The Resume

“I just need you to look it over for typos. I want to get it out as soon as possible.”

Lounging on my sister’s living room sofa, contentedly eating Hershey chocolate kisses from a small bowl, I leisurely leafed through a copy of Glamour magazine. It was a lazy Saturday morning with the most pressing matter in our young lives being which club we would visit that night – Heartbreak or, The Limelight?

I glanced over at my sister Anne, who sat pensively at her kitchen table, ballpoint pen in hand. A frequent visitor to her NYC apartment during summer and college breaks, I loved visiting my sister and was well aware of the coming and goings on in her life which at this moment, was updating her resume.

After working for several years caring for patients in a New York hospital’s Day Surgery unit, she was entertaining a foray into the corporate side of nursing. The job to which she was applying, involved working aside a prominent older scientist, a one Dr. Jonathan Mackey, assisting with medical research. Though she would miss bedside nursing, this new job would allow better hours and be less physically demanding.

Nestling into the depths of the cozy cushions, red marker in hand, I carefully proof-read the resume before me. Priding myself in both writing capability and creativity I was pleased to help my older sister who for my entire life, had looked after me. Several minutes later, I handed her back the sheet of paper containing just one simple addition I had scrawled under the category of “Interests.”

Studying the resume with a puzzled expression she looked up and remarked, “But I don’t play chess! Why would you add that?” “Trust me,” I replied. “It will set you apart from the average applicant. It shows you are a strategic thinker. Most chess players are highly intelligent!” My sister studied the resume once again, carefully entertaining the idea. She was of honest character and did not like to tell even a small white lie. “I don’t know Kathy…”

She called me the following week, her voice brimming with excitement “I have an interview for that job with the professor on Friday, 2PM! Wish me luck…”

My sister over the years, still tells the story, of the resume, generally at family gatherings or when someone is seeking a new job. And most often, after a glass of wine or two, when her resentment is at its lowest. It goes something like this.

Sitting in a small, nondescript office on that fateful Friday afternoon, my sister for the umpteenth, proofread her resume. She relaxed, feeling capable in her abilities. She smiled several times into the mirror of her makeup compact, having once read smiling to yourself, boosts confidence.

A distant whir of something that sounded like a motorized vehicle suddenly broke her concentration as Professor Jonathan Mackey glided into the room. A distinguished looking man, with a salt and pepper tinged head of hair, he wore an expression which conveyed a no-nonsense efficiency.

Holding my sister’s resume before him, he glanced up and down his eyes darting rapidly. Then suddenly, his facial expression changed, and appeared to soften, quite markedly. “Why Anne Marie!” he bellowed with a grin, “You and I seem to share a common vice…”

My sister’s heart beat rose ever so slightly. No, he couldn’t, he could not possibly mean…

“Chess!” Dr. Mackey added emphatically.

As my sister’s soul left her body, her mind raced for some sort of reasonable response. He continued, “To be honest, since I broke this damn ankle, I have been spending more time than I like to admit watching televised matches. I’ve been playing the magnificent game of Chess since my grand father first taught me, when I was only seven years old.”

The words “to be honest” hung thickly in the air…

She had two options, she told me and I knew at that moment, before she even uttered the words, that she had chosen the first.

“Well, I actually don’t play chess, Dr. Mackey,” she stammered. “My sister put it on my resume because….she thought it sounded good.” Silence followed for what seemed an eternity. Digesting my sister’s declaration of deceit, her potential future boss cleared this throat and re-positioned himself in the wheelchair. He then uttered just one phrase.

“You tell your sister, she would never get a job with me…”

Though she did not get the job, I am still welcome at my sister’s apartment. She has traded in New York’s East River, for the Hudson, and now resides in Tarrytown, New York. A rescue dog named Shorty, devoted to my sister, is the newest family member. The chocolate kisses still flow in abundance and Anne, has long forgiven me for the resume mishap.

Just last week, while visiting my sister for the weekend, we took Shorty for his evening walk. The sunset was particularly impressive and a cruise boat, chock full of New York tourists, could be seen in the distance slowly making its way up the Hudson. As we followed the path that wound along the river, I glanced at a small garden off to the right, directly ahead of us. Two older gentleman, seated at a small wooden table, sat opposite each other, deep in concentration. Playing chess.

And in that very moment through the grace of god or some other divine intervention, Shorty, spotting another dog approaching, jumped up abruptly. My sister, desperate to avoid a confrontation, yanked on the leash and quickly pivoted in the opposite direction.

I was saved.