Of all the jobs I’ve held in my life – and there have been many – the one that lasted the longest and provided the most was a 15-year stint in the staffing industry. While I severed the cord over ten years ago, I forever lean heavily on the things I learned. It was the Tale of Two Cities, jobwise. On one hand, I was an apt student who progressed through the company quickly. Rent was paid. Groceries were bought. No longer was I rolling quarters for gas money. That’s a Gen Z joke if ever there was one. But, that other hand was heavy and wrought with GI issues. I’m an introvert. Introverts are not built for sales. Enough said. Lately, I’ve found myself saying a word that was oft said by one of my early staffing mentors. We’ll call her Helen. Her mantra was simple. Stretch.
We live in a world of absurdities. I know I’m not the only one who’s noticed. There seem to be an infinite number of things, in any company of any industry, that don’t fall into any person’s job description. Take the internet, for instance. Please take it. I’ll give it to you for free. Just kidding. A month ago, we were incredibly weary from non-functioning internet issues. The computers weren’t computing. The televisions weren’t televising. The phones weren’t phoning. For weeks, I tried to rectify the situation by calling our internet provider. Here's how it went. I called. I put the phone in speaker mode. I waited for 2 hours a day. I heard a clickety-clack that led me to believe I was about to speak to a representative. I excitedly put the phone to my ear. I got a dial tone instead of help. Rinse. Lather. Repeat. So, I began pushing different numbers for random departments. The cell phone department couldn’t help me with the internet. It’s not their job, they said. The new service department wouldn’t speak to me. It’s not their job, they said. The brick-and-mortar store also could not help me. We don’t do that, they told me. I was an internetless boat afloat on turbulent waters. No port was my home.
One evening, everyone cornered me in the kitchen like the villagers who wanted Frankenstein dead. “We need internet!” said the daughterin- law. “Our TB don’t work,” said little Teddy. “My laptop won’t connect,” said the hubs. I’d had all I could take. “WE ARE GETTING RID OF THE INTERNET BECAUSE I DON’T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO.” This was my battle cry. “We shall use carrier pigeons instead.” They were non-plussed. That’s when Helen entered my brain. Why, if there were ever a person who’d know what to do in this instance, it would be Helen. Helen would point me in the right direction. Helen would tell me to stretch.
I met Helen 25 years ago. She was the assistant manager of the staffing company I’d approached hoping to find a job. Instead, she insisted I come to work for her. She’s one of those people who never changes. She looked 40. I assume she had always looked 40 and still looks 40 today. She was a single woman who owned her own home. It was an extreme source of pride. She had a dachshund named Rusty who she adored but who often bit her when she tried to corner him for his vet visits. She was an exemplary seamstress who made all her own suits. They were impeccable. She was an exacting boss with a wild sense of humor and a laugh that would peel paint once she let loose. We instantly bonded. Anytime an employee complained about the tiniest detail (computers were slow, bathroom was dirty, too many appointments were scheduled, personnel were out sick) she would say the magic word. Stretch. It meant get out of your comfort zone and pitch in where there’s a need. It meant no job was above or beneath you. It meant play on the team and stop trying to be the star. It mainly meant start working and stop whining.
Back to the kitchen where I was mercilessly being poked with villager pitchforks. “Stretch!” I exclaimed. “I have an idea!” The next morning, I called the number for the media conglomerate, aka the internet provider. This time, I pushed the number for the billing department. Someone answered. I explained that my internet didn’t work. She explained that she had nothing to do with the internet, just the billing for the internet. “Wait!” I took a deep breath. “I noticed a billing discrepancy. You’ve been charging us for these extender thingamabobbers every month. We don’t have extender thingamabobbers.” She paused. Instead of her removing the charges, would I be ok with her just scheduling someone to bring out the thingamabobbers? Why yes, I would agree to that, provided she add a notation to the service call so they would know that THE INTERNET WASN’T WORKING. That, my friends, is a stretch so masterful, Helen would be impressed. I hear she’s still out there in Dallas, working in staffing, and expertly sewing her own suits. Well done, Helen. Well done.
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