by J. J. R.
“Yeah, she seems really nice,” I say, stepping out of the way of passersby, nodding good morning. This story is getting really intense for a hallway passing, but Puppet Master is on a roll. She is trusting me with valuable information. I refocus back on her.
“But like I said, we went to the Hamptons and she got her claws in him so fast. They slept together on the first night and then on every conference break for the rest of the weekend. We were disgusted. Sleaze is a man whore, we know that, but no one expected that from Vain. I mean, it is one thing to wear tight skirts and let your boobs lead your conversations, but quite another to sleep with a co-worker on week three! Pawn was naturally devastated, as you can image. She started blaming herself, really depressed. I’ve never seen her wear pants that many days in a row. We, as her friends, vowed not to let her depreciate her value in that way. So we waged a bit of a mini war against Vain. You understand, she deserved it. We excluded her from the group and alienated her from major discussions. I guess Jock and Pawn were a little shocked you called her in to meet with you, but you are new, we get it. Anyway, there, now you have the whole story and like I said, I don’t gossip, but if Vain told you her side, it’s imperative you know the whole story.”
“But, Vain?” I ask.
She narrows her eyes, “Yes?”
“Did she know Pawn liked him? I mean did Pawn actually tell her?”
“It doesn’t matter; it was plain as day on her face every time he was around. Vain, as her friend, should have known. You are sweet to ask though.”
I can see the question offended her, so I backtrack. “Poor Pawn, that is tragic. You guys a good friends.”
“Yeah.” She beams. “We are. She tried to get over it, even wanted to ask Vain back out with us on Mondays. After all, Vain never stayed with Sleaze. It was just that weekend, but I reminded Pawn that there was no way we could trust her after that. So, there you have it. And sorry to dump this on you. By all means, if you want to be friends with Vain, go right ahead, but hear my warnings. Okay, gotta pee. Hope your hangover goes away soon! Ciao!”
Puppet Master slips away into the bathroom and I am left standing there. What just happened? It is one thing to hear the story, but I feel like I have way too much information now. Poor Pawn! Poor Vain! Poor Puppet Master? I blink a few times trying to figure out whose side is valid as I make my way to my office and then give up when I see how many emails I have. It’s too early for this kind of information. I have work to do.
This morning, despite my feeling like utter crap, I’m meeting with Marketing Manager to start laying out the preliminary work on our strategic plan. And then later this afternoon, I’m meeting with the Martyr, Sloth, and Bestie. Should be a full day. Better get some coffee.
Planning Time
Bitch Problem:
Just plain mean. There is absolutely no rhyme or reason to this person’s target or motive. They are sticky sweet one minute and mean the next.
A fresh cup of coffee, then another, and I am ready to take on this day. It is time to do what I do best.
Before I meet with Marketing Manager, I have a few impromptu meetings with Digital Strategist to discuss website updates and reporting for Jock, the Graphic’s team to talk about landing page mock-ups, and the Digital Display for Vain, and then grab one more cup of coffee.
Marketing Manager is waiting in my office when I return with my steaming mug.
“So they got you already?” She smiles.
I look back at her confused. “Beg your pardon?” I say and take a sip.
“Monday Happy Hours?” she says and sets her agenda down on my desk. “Oh sorry, did they tell you that nobody knows?”
“Um, well, yes.” I know I look like a kid that caught stealing a candy bar but this whole thing is odd to me.
“I don’t mean to give you trouble, sorry if I overstepped. My advice isn’t worth anything, but just be careful.”
I straighten up in my chair, a bit shell shocked and a tiny bit wanting to dig deeper, ask her everything she knows. She is incredibly brilliant and polished and sometimes I can’t quite figure out why she isn’t sitting in my chair. But she’s not. She’s in that chair and I better start acting like it. After all, we are not gal pals.
“Thanks, Marketing Manager. It was more of a business meeting. I appreciate your concern. Now, let’s talk about some new sales pieces that I’ve learned are desperately needed.”
