{Dress for} Success story

Occasionally you do something that you feel really good about inside, and it's not that you want to boast, you just want to share. I had one of those days this week when I volunteered at a wonderful organisation called Dress for Success. DfS is a charity that helps women with low incomes get back to work by offering confidence-building attire and interview preparation. Clients are ushered into a room where a stylist will help them choose professional job interview outfit (down to shoes and handbag, and if necessary, what goes underneath the suit). The woman is then escorted into a comfortable office to receive one-on-one interview training from an experienced "executive." I was that executive that day, and throughout the course of six hours I was introduced to six women who were in most cases just hours away from an interview--for many of them their first interview in years after time spent raising children or being in the same job for years, only to find themselves now unemployed and seeking work.

I was issued my schedule for the day along with a list of some follow-up phone calls to be made in between interview sessions.  Scanning the schedule, the jobs today's client would be interviewing for were quite diverse--receptionist, police support officer, retail salesperson, estate agent, design shop assistant, NHS carer. 

After a briefing by Delwyth, the office manager, I dutifully read the interview packet I'd be discussing with each client, and jotted down some notes for opening questions to make them feel relaxed and welcome. Oddly enough, I was nervous; it was sinking in that these women would be looking for advice about how to win over the interviewer from me, and while I've been on both sides of the desk interviewing is not something I do regularly. I had to muster up a bit of my own confidence to be ready for my first client, and when she was escorted to my temporary office I smiled, shook her hand, and just got on with it.

Funny enough, the toughest question for most women was how to handle an icebreaker like tell me about yourself. Some women felt there was so much to say and they rambled; others weren't sure what an interviewer really wants to know when they ask that question. So we talked about what seemed relevant, and we practiced a few phrases that would get the interview started. In some instances posed the phrase so tell me about yourself no less than three times in the same session, just dropping it in occasionally while we talked about other things, until the woman looked me in the eye and confidently told me an answer that was going to work--concise, credible and compelling. The smile I received after nailing it was, well, brilliant in more ways than one.

My day was filled with wonderful little stories from these women who wanted to do their best and land the job. In turn, I wanted to help them succeed, and I gave them the best advice that I knew, from experience, that could give them an edge. And I believe that I gave them a bit of confidence--praising their eye contact, or their open body language, or their concise answers, or I gave a bit of advice on how to make their responses more relevant. And at the end of each session, I was thanked, warmly, for my time. 

It was, I must say, an exhausting day--harder than the job I do day in and day out--but ten times more fulfilling--that says a lot, because I love what I do. I was glad that I found my own comfort zone early on to get to the heart of what their interview phobias were. I struggled on a few matters, not surprisingly: whether to sidestep certain issues that were there, but not relevant; whether to mention you're a single mom; how to redirect one mother's enthusiasm for her children to talk about the skills she acquired being a mom; how to handle a group interview, etc. In the end, six hours later, I signed six feedback forms that made me proud, as each woman wrote that she found the interview session helpful. 

Before sending them on their way, I asked them all to be sure to call DfS to let us know how it went, and afterwards Delwyth told me that one in two who do keep in touch do land the job. 

I wrote little notes about the sessions on their paperwork--topics that we'd focused on so that someone else could help them if there was a next time. I hope not; I want each of those women to shine first time out of the gate. They deserve to--they have reached out for help, realising they want or in some cases need that job, and that they'd like to look and perform at their best. It's not easy to admit that you may not have the right attire to go on a job interview, or that you're not sure how to answer the question what is your greatest achievement? It was a bit humbling for me, recognising how hard it can be for women to make it back into the work force, particularly those on low incomes who can't put together a decent outfit head to toe. I suspect we all sometimes forget there is a slightly sad state of affairs out there. I know how fortunate I am, and a day like this one put a bit more substance to how true those statements are.

Mostly, though, it's exhilarating. I walked out of there as though walking on air. I practically glided down Essex Road to the bus stop, with that silly grin on my face that no doubt had passersby thinking I was from another country. 

Oh wait . . . I am. 

Easter and memories

Easter can be a tricky time for me, as the holy week coincided with my mother's death in 1998.  I'm no longer deeply sad when the anniversary comes around, but I do miss her, and it's during this time of year that I stop to reflect on my warmest memories of her.

On my last trip back to New Jersey I finally went through the last of the boxes Robyn was storing for me, mostly photographs and small artefacts that I didn't feel ready to part with four years ago. There were photos I'd forgotten about, and ones I knew I'd tucked away that would come back to England with me. In the latter collection were a number of 3 x 3  black-and-white prints of my mother when she was in her late 20s, I'd say, dressed in a crisp white shirt and wearing her dark hair in a short, wavy style reminiscent of Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca. She was clearly happy and relaxed, not exactly posing but not being camera shy. I love these photos, glad to have kept them in my possession. In fact, Robyn coaxed me into giving her one of them--I was happy to, actually; at one point I think we'd had them displayed when we both lived in Harrison together.

There is yet another, an 8 x 10 portrait, her hair a bit longer, at her shoulders, a colour similar to mine.  She is wearing an aqua-coloured top, silky, and a silver choker. I always thought it was a most beautiful photo, and I imagined that it was taken when she was in her 30s--I don't know for certain, and I know that styles being what they were, photographs from the 50s and 60s always made their subjects appear older. There is no indication of the year anywhere on the photograph--only that it is a Lorstan photograph, and they have been around, in Newark, since 1926. When I was younger I used to imagine that she was 36 in the photograph, and that I always wanted to look that lovely when I got to be that age.

Another prized photograph is one taken much later, probably when she was close to 60, and she is wearing a leopard-print winter coat of faux fur, posing with a huge smile on her face, holding the coat tightly wrapped around her and just crouching a bit. I think I love this photo because she is truly happy. Christmas was a nice time each and every year--we all gathered at her home, and there were presents of all sorts no matter how little she had to spend; she always had something for us. She made wonderful food and pies and there was the Yule log on the TV, the Sinatra Christmas album and the tree twinkling in the front of the living room. Home, her home, was a warm, welcoming place--you knew you could always go back, no matter what, and she'd take you in.

My mom didn't have the happiest life, to be honest--my parents divorced in the late 70s and there was a lot on her to take care of all six of us--the youngest being just 11 at the time--and the family court was not generous with "maintenance." She did well to feed, clothe, and care for us. We had wonderful times together, particularly holidays when, as we got older we could afford to take her away, to places like Hawaii, the Bahamas, or Puerto Rico--places she truly enjoyed. She loved the beach and the sun, and was rather fond of the casinos in Puerto Rico! 

Funny, though, some of my more cherished memories are sitting around the kitchen table in the evening playing Scrabble or cards, or dropping by in the morning before work when, having long moved out of Jersey City myself I'd still go back to get my car serviced there, and I'd pop into the McDonald's on the way back and bring us both an Egg McMuffin, and she'd make some good coffee and we'd chat about life.

Today marks the anniversary of her death, and I miss her; I always will. I am sometimes secretly jealous of people who still have their moms, and I think that if my mom were still here, we'd still be friends, she'd have visited me at least once in London, and she'd make me laugh by forcing Mirepoix to sit on her lap, much the same way our cat was made to when we lived in Jersey City, despite not wanting to. She'd agree that the Queen looks like Babci--her mother, my grandmother. And she'd still beat me at Scrabble.