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boomed as she stormed into the waiting area. She had wild, dyed-to-cover-the-gray blond hair and a huge, artsy medallion hanging from her neck. She wore a tremendous amount of makeup, which somehow seemed to accentuate her wrinkling, crepey skin. She was tall and perilously skinny.
    Eleanore was flanked by her assistant, Paige, for whom the effort of uttering her almost inaudible greeting seemed to make her so nervous it heightened my own already epic anxiety, and Sharon, a marketing manager who I noticed, despite my nervousness, had made some truly unfortunate fashion and hairstyle decisions. Why on earth would a pregnant woman with ponderous thighs and sallow skin think a short yellow dress with large sunflowers was a good idea?
    They led me into a conference room where the three of them sat on one side of the oblong table and I sat across from them. I cleared my throat more often than necessary.
    â€œAs I explained over the phone, our company is growing rapidly, and we need another editor,” Eleanore began. “Paige has been putting in all kinds of overtime to get the job done. That’s what’s expected at a growing company, but even with all our hard work, there just aren’t enough hours in the day to get through all the brochures and reports generated by the McKenna Marketing staff. So, tell us about your interest in editing marketing materials.”
    Ouch. “Well, I’m not an expert, but I love learning about new things.” True. “I really enjoyed editing for the business journal in Minnesota.” False. “That’s why I worked there every summer when I was in college.” False. I worked there because they paid me seven dollars an hour, which, since it had the distinction of being more than minimum wage, seemed like a lot of money at the time, plus Mom was friends with the publisher. I hoped she didn’t notice that I didn’t actually answer her question.
    â€œWhat was it that you enjoyed about the business journal?”
    â€œWell . . . I, uh, learned a lot. I enjoy making things clearer for the reader, cleaning up poor grammar, and checking facts.” Not entirely false.
    â€œYou enjoyed fact checking?” Eleanore and her entourage laughed a mirthless, corporate laugh.
    â€œI know that sounds weird. I guess I just like taking pride in my work and making sure things are accurate. Some of the stories I worked on were pretty complicated, and I liked . . . it was kind of like putting a complex puzzle together, and I don’t know, call me weird, I think that stuff is fun. Editors are kind of, I don’t know, not like regular folks. We can debate for hours over whether a hyphen should be put between two words. That is not most people’s idea of a good time.”
    â€œWhy did you quit teaching?” Eleanore asked.
    â€œWell, my fiancé . . .”
    â€œYou’re getting married?” Eleanore said. “Paige just got married eight months ago.”
    â€œGreat, great,” I gushed.
    â€œWhen are you getting married?” Sharon asked.
    â€œAugust fifteenth.”
    â€œCongratulations,” Eleanore said.
    â€œYeah, it’s exciting.” Smile, smile, enthusiasm, enthusiasm. “So, teaching was difficult, but I enjoyed it.” True, false. Oh god, did I say difficult? Shit. I meant challenging. Challenging . “But when my fiancé wanted to leave Minnesota to go to graduate school, it seemed like a good way to get out . . . to see some other parts of the country.”
    â€œMargarette,” Eleanore said, “where do you see yourself in ten years?”
    The question threw me. What exactly was it that I wanted to do for a living ten years from now? Did I want to move up and become a manager? Would I be editing business shit I wasn’t interested in? I cleared my throat. It was taking me too long to answer. “That’s an interesting question. I’m not sure exactly. I know I want to be