She raises an eyebrow. “From Pawn? She has been requesting those for a while.”
“If I may, it seems that is the trend. I realize you guys are so busy and working incredibly hard, but I guess I’m just not quite grasping the disconnect between Marketing and some of the other departments.”
“Right, I can understand your questions. All I can say, comfortably, is that your predecessor, well, she didn’t exactly get along with everyone here. Don’t get me wrong, our whole team loved her. She was smart and energetic, filled with ideas. A lot like you actually. We all thought she would be the one to break through, stop all the back and forth, but unfortunately that wasn’t the case.”
I am cursing myself up and down right now. Why on earth haven’t I looked the former me up?! I can tell Marketing Manager is holding back, trying to be diplomatic but clearly has some things to say. I probe a bit further, knowing I’m in dangerous territory.
“You don’t have to tell me anything, and I appreciate you sharing as much as you have. That really does help. If you don’t mind, how long was she here?”
“Eighteen months,” she says. “And don’t worry, I won’t share anything I’m not comfortable with. I just want to help you be a success. So, tell me about these sales brochures and we can make it happen. Quick wins go a long way around here.”
I smile at her graciously, but I can’t help but notice the twinge of frustration in her eyes. She has been here for three years. In fact, no one on my team has been here longer. I ponder on that thought a little as I thumb through my notes. Is she happy, I wonder? Is she looking for another job? Oh no, that would be the worst. I can’t lose her. I need to be a leader and offer something reassuring. I stop fumbling through my notebook and look back up.
“For whatever it’s worth, Marketing Manager, I’m in it for the long haul. I’m not in the business of only achieving quick wins, but believe me I know how important they can be. I really want to be the support you need and if you ever need to talk or are feeling frustrated, I hope you know that everything that is said in here stays confidential.” There, strong but empathetic. Should get the job done.
“Thanks, you’re going to do great,” she says sincerely, and I resist the urge to stretch across my desk and hug her.
We spend the next hour plugging away through immediate needs and long term planning. I find her advice invaluable. She’s really well versed in a variety of different types of marketing. Together we are plowing through the list and having fun doing it. I think this is going to be a great working relationship. And something tells me if I get her on board? The rest will follow.
My next meeting with Mentor, the HR Director, is filled with big plans! She wants to reconfigure the entire process of onboarding. We need to empower our teams to be decision makers, have a uniform branding approach to all initial communication and videos— there is much to be done with videos.
After the initial ramble of great ideas, ideas that I take intense notes on, she launches into my personal onboarding. We talk benefits, sign a salary agreement—my favorite part of the meeting—and then discuss basic, expected office conduct. Everything, including the agreement is straightforward. I welcome her just and detailed approach. She is a facts kind of a woman, and for that, I am thankful. It’s nice just to get down to business. She has a warmness about her that I connect to immediately.
“So all business aside, Melanie, how are things going?” she asks.
“Overall? Pretty well!” I say brightly. “I can’t believe how lucky I am to be here. My team is incredible, Queen Bee is a genius tha
t I plan to learn immense amounts from, and Puppet Master has taken me under her wing already. I’d say, all in all, things are better than great.”
She studies my face. Not in a judgmental way but with a genuineness unlike anyone I’ve met in a long time. “That’s wonderful, Melanie, but for the record, we are the lucky ones to have you. Don’t forget that. You have the capacity to take us to the next level and that is something we desperately need.”
“Thank you, Mentor. You are too kind.” I feel myself blush under the compliment.
“However, I say this with true concern, this office is a powerful office. A lot of people, with a lot of opinions. You are a strong woman and I know you will decipher them with grace and respect, but please know my door is open always.”
* * * *
“She is the nicest person,” I say quietly out loud to myself as I head down the hall. I have yet to meet one rude person. I’m starting to wonder if it is too good to be true, as my Dad always said.
