Opportunity Knocked

I felt like Peggy in Mad Men when I got the job in advertising right after college.

“ We’d like to offer you a job as a secretary here,” Mr. Porter* said, smiling over at me in the conference room.

I was supposed to be ecstatic. I wasn’t. The last thing I wanted was this job, even though I knew it was the one thing I was supposed to want.

“We’ve got a few openings and wanted to give the creative interns first pick.”

He then rapped gently on the door.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Not sure, Mr. Porter — thunder?”

“That’s opportunity knocking,” he said.

Time to back up and tell you how I got here.

People in New York kill for jobs in advertising agencies. They call up old relatives whom they’ve been fighting with for decades. Connect with old college buddies. Sleep around. Whatever it takes to get the proverbial foot in the door. My in was by default. I had a friend whose father was a Creative Director and he needed interns to fill his new program.

To my credit, I was a viable candidate. Not only had I dreamed up ad slogans since grade school, but I was in fact bonafide: I wrote for three college newspapers, interned in a PR agency and was eager to write jingles.

“I’m excited to meet you,” the HR representative said on the phone.

“Me too. See you next week,” I replied.

I did the happy dance around the piles of old Spectrum newspapers and Champion sweatshirts overflowing in my college apartment. Clicking my heels together, I could not believe I had a paid internship lined up before I even held the rolled diploma in my hand. I was excited, but I wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to all that I created in my time upstate. I loved my friends, my college newspaper, the person I’d become over the past few years. I was still waiting for the Bills to win a Super Bowl. I had a bucket list that needed attending to.

Most of my friends were completely lost after graduation. None had solid plans aside from moving back home. I was going to be a creative intern at a well-known ad agency. I was about to get everything I ever wanted mere seconds after graduating college.

My stomach began to spin. I was horrified.

My commute from Brooklyn was longer than I thought. After standing for 50 minutes on the train, I still had to book it three avenue blocks to the East Side. I caught my stockings on the train and got a huge run down the seam of my calf; then I arrived at orientation late, with beads of sweat rolling down my back. Maybe corporate life wasn’t for me.

Upon entering the conference room, I soon realized I was the only non-WASP in the room. Apparently my nepotism was nouveau riche and theirs were just riche. They all came via Metro–North and had trust funds. I came via the D train and had about $25 dollars in my account, just enough to cover the fees.

I spent the summer paired with Dave, my art director, in a fancy office with a great view. We did not fit our oversized office yet; we were still kids with memories of keg parties and fight songs etched in our brains. We did, however, create campaign magic. We started with soup, then candy bars, then more soup. They loved it. They wanted both of us to stay on.

I was barely 22 and somehow had everything I wanted. Yet, it did not feel blissful. More like nauseous. I wasn’t sure I wanted this life after all.

Something was pulling me in another direction. I stopped going to lunch with the other interns. They began to irritate me with their suburban, boarding school naïveté. Their endless ramblings about how cool “the city” was made me want to run as far away from the Chrysler Building as possible. I had lived in New York my whole life; I started to think about what it would be like to live somewhere else. My internship was coming to a close anyway. It was time to start figuring out what came next.

“So what do you think?” Mr. Porter asked.

“Well, Mr. Porter, I appreciate the offer, but I’m thinking of traveling for a bit first,” I said nervously.

“Huh?” he said while crinkling his forehead.

“I actually already brought a ticket to Israel. I leave next week,” I said confidently.

“Travel. I always wanted to travel, but I got into this right away and never had time. We were poor and in those days you had to work and…”

I sat back and listened respectfully. His New York accent got thicker with each anecdote. He went off on a diatribe about growing up on the Lower East Side in poverty with immigrant parents. His struggles. Working his way up. It was clear he wanted me to do the same.

His comments echoed in my head. If I stayed and worked hard maybe I could be successful like him. It’s what I always wanted. Or was it?

I left advertising the next week. I never got back into it. I chose to travel instead, an addiction that would destroy me for the corporate world.

I often wonder what my life would have been like if I accepted the job Mr. Porter so generously offered. Would I be in his position now?

That summer in Israel was one of the best experiences of my life. I have been back twice since then, and added numerous stamps to my passport. But sometimes I look at my life — the urban students I teach in their faded uniforms and wonder what would have happened if I stayed in New York that summer. Where would I be instead?

I imagine if I took the opportunity Mr. Porter offered I would still be in advertising today—that is, unless some Millennial took over my position. I’d be a senior copywriter or creative director, creating ads and occasionally dreaming about taking time off to travel. I’d probably live in a bigger apartment and have more invites to the Hamptons, but I doubt I would be truly fulfilled.

A part of me still envies those that made it in the business, and maybe one day I will try to open the door I once closed and see what is on the other side. For now, I keep on teaching my students and hope that somehow I am making a difference.

“This is opportunity knocking,” Mr. Porter said. And then he shut the door.

*Names have been changed.

Elana Rabinowitz is a writer and teacher of English as a second language. Born and bred New Yorker, world traveler and lover of anything Brooklyn. Follow her on Twitter at @ElanaRabnowitz.

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