, newly married and had a painting of the Morton’s Salt girl hanging in her office. I never knew why. Then there was Mr. Sheldon, the human resource person. He was short, wore dorky plaid suits and always whispered when he spoke. When I interviewed with him, I kept leaning in to try and hear him. I still don’t know if he told me I was hired or that he was tired. And then there was the bitchy daughter of one of the doctors. She would come in after school and sit with the front desk ladies who treated her like a princess. She was obsessed with staring at me and saying loudly that she thought I was ugly and weird. Thank you. I wished her all things evil and that one day she would be horribly disfigured in a burning car accident. I had to get out of there.

During lunch I would call my dad from the payphone out in the lobby of the building and cry that I had to quit this job. How I wish I had known then about being a ‘Stay at home daughter.’ My dad told me to stick it out until I found another job because I had car payments and I needed health insurance. In other words, “stay at home daughter” was, once again, not an option.

Then, after three long months of dragging myself to that pit of urology hell, I got another job. Red Lobster was my salvation. I remember walking into Mr. Sheldon’s office to quit. I gave him a one-week notice, because two weeks would have killed me. He whispered something that could have been either “Best of luck out there” or “Get the fuck out of here.” I’m not sure which. I just knew I’d never have to step foot in that place or see those people again. I was wrong.

One busy Sunday at Red Lobster, the hostess came to tell me that someone requested my station. I just figured it was my Aunt Mary and Uncle Phil. They sometimes came in on Sundays to see me. Imagine my horror when I bounced up to the table and saw Mr. Sheldon and his entire family of plaid dorks. I’m sure a look of horror crossed my face and it took every ounce of strength to be pleasant and take his order. I calmly went over the specials and when he whispered his ordered, I had no idea what he wanted. All of the fish at Red Lobster looked and tasted the same anyway so I just ordered broiled flounder for the entire table.

Luckily, as time went on, my careers progressed and I never had another boring job. I successfully completed college and never had to resort to being a groupie. Although, there are still days that I wish I would have had the chance to wear those Playboy bunny ears. 

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