“If it feels too good to be true, Mel, it probably is!” I never could decide if that was a negative approach to life or just a part of being a realist. Regardless, I struggled with it, being that I am a dreamer and all. You can’t be both and you certainly can’t be negative if you have big dreams.
And then I meet Martyr.
“Come in, come in,” he says and shuffles around his office. My eyes scan the room, taking in the mountains of old computers, wires, tablets all cluttered together in piles with little yellow sticky notes all over them. He pushes a pile of papers off of a faded chair and invites me to sit. Somehow, Puppet Master’s redesign has overlooked this room. “Sit, sit…” he says, and I do.
“Thanks for meeting with me, Martyr!” I say brightly and pull out my notepad. “I am so delighted to be here. It is important to me to hear from everyone so I am meeting with all of the managers this week to get ideas and input on our strategic plan. I emailed it ahead of time, did you get it?”
He stares at me blankly and then starts fumbling on his computer, pounding away at keys frantically. “Um…” he says.
“It’s okay, Martyr, if you didn’t have the opportunity to look at it yet. If you want to take some time to review and get back to me, that works too.”
He retreats from his computer with a sigh. “I guess I’m not really sure what type of feedback you are wanting. I mean, I’ve been here for over thirty years. I literally started this job on a typewriter. I could do it with my eyes closed, but I’m just an old fart now that people are waiting to retire. No one asks me my opinion anymore and honestly? Honestly, I think I am being pushed out the door.”
Whoa. My eyes widen as this man’s words saturate my being. He seriously looks like he could cry.
“I…” I start and then pause to clear my throat. “I’m really sorry to hear you feel that way, Martyr. I never meant any disrespect. I’ve actually heard that you are quite the asset and would offer great advice. As for all of the other stuff, I haven’t heard any of that. I really hope we can have a great working relationship,” I say softly, seeing the pain in his eyes dissipate just slightly.
And then, he rolls his eyes.
“I’m sure you heard all of that greatness from who, Queen Bee? Puppet Master? They haven’t talked to me in months. Whatever. Look, I’ll skim over your marketing plan and then I’ll email you, okay?”
I take my cue and rise from my chair. “That would be great, Martyr. Really. I appreciate it.” I back my way out of the office, leaving him to start hastily typing away again on his computer.
Okay, that didn’t go well. Not at all. I take a deep breath and make my way down to Bestie’s office. Bestie is in his late twenties, cute as a button and in charge of Internal Communications. He hugged me the first time I met him and emails me little gifs from time to time of Friends throwbacks, Ryan Gosling and other quirky notes. I have been looking forward to this meeting all week.
“It’s about damn time, bitch!” He jumps out of his hot pink chair and springs over to hug me. I laugh immediately and wrap my arms around him. He smells like Skittles. “What, you save the best for last? Shut the door, we have some gossip to do.”
Despite his intro request of gossip, he surprisingly tells me very little. I even go as far to probe him on my team a little and Vain. He gives a high level, PR answer that frustrates the hell out of me.
“Vain? Yeah, she gets around. Who cares? Some people have an agenda and will use any motive,” he says and pops a leg up onto his desk to study his shoes. “Aren’t these sexy? I got them at Macy’s! So not me, I’m designer all the way, but I was there to take in the holiday decorations, yes, I am a sappy disaster, and saw these in a window. Ugh, they are hot!” He pretends to burn his finger on them.
I can’t help but laugh, even though he completely evaded my question.
“And don’t worry about your team. They’ve been through a lot and really need leadership. Don’t doubt yourself, you are going to be great. As long as you don’t get caught up in all the drama. Oh, I’ve been dying to ask, have the Divas invited you to happy hour yet? Mondays at four?” he asks with air quotes around the word four.
“Um...” I say, realizing their little secret is the most talked about thing in this building.
