the new job

Stopping to visit my new job today, I wasn't even positive which street it was on.

In two to three weeks I will become editor of the Hawarden Independent/Ireton Examiner. The title sounds glamorous but is far from it. While it does imply correctly that there is no editorial staff (aside from the publisher) "over" me, there are no employees "under" me, either. Still, it's exciting to say I'm editor of a newspaper at 23. Nevermind that my predecessor was editor of a newspaper at 22, and nevermind that the circulation is probably not much over 1,000.

The office was, luckily, where I guessed.

The first thing I see is a sign in the door stating the business is closed Wednesdays. Knowing for a fact my predecessor (a friend and NW grad) does work Wednesdays, I took a chance and turned the knob -- it twisted easily and the door opened right up.

The first thing the staff says to me:

"Your boyfriend doesn't even know where you work when he sends you flowers?"

I don't think they'll ever truly be convinced I don't have a boyfriend or a secret admirer with the initials "U.S."

The office looks homey. Cutesy-grandma artwork is hanging on the walls, plants are scattered about, unlit candles as well. (My first clue that combating personal pyrophobia may be an issue!) The circulation manager picks up a shopper and can identify by phone number the owners of the apartments for rent. She x's out for me those landlords I shouldn't waste my time with, and circles a couple that are more promising. She circles the picture of a realtor in the next town who could recommend apartments there. Linda has lived in this town all her life and knows everyone and is in the community gossip loop. Linda and I will need to be good friends. Knowing the staff from my original job with the company a year ago will make the transition so much easier. I'm excited overall.

Magdalene and Mylan are working on the computers in the back, or sitting at the computers. They're chatting with each other, seated across from a table covered with leftover candy canes and Christmas dishes. It gives the impression the staff gets along so well together that they threw themselves a company Christmas party.

Magdalene takes me down the street to learn some names. She knows everyone, and everyone says I have big shoes to fill (despite my body weight being twice hers). Example of her charm over the community: the insurance agent two doors down regards Magdalene so highly that she was her second choice for a date to the rodeo if her husband wouldn't go. All five pharmacists joke with her when she comes in, and they try to repeat my name back to me.

The apartment hunt may be trickier than I dream, it appears. The majority of the apartments available inside the town should be condemned, in my opinion. In Sioux Center, where I'd ideally go, college students have swamped the waiting lists because they're getting married in May. Orange City is an option, too, but a voice nags that that's a huge mistake.

Life in general is currently overwhelming -- crisis and meltdown are on the horizon. You've been warned.