Knives and Forks: my 9/11 story
I look at the woman beside me, très française, très chic, and très ignoring the bounty of fromage on her tray. My cheese course is long gone, along with the accompanying baguette slices and Riesling. I see the trolley approaching with cognac now avec chocolat but I’d give my eyeteeth for what’s just to my right, within easy grabbing distance. Perhaps she is asleep? I sneak a glance. Mais, non. Merde.
I feel physically tired but mentally as effervescent as the bubbles in my Perrier. Am I helping keep this flight aloft? I think ahead to tomorrow. What if I blow the interview? No, move on, no point in agonizing about it. They wouldn’t have invited you and paid for this flight (!) if they thought you were a dud. I think about what I will wear - I’ll knock ‘em on their asses with my great new outfit from Motion in Yorkville. Oh, who am I kidding? We’re so provincial in Toronto.
I try to focus on the screen emerging from my armrest (with a remote! It’s not like this in coach), trying not to look beyond it to her cheese, its creamy yellowness oozing ever nearer her stainless steel cheese knife. I cannot know this may be the last time I ever see metal cutlery on an airline tray. I tab through new releases: Lara Croft - what’s the big deal about this Angelina Jolie; Moulin Rouge - certainly can’t sit through that bore again; OK, Legally Blonde. I like Reese Witherspoon. I press play.
Ten seconds in and my mind wanders, again. What is this place interviewing me? I pause the MGM lion in full growl and grab my day book from the seat pocket. I look at the name for the billionth time - World Institute For Development Economics. Weeder? Or Wider? Probably should have researched the pronunciation. But more importantly what do they actually do? I’ve gotten this far in the process but still haven’t really figured that out. All I know is they are hiring for a senior admin role, much like the one I have at ICLEI, someone with strong English skills (yes) and who knows their way around contract management (I can fake that), staff management (sure), and so on. I saw the ad months ago, and as a lark, sent my CV. This was before I’d even thought about law school, but I was ready for an adventure and someone must get those jobs posted in The Economist, right? They sent me a thank you email a few weeks later, saying they’d filled the job. No surprise.
When I got another email in early August, I was gobsmacked. “Our first candidate didn’t work out. Would you like an interview?”
“Yes!” (Oh god, I hope I restrained myself on the exclamation point. They’re going to think I’m an idiot.)
We had a phone interview two weeks ago and I was the best version of me - outgoing, direct, enthusiastic, funny. At least, I thought I was funny. Was I funny? Well, I must have been OK. The interview ended with, “We’d like to see you in person. When can you come?”
“I’m free Labour Day weekend,” I replied nonchalantly. “That’s the first weekend in September,” I went on, knowing not to assume everyone followed the North American calendar. Europeans think we all think they are the same as us. I recall the rousing A4 vs 81/2 x 11 debates with our Freiburg colleagues. And then there’s the leporello. I gather it is a way to fold A4 paper into a brochure. I hope to god I am not quizzed on leporellos (leporelli?) at tomorrow’s interview. It does seem unlikely.
“OK, we’ll book you a flight from Toronto. We usually use Air France. Is business class ok?" the interviewer asked.
“Yes, that would be just fine.” I replied casually, as though I was used to last-minute transatlantic travel on bloody Air France and in business class! After four years of working for an international environmental NGO, I have done a little travel, but we are cost-conscious and so sit waaaaaay back in the plane. Definitely not Air France. I’ve learned to pre-order Asian vegetarian meals to assure myself decent food. Air France served filet with a steak knife and a metal fork. And the cheese! (I furtively look again. Still there.)
If offered this job, will I take it? Or will I go to law school, as I’ve planned. I hit play again. Maybe Reese can help me decide. I watch her play law school student, Elle, dressed in pink with a chihuahua in her bag. Doesn’t seem quite how I’ll hit law school, but a good distraction.
I think about landing in a few hours. Last week I contacted the chair of the ICLEI board, Kaarin Taipale, a senior person in the Helsinki government. I’m not sure how small Helsinki is and I don’t want Kaarin learning one of the ICLEI staff is in town and hasn’t been in touch with her. She graciously volunteered to meet me to give me her spare Nokia, a requirement apparently although I haven’t really used a cell phone. I am secretly delighted I won’t have to find my way through the airport and into the centre of the city without a guide. Kaarin is excited for me.
I drift off recalling our emails. “They’re sending me out with a realtor,” I’d told her. “They must be serious about hiring me.”
I awake to the closing credits. “Café, coffee, kaffe,” the flight attendant chirps as she walks past. I raise my cup.
“Avec crème,” I reply and smile. The breakfast cart will come soon. We’ll land. Take off again, and three hours later, Helsinki. I’m beyond excited!
—-
Four days later and I’m on my return flight approaching Toronto. I think back to my whirlwind weekend. I love Helsinki. Cool in many ways including temperature - more fall-like than Toronto, but also further north. Small compared to Toronto too but the architecture and Scandi design is magnificent. I think of the two places I looked at to live and the shocked look on Kaarin’s face when I told her the rents. Expats get gouged but also earn more. My time with Tony, the WIDER director (I know it’s WEEDER now) was fun. He’s a Brit and we ‘got' each other. So much will depend on who else is in the running. I don’t have a UN background so that’s a mark against me. But I’m totally unencumbered, ready to move at the drop of a hat, and I will. Yes, I think I really will. I’m nearly 35 and it’s time I have a proper adventure.
___
One week later. I’m in the hallway outside my boss’ office in Toronto City Hall. “Celia, come here,” he calls, anxiously. He points, not looking at me, fixated on the computer monitor.
“What?” I read CNN’s headline: “Passenger jet hits North Tower, World Trade Centre” and my eyes simultaneously widen and narrow as I look at the footage, just four minutes old now. What the hell? I stand behind him; like millions of others the world-round, I’m unable to move. A few minutes later, there are a handful of us watching and we see a second plane slam into the other tower. The world is changing before our eyes.
I spend a week thinking about how homesick I would be in Helsinki, unable to get home, in the middle of a world crisis. The heat of world events melts away the fork-tine pointing to Helsinki while strengthening the one leading to law school. In late September, Tony contacts me to let me know the other candidate, a UN employee from Bratislava, has accepted the WIDER position. It’s a relief.
___
My 9/11 memories provide a moment of “what might have been.” But while ultimately the choice was made for me - I wasn’t offered the job - I don’t look back at that time with wistfulness or regret. I’m sad when I hear younger people fretting over what they should do with their lives. For me, life requires periodic assessment of the path I’m on, and, when the path no longer works, finding the forks, even when they are not obvious. The pandemic’s enforced slowdown has provided many with the time and the space for that kind of reflection. I see it all around me and I’m confident good things will emerge.
(photos above and below from that Helsinki trip in 2001)
