The Office

I have decided to write one response per month to the the Reader's Write section of the Sun Magazine as a writing practice. The topic for the June 1 deadline (publication in December) is "The Office." As I will be sending this for possible publication, any feedback (typos/weird sentences/unclear passages, etc.) you might have is 100% welcome! Thank you!

The first time I walked into the office I now work in I was 18 years old, nervous, and intensely conscious of my whiteness. I was interviewing for my first work-study job and the assistant who greeted me, a pretty, sweet-faced Latina, regarded me cautiously. I noticed her nameplate, which read Mari Ortiz, and blushed, having written down “Maudy” when my potential supervisor had told me on the phone who to check in with when I arrived. Two other women and a man were in the office when I arrived, all people of color, and though they all acknowledged me, there were no introductions or warm greetings, as I’d experienced at my other interviews, with, predictably, white people. In my head, I refused to draw the conclusions that my racism pointed me to, but their presence in my mind set me on edge, wondering if these people could read the bias in my anxious demeanor.

My University was organized in residential colleges, and I was a student at the predominately white college next to the predominately non-white college where I was seeking a job that could help me pay for my education. When Afia came to lead me back to her office for my interview, I became even more aware of being white. She had sun-lightened, torso-length dreds that were the color of coffee with a touch of cream and her “black” skin was any beautiful word for brown but black. I pleaded my brain to give me the right words to land this gig. I suddenly wanted this job so badly my chest squeezed up in anticipation.

To my surprise, Afia offered me the job on the spot and within an hour I was put to work making posters for some upcoming events in the “production room,” a large open area between the front office and my supervisor’s office. In the coming weeks and months, as I became immersed in the life and culture of that very inclusive, very activist college community, everything I thought I’d be when I came to college fell away. Whatever ill-formed ideas I had about possible career paths -- medicine? psychology? anthropology? -- became laser focused on studying privilege, power, and oppression. I became conscious of my development as a white person and what that meant in the real world. I strove to build bridges across difference, sometimes awkwardly, but with love and connection as inner directives, it seemed to work decently.

To the many people of color (and white allies) who befriended me during these formative years, who shared their lives and experiences with me in that job, I owe millions. People who have been discriminated against by people who look like me took the risky leap of faith that I, as a white person, could be a part of the forward march of equality and justice rather than another blind participant in the system of white supremacy our nation is founded on. I am humbled by such undeserved trust, such faith that compassion will ultimately unite us, and I wouldn’t be who I am today without their willingness to challenge and support me.

In the fifteen years since I first walked into that office, I have attended Mari’s wedding, celebrated the births of her two children, graduated, taught middle school where I somehow helped lots of kids get to grade level in reading and math, lived in Mexico, fostered my friendship with Mari, and grown into a professional dedicated to changing the world, or at least my part of it.

More than anything else, I’ve come to understand that the most important thing to know about work is not about the job at all; it’s about how we interact with others to get good work done, how we include others and make them feel that their lives matter.

The production room has since been divided into three cubical offices, and I work in the middle one. Mari, who is now my supervisor, walks past my office multiple times a day, throwing out a “Good morning” or “Hi, babe” as she passes. I look out the very same window I looked out that first day, making posters, on the very same plum trees, which flower at this time of year. Going to work is like coming home to myself everyday.