Marriage vow
Where were you on January 28, 1986? That was the day the space shuttle Challenger exploded, killing all seven crew members aboard, including Christa McAuliffe, a high school teacher from New Hampshire.
I remember it clearly. I was out of work and panicking - severance gone, debts mounting, jealous of everyone who had a job, dimwits most of them, and I had to find a job quickly, any job.
We were living in central New Jersey, and I was about to drive to northern Massachusetts to interview for a senior financial analyst job I had discussed with the company's personnel director. It was considerably below zero when I pulled out of my driveway at 6 am. The New Jersey Turnpike was covered in salty slush, and trucks changing lanes sprayed it up over everything. The wipers just moved the dirt around, and the washer fluid froze as it hit the windshield. Accidents everywhere, in other words, a very tough drive!
It took me six white-knuckled hours to get to that beautiful rural New England town. The snow was white there. I remember noticing that. The address turned out to be an old garage converted to offices. The personnel director was wearing jeans, a sweater and fuzzy house slippers, part of their informal atmosphere, she explained. I wished she'd told me earlier before I'd ruined a new pair of shoes.
The president was wearing what I called dressed-up casual - pants, shirt and loafers expensive enough to leave no doubt he was the boss. He explained that the company was a private money managing firm for a wealthy doctor in town. Then he read my resume, which he obviously hadn't bothered to look at before.
"Your background is financial analysis, and this is a relatively low- level accounting job." He looked at me, puzzled, as if to say, "What the heck are you doing here?" Polite but not about to waste time, he explained that I was over-qualified, the salary wasn't what I was used to, he wouldn't pay for relocation and he could probably get the person he needed locally. "I'm sorry you drove all the way up here, especially in this weather." He shook my hand and the interview was over.
Exactly five minutes! A six-hour drive for a five-minute interview, in a rage, I stormed out of that garage slamming every door behind me, and fumed the entire four-and-a-half hour's drive home. Idiots! All I could think of was, I could have said....! I should have said....!
When I got back, my wife, a school teacher, was already home. I came in the door still ranting about the stupid people in Massachusetts wasting my entire day and I could have gotten killed in the bargain. I went on for a good 15 minutes, not even noticing how quiet she was or that only one small light was on. Finally I said, "Well, tell me about your day. Let's hear from someone who actually has a job."
She looked up and I could see she'd been crying. Very softly she said, "We closed school early today. The children were all watching the launch on TV. There was a teacher on board. The science classes had little models in the cafeteria. We were going to have a lift-off party. And it blew up. They were all killed."
We ate a silent dinner and watched the news on TV - the huge ball of fire as Challenger exploded, over and over, as if, somehow, it might end differently if they showed it often enough.
The Challenger disaster put my job search in perspective. I was still truly sorry for the astronauts and their families, but I was more relaxed about my own situation than I'd been in weeks.
