Last week, as I was getting ready for the day and listening to NPR, I was stopped by the factoid that in today's job interview one is often asked what color of crayon one would be. "Margie, what color of crayon are you?" Fortunately, I am not in the job market because that is exactly the kind of question that brings me to my knees in a pool of sweat and indecisiveness. I hate specific questions which require quick answers, or worse--an opinion.
But, as I made the bed, I decided to play pretend and answer the question. "If I were a crayon I would be a..." I begin to think: "I'm a responsible self-starter, efficient, effective and worth much more than any employer would probably pay me. I'm a black crayon. Definitely a no nonsense, nose to the grindstone sort of person. Oh, but maybe choosing black would mean that you would think I'm locked tightly in a narrow box, unable to think outside of it. You might not realize that my solutions to various problems can be quite creative and always well thought out. So, I think I might actually be a blue crayon. Yes, blue...bright blue."
"Oh dear, I don't want you to think, though, that I'm one of those kind of creatives. You know, the crazy kind. No, no. I would be a really nice. responsible, and helpful creative. Please, let's just take a minute here. Could you possibly tell me how many crayons I have to work with? A box of 72 or only 48? Is this a new box that might have newer colors or names? Is it one of those fat crayon boxes that only has six or so primary colors? Do they still make fat crayons?"
By the time I finished making the bed, I had pretended myself right out the door of that imaginary job interview and still didn't have a clue as to what color I thought I was or wanted to be.
Suddenly, I'm back in my freshman year at St. Mary of the Plains High School. St. Mary's opened as a boarding school for out-of-town girls as well as a day school for those of us from Dodge City. The first day of class I met Pam. I have no idea now what her last name was, but Pam was a boarder from Oklahoma, spoke with a bit of an Okie accent (which I thought was exotic), and wrote all of her papers using a fountain pen filled with Peacock Blue ink. I think it was my first girl crush. Pam was pretty, solidly packed, spoke with a rather raspy voice, and was fearless when it came to the nuns. It never occurred to me at the time that Pam may have been sent to St. Mary of the Plains High School for a reason, and that she would be a relative short-timer there. I was too impressed to think beyond the moment.
I know that I began begging for a pen and Peacock Blue ink as soon as I got home that afternoon and actually wheedled my way into both items within a day or two...just in time for the nuns to announce that they would only accept papers written in the standard blue or black ink. All other colors were forbidden and would result in an "F". Those women, quite frankly, had no sense of the joy Peacock Blue ink could bring to the soul.
So--back to the original question: What color am I? I am a Yellow. Yes, yellow. I know that because I took a short test on Facebook a couple of days ago and it said I was a Yellow--although, frankly, I wouldn't have chosen any of those restaurants.
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