Fishes from Heaven

After graduating college with a B.A. in English, I spent a few months living at home, enjoying the luxury of life with Mom, working at an upscale children’s clothing store. I think of it as my la-di-da period, when I had no idea what I wanted to be or what I should be doing. Mom was happy to have me around, I was making money, and life was pretty stress-free. But I was bored.

So, I phoned an employment agency in Manhattan, spent a day taking typing tests and getting wardrobe advice, and was set up for a few interviews.

The morning of my first interview I rose early, put on the suit Mom and I had carefully chosen from the sale rack at Bamberger’s, and took the short-cut across the park to the bus stop. As I passed the swing sets, there was a rustling in the oak tree above me, then a fish plopped to the ground at my feet.

Yes, a fish plopped from the tree to the ground at my feet. I was startled, but couldn’t dally in case I missed the bus. In a bit of a daze, from nerves and the fish, I made it to the bus, then to my appointment. When I entered the shiny, black, semi-skyscraper, I didn’t stop to look at the Company Directory for fear of appearing lost and unsure. I boldly stepped into the first elevator that opened its doors, stuck my index finger out, and pressed a button. I chose the 14^th floor, possibly attracted by the fact that the numbers went from 12 to 14 with no bad luck number in between.

The bell dinged, the lighted number 14 blinked out, and the doors slid open. Technical Publishing, read the brass letters on the wall opposite. I stepped out of the elevator, miraculously on the correct floor!

I left the interview certain that I would be offered the position. Between the fish and the fourteenth floor, there could be no doubt. Three days later, I was a research assistant for a publishing company, commuting daily to New York City.

What’s your sign?