“It’s okay to say yes. I am like a tight-lipped son of a bitch, I tell you. Nothing gets past me and I keep it so close to the vest. You’ll know if I fall in love with you because only then, my little Amanda Seyfried lookalike, will you know all my dirty secrets. And if you want my advice? I say accept their invite every time they ask. Keep the Divas close, that’s my philosophy. They love me because I made them.”
I laugh from the moment I sit down until I have to leave begrudgingly. I love this sassy man almost as much as I love Finn. All that in about thirty minutes.
* * * *
I dash out of the office around a quarter to eight. Where did the time go? Finn is going to kill me! I was supposed to meet him for dinner right now and I am easily a twenty-minute cab ride away without traffic. I text him furiously.
On my way. Sorry, got stuck at work. Be there in 15 minutes.
Thirty seconds later, he replies.
K
“K” means he’s pissed. He hates when I am late, which is always, but lately it seems I am easily almost a half hour late every time. I fling myself into a cab and drag my laptop in with me. Martyr already sent me his notes and I want to review them and attempt to implement some of his ideas into the larger picture. If I don’t, he may actually jump off the Brooklyn Bridge.
“East 18th Street, please. ABC Restaurant,” I say and pull out my phone to start checking emails. My emails went from about thirty or so the first week to easily over one hundred and fifty plus. It’s a full time job just reading them all and replying. I am not only getting emails from managers, but now the practice managers, technicians, and physicians have started in. I want to be prompt, eager to help and cheerful, but when my phone dings at two in the morning with the many insomniacs we have working for us, I can’t help but feel a little grouchy. Finn thinks I’m insane for replying at all hours. He says I have to set boundaries, but I’m so determined to be the best I can.
I’m still tap tapping away on my phone as I step from the cab. I mindlessly hand the driver my card and keep emailing on my way in. I am so deep in thought I miss the curb by an inch and fall hard to my knees, watching my phone fly through the air and in slow motion hit the pavement and shatter into a million pieces. I scream and scramble to my feet, noting the giant holes in my stockings, as I try to recover what is left of my phone.
“Damn it! Damn it to hell!” I squeal. The screen is broken into a million tiny pieces and little shards of glass slice at my finger. How in this day and age do phones break in this way? They should be shatter resistant. My whole life is in this phone.
I make way into the restaurant and spot Finn in the back corner looking handsome, as always. He has been growing his hair out, revealing little salt and pepper curls around
his ears. I pause, clutching my phone, and watch his sweet little face. He is pissed, but he is sexier than normal when he is mad. I take a mental picture. I am so lucky.
“Hi baby,” I say and lean over to smack a large kiss on his lips.
“Thirty-two minutes, Mel? Really?”
“You know you look sexy when you are mad?” I pout and stick my bottom lip to meet him. “Don’t be mad. I’m actually quite devastated,” I say and put my phone on the table in its feeble state. “See? I have good reason. My life is quite literally over.”
He narrows his gaze. “Really? You texted me when you were leaving the office. How could you be late because of that?”
“Oh.” I grin sheepishly and reach over to take a sip of his red wine. “So how was your day?”
“Mel, don’t blow this over. You have been at least a half hour late every time we meet up. And not to mention, you are answering emails in bed at three, four, five in the morning. You go into the office on Saturdays and Sundays. I know that you love this job, but you can’t let it consume you like this.”
“Does somebody miss me?” I say and trace my fingers on his hand in small circles.
“Mel.” He sighs and blows out a slow breath.
“Okay, okay, I’ll do better. But don’t forget how much they are paying me. Kind of golden handcuffs, don’t you think? How can I not feel compelled to work this hard when they are paying me over a million dollars? I don’t even think anyone is worth that much. I am shocked as hell they chose me and yes, I feel indebted to them. I feel like I have to prove I’m worth even a fraction of that. If I slack off for a second, I’m terrified they’ll find someone else eager to replace me. You understand, don’t you?”
