The Road to Wilmington, North Carolina (Part 2): Futures Revealed

I rolled up to New Hanover Regional Medical Center in my rented 2006 SUV and was in awe of what I was seeing. I’d never seen a hospital that had a facade of a five star hotel. Before I got out of the car, I laid my head on the steering wheel and prayed: “Lord, if this is where you want me to be, make it obvious. I would love to have a husband here, perhaps he is here, perhaps not. In any case, I want to be in Your Will. Come what may. Amen.”

My future boss met me at the door and we sat in her office for the interview. She explained the job, in addition to tidbits like the windows were rated to a Category 4 hurricane and Category 5 was an automatic evacuation protocol. It was clear I wasn’t in Illinois anymore. And then, as in all interviews in my field, we went on a tour.

As she introduced me to all the departments, I noted that everyone was smiling. Everyone seemed to smile here in the south. And then she introduced me another new employee who was training, but would eventually be on my shift. I couldn’t remember what his name was, probably because I was distracted by his gorgeous blue eyes; he was really cute. Little did I know, I had just met my husband.

With the interview over, my mom and I decided to explore for the remainder of the afternoon. We walked downtown along the Riverwalk. We drove to Wrightsville Beach – the third time I had seen the ocean in my lifetime – despite the clouds and spitting rain. We got the place wired by driving to Kure Beach (We had pronounced it “Cure” which was wrong, it’s “Cure-ee”) and walked out on the pier. My mom snapped a picture of me. The butterfly effect again: I didn’t know my favorite surfing spot was just over my right shoulder.

We also stopped to tour some apartments as well – none were winners.

We returned to the hotel to freshen up, and decided we wanted to go to good seafood restaurant. We were leaving for the frozen tundra of home first thing in the morning, thought we might as well live it up our last night in Wilmington.

And that’s when the culture shock set in.

We stopped at the front desk and asked the lady about a seafood restaurant recommendation. “I know just the place,” she said, but she couldn’t remember the name or where it was exactly. She yelled to the back and another woman showed up. “Oh, that’s Hironymous, up on Market Street.” Another employee showed up and between the three of them, found a printed map and drew directions in detail. Up north, this kind of customer service was unheard of. “Wow, they are really friendly here,” said my mom who had never experienced the south either. I had yet to learn this was typical southern hospitality.

The food was delicious, we dined like kings that night.


When we touched down in Indiana, it was 8F at noon. My car, having sat three days in this arctic parking lot, open to the wind, decided it didn’t want to start on the first or third try. Finally, once I convinced the engine to turn over, and we sat awhile to warm up.

“I’m taking that job,” I said as my teeth were chattering.

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