I’m writing this post between Labor Day and Mexican Independence Day , two holidays that oddly converged in my life in 1988.
Labor Day makes sense to me. I’ve always worked. I got my first job delivering papers a few years after my parents’ divorce, sometime around 12 years old. It was clear to me then, as it is now, that if I wanted money, which was in short supply in my house, I’d have to get a job. After that, I worked as a waitress at the Purple Pickle, behind the counter at Dunkin Doughnuts, giving out free samples at Yogurt Delight, as a hostess at Villa Roma Pizzeria, selling men’s French and Italian clothing at Papillion, as a camp counselor for developmentally disabled adolescents, selling women’s high-end lingerie at Le Printemps, and a cocktail waitress at Kutchers in the Borscht Belt. That was all before college. I then worked every semester and summer during undergrad and two out of my three years at law school. Given all this, it was odd for me to move to Mill Valley later in life and have moms ask, “Do you work?” I sincerely had no idea what the alternative was.
Despite having had many jobs, leaving each job was unremarkable, with one exception.
It was my first job after graduating law school, $60K in debt from the loans I’d taken out to pay tuition. I figured I could work making the big bucks for two years and then find my dream job in the social justice world. I remember sharing my deep reservations about working at a corporate law firm with a college friend.
“What are you scared of?” he asked.
“That I’ll lose myself.”
“Don’t worry about that. If you lose yourself, you’re not who you think you are, so it won’t matter.”
I accepted an Associate position at a corporate law firm located on San Francisco’s Embarcadero.
The experience was mind-numbing. My daily bookends became a morning Cinnabon and an evening vodka grapefruit. Nestled in between were cookies and sandwiches from Specialty bought to feed the new Associates at our weekly gatherings. I worked on construction defense, tobacco litigation, and failed Savings and Loan cases. My output was unimpressive, I was uninspired. After a mere forty-five weeks there, my spirit dulled, I knew I could not last a full year.
I gave a month’s notice mid-August. My last day would be Friday, September 16, 1988. I had no idea where I’d go or how I’d make a living. People began to ask about my plans. When I shared I had none, they balked.
Clarity is a beautiful thing when you have it. I was steadfast in my vision that my only goal in life was to extricate myself from the hell of representing tobacco companies in wrongful death litigation while sitting at a long table with colleagues chain-smoking cigarettes. (Yes, in 1987 and 1988, that was legal). Beyond exiting, nothing mattered.
On my last day, as I walked the halls at 5 pm to say meager goodbyes, I passed an office where several men were sitting around in a somewhat festive spirit. I poked my head in to bid adieu and they waved me in.
“Come have a shot of tequila. It’s Mexican Independence Day!”
Had I any fears about my future, that moment erased them all. Even though I sadly did not know much about the history of Mexican Independence, I was sure that the Mexican people who fought and died in battle weren’t imagining a group of white corporate lawyers sitting around doing shots of tequila to commemorate the blood and sacrifice of their struggle.
I declined the offer. They insisted. I insisted they not insist. I hadn’t lost the me I thought I would: she was here taking me by the hand to the elevator to descend to the ground floor.
Ciao, Adios, See Ya! I left. To this day, that is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.
Here’s one site to learn more about Mexican Independence Day. The fact that their struggle parallels with today’s battles for equity won’t be lost on you, and may you never be lost on you either.
Photo credit: rawpixel.Fotolia
chris gus says
beautiful piece. you’re so fortunate you had the wisdom and resolve to escape from that corporate world.
Maria Ramos-Chertok says
thank you, Chris! I appreciate you reading and taking the time to comment. YES, I’m glad too.
Miller says
No dear friend you will never lose being you as you are one of the most distinctive figures I know, let´s put it this way. If you wanted to be President of the US I would definitely be the soldier on your right who you know you can count on.
Miss you sweetie.
Maria Ramos-Chertok says
hi Julie! Thank you so much for reading, for your comment, and for your unwaivering support to be in my corner. When I met you in SPAIN you were my rock and such a good friend to me. I’ll never forget that. The year I wrote about in this post was the year right before I moved to SPAIN in the fall of 1988. Wow! What a series of life-altering decisions. Miss you too.
Terri Chytrowski says
What a great read, Maria. You really brought big law in the 80’s to life. I have a hard time even imagining you in that world. So glad you fled!
Maria Ramos-Chertok says
I know – I have a hard time imagining me there and i WAS there 🙂
amanda says
wowza, feels like time traveling reading this. I don’t think we’ve ever connected on the labor of print distribution (story for another time). I think it’s so beautiful the way you share your transition and its meaning for you then and now. Your written and verbal words have sparked that flame inside me time and time again. That flame reminds me I do not have to settle for that which does not feed my purpose. I have a vivid image of the chain smoking around a table, and it makes me laugh out loud. So much “happens” in a lifetime regarding our ties to labor! Ya basta, basta ya. I’ve seen so many stories where the goodbye, although painful or cloudy, starts a transition for movement and flow… and onto a path closer to purpose. One truth that always stays with me is how that movement, that goodbye, is also un invitacion to love oneself even more deeply. abrazos as we shift from summer to fall <3
Maria Ramos-Chertok says
Amanda, I’m so appreciative of your reading and commenting. Yes, “Ya Basta!” sums it up well 🙂
Bernida says
Thank you for sharing your thoughts and experiences Maria. You continue to positively impact me foe over 20 years now Stay strong and keep sharing!!
Maria Ramos-Chertok says
I will keep sharing. Thank you for reading!