From the moment I entered her room her dark large piercing eyes seemed to look right through me. She’s a tough old bird whose gray hair, and failing lungs were the only thing old about her. I knew she was sizing me up by the look she gave me. In her gruff voice she told me to sit down. I instinctively knew that I had passed the first of many of her rigid requirements.
She asked me if I knew she was dying. A question poised in a way to see my reaction, as well as, gauge my ability to be truthful. I told her”Yes.” Her “Bette Davis Eyes” flickered a quick smile, but her facial expression remained stern. Then she asked me why I had chosen working with dead people as my career? I smiled at her, and replied “My job kind of ends when you die.” She laughed.
Then she said seriously “Why the dying?” Her “Bette Davis Eyes” searching mine for a truthful answer. I said “I don’t work exclusively for those who are dying, but fate seems to throw me in that direction quite a bit.” She said “Oh God your not one of those Hippie freaks are you?” I laughed, and said “No.” Bette proceeded to tell me what ticked her off about all her other assistants. It was a pretty long list, but I listened patiently.
When she finished she asked me if I was paying attention. I told her yes then I reassured her by reciting back the list of her pet peeves. I told her that her list was reasonable, and jokingly asked her if she wanted to hear my list? Bette laughed again, and said okay we will give this a try, but I’m short on time so don’t expect me to put up with any crap.” 😉