Even with the Christmas rush fast approaching, the local post office where I'd recently started working was still running smoothly. The quantity of mail coming in, however, was growing daily. There was talk of needing to add additional delivery drivers and requiring the employees to work longer hours, just to make sure we got it all out on time.

I'd worked in the mailroom, learning the sorting process, for over a month, and then behind the counter for two weeks, when my supervisor, Jeremy Davison, came up to me one day.

"Kelly," he said, "I've been watching you work. I think you're ready for a move. I think your skills could be used better elsewhere."

His words surprised me and I began to get a little worried. Was this his way of saying that he didn't want me to work there at all? I thought I'd been doing well, and I sure needed the job. Since I was single and on my own, I didn't have a husband or family to fall back on to help me out if money got too tight. I had only my paycheck to count on to pay for my apartment, car payment, and monthly expenses.

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