How I Joined the Foreign Service.

AuthorKrijgsman, Elizabeth
PositionPersonal account

Full disclosure: the Foreign Service was not my first choice of career.

I was in college back in the Dark Ages when unmarried women's business cards said "Miss," women were called "girls," and pantyhose hadn't yet been invented. When it dawned on me that I might not be getting married right after graduation, I began to think seriously about what kind of career I wanted. I decided that it would ideally involve a lot of free time. It would of course pay well. And I thought it would be very nice if it involved travel to exotic places. Being fond of indoor plumbing and not fond of physical labor, I immediately eliminated the Peace Corps as a possibility.

During the summer after my junior year in college, I realized--I should become a Diplomatic Courier! Lots of down time on airplanes. Constant travel to those exotic locales. Staying in luxury hotels. Decent pay. And almost no actual work!

The Internet had not yet been invented, so it took quite a lot of effort to track down the telephone number of the Courier Service. But I managed to do so and phoned them to find out how to apply. I spoke with a man who was, I now realize, much nicer and more patient with me than he might have been.

Me: "How do I apply to become a Diplomatic Courier?"

Him: "Well, first of all, you would have to meet the requirements."

Me: "What are the requirements?"

Him: "One, you have to be a college graduate."

Me: "I'll graduate next year!"

Him: "Two, you have to be twenty-five years of age."

Me: "Oh." (Oh well, I thought, I can do something else for a few years in the meantime.)

Him: "And three, you have to be a man."

Me: "That's discriminatory! You can't require that!"

Him: "Miss, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking of the briefcase chained to the wrist, like in the movies, right?"

Me: "Well..."

Him: "Miss, the diplomatic pouch is actually a large duffel bag. It probably stands taller than you do, and it generally weighs a minimum of forty-five pounds. You come on down here, and if you can lift and carry two of them at once, we might reconsider."

Me: "Thank you for your time."

In those days I only weighed 105 pounds myself, so that was the end of my dream of being a Diplomatic Courier.

I sulked for a while. Then I realized that becoming a Foreign Service Officer might have even more of what I was looking for in a career: I would travel less, but I would live in beautiful foreign capitals. I would be important and respected. The pay would be better. There would be better opportunities for advancement. I would have a diplomatic passport, and a car with diplomatic plates. I would hobnob with heads of state--why, I might even hobnob with royalty! I would have a housing allowance, and a lovely house in the best part of the city. I would have a cook-maid or a houseman--I might have a chauffeur--I might have a staff of servants!

The only down side was that I would probably have to actually work. And first, of course, I'd have to get in.

Once I had made the decision, I announced it to my parents.

Me: "I've decided to join the Foreign Service!"

Mom: "That's wonderful, dear!"

Dad: "Don't you have to take an exam?"

Me: "Yes, several. I'll take the written exam in December. Then there's a--"

Dad: "Don't you think it might be helpful if you had taken some history, or some political science, or some economics, or any courses...

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