Second Chance

In my first "real" paid job after graduating from college (sorry, Sears, but policing the linens section for a few months doesn't really count), I made a huge mistake.

I was the regional director of admissions at the University of Pennsylvania, and my boss was Lee Stetson. At a time when many admissions offices had a tiered system of job descriptions, with newbie admissions officers having little in the way of real responsibilities, Lee took a different approach.

Anyone he hired was immediately given real responsibility, along with some guidance and support. So within weeks of arriving at my desk – in an office with a door and a window! (something that I have rarely had since) – I was making decisions about what to say to students in my school visits. When I got back from the road I was reading applications and making recommendations. (I still remember the first time I recommended "deny" on a student's application.)

And then, as we were preparing to invite accepted students to celebratory receptions in their home towns, the invitations I'd ordered sat in a box under my assistant's desk. I knew I'd ordered them, and might have even been aware that they'd come in, but she was new, and I was new, and I thought she'd pop them in the mail once they'd arrived. Somehow, the invitations never rose to that level on either of our to-do lists, and about four days before the planned reception, I woke with that horrible sinking feeling in my stomach.

No invitations had gone out.

The room was reserved, the food ordered, the transportation for the accompanying professor arranged... but no one was going to be there. And the reception was in Westchester County, NY, where we had hundreds of powerful and well-connected alumni and dozens of accepted students with plenty of other great college choices.

It was a fire-able offense.

Heart thudding so hard I thought my colleagues might be able to hear it, I talked to my assistant, ordered lists of alumni and student addresses and phone numbers from our resident database whiz kid, came up with a plan that seemed like it might keep the event from being a total disaster.

Then I wrote the scariest memo I've written yet.

I told the Dean what had happened. I resisted with all my might the urge to make excuses. I took full responsibility, apologized, and outlined our plan. I wish I still had a copy of that memo.

And since we're writing about second chances this week, you know he didn't fire me. He thanked me for my honesty, suggested some additional action steps, and said he was pretty sure it was the last time I'd make a mistake like that.

And it pretty much was. At least so far.

(Thanks to the women of Sunday Scribbling
for their continuing inspiration.)