“Yes, I take it you want to cancel,” I answer.
“Why, do you?”
“I just assumed you would want to. It’s okay; it’s not a big deal.”
“No, it’s just—”
“Really, don’t worry about it,” I cut him off. “I’ll just see you in class—although I didn’t see you in class this morning,” I add bluntly.
“Yeah, uh, I slept in,” Logan answers.
“Must have been a good date,” I blurt out. Why did I say that? I was doing so well at acting indifferent.
Logan responds, but only after the longest pause: “it was okay,” he answers.
“So, I’ll see you in class,” I say again.
“Sure,” Logan replies. “See you later.”
...
8
Household of Cats Inherits $5 Million Dollars
According to a Georgetown University study, there are more 93-year-old Thelma Thomas left $5 million dollars to her seven cats. Ms. Thomas who was preceded in death by her husband Samuel Joseph and her two children Samuel Joseph Jr. and Stephanie Elizabeth had no remaining living relatives. The law firm Tucker and Crawford who prepared Ms. Thomas’ Will confirmed the authenticity of the Will but stated that they had advised their client to leave her estate to charities instead. Ms. Thomas was 87 when she revised her Will, making the change after her son Samuel passed away. Tucker and Crawford verified that she was of sound mind at the time of revision.
“GOOD MORNING, SUPERSTAR,” Marcus says greeting me the following Monday.
“Morning,” I answer sluggishly.
“Wait a minute. Is that coffee you’re drinking?”
“Sadly, yes with tons of sugar. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“And you’re desperate?” Marcus asks.
“For sleep. I was up all night.”
“Oh yeah, with your guy from karate?” Marcus teases.
“No, not with the guy from karate—and it’s Taekwondo,” I say.
“What about your hot date? How did it go?”
“There was no date. And please, don’t ask me what happened. I’m in no mood to talk about it.”
Marcus stares at me curiously. I know that he is dying to know what happened, but as a good work-spouse does, he respects my request and drops the subject.
The phone rings at my desk as soon as I boot up my computer. It is Robyn, asking me to meet with her and the creative team. “We have lots of work to do,” she says.
I swivel around in my chair to face Marcus who is biting the end of a ballpoint pen. “That was Robyn, she wants me to join her creative team this morning to work on the pitch,” I say.
“That’s very cool. Why do you look so surprised?”
“I didn’t think I would get to help with the campaign; I just assumed we were all throwing out ideas to help her team.”
“No silly. That was your idea. Of course, you should be helping.”
At least part of my life is going well. I sit at my desk, recreating the opening scene of The Mary Tyler Moore Show in my head.
“You know what—I think I’m just going to give up on dating altogether,” I say to Marcus. “It’s not worth the trouble.”
Marcus laughs. “Is that right?”
“Yes. Instead, I’m going to devote all my time and energy to my career. You do know that I’m planning on being your boss one day.”
“Oh, you are?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll be my right-hand person when I run the company.”
“That’s good of you.”
“Yes, well, you’ve been loyal to me, so I do plan on rewarding you.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Of course, I’ll probably end up owning like five dogs to keep me company. Essentially, I’ll be one of those cat ladies, only with dogs. I’m a dog person,” I explain.
“Are you done?” Marcus interrupts.
“Done?”
“Planning out your future. You’re great and all, but you seriously need to—”
“I know, I know, I know . . . chill the hell out.”
Operation Career Path is in full swing this week as the agency prepares for our pitch to the Virginia Tourism Corporation. Robyn has me in on all the creative meetings and gives me direct assignments that are instrumental to the campaign. Late-night hours are expected, and for once, I am not the one making the coffee runs. Two new interns are hired to handle all the errands, research, and photocopying. Even the task of summarizing the advertising trade magazines has been reassigned to them.
The late-night hours keep me from partaking in my Taekwondo classes, but I don’t mind. I am not up to seeing Logan and, honestly, am thankful for the distraction of work. The brainstorming sessions energize me; I relish every opportunity to work with Robyn who completely inspires me. I watch as the collaborative efforts of the creative team give life to my budding idea, with each facet of the campaign fleshed out with ingenuity and precision.
The pitch is scheduled for the following Monday with Robyn and Paul assigned to give the presentation. Marcus diligently checks on me when he hears that Paul has been assigned. “That’s really not fair,” he tries reassuring me.
I admit—it was hard to hide my disappointment when the announcement was made. I knew that Robyn, as chief creative officer, would be giving the pitch, but assumed that I, as the idea’s originator, would play a part as well.
“I’m sure it’s because Paul is head of client strategy and used to giving pitches,” I say, justifying the decision.
“But you’ll be there, right?” Marcus asks.
“I don’t know. Good question; they haven’t even said anything to me about it.”
“Well, I would ask. No, I would insist that you attend.”
“Easier said than done,” I say. “I can’t just go up to Robyn and demand that I attend.”
“Well, ask then. Say that you really would like to be there.”
Sometimes it is easier to be a man in the workplace. Men can get away with so much more, like being demanding. Women are considered bitches if they demand their way, while men are seen as being in charge and confident.
At my previous company, the vice president was a single lady named Betsy; she was older, maybe in her mid-60s, and never had kids. I wasn’t sure if she was divorced or had ever been married. She completely terrified me; she had high expectations and insisted on quick results. No request was ever sugarcoated and when she spoke, it was always in an abrupt and abrasive tone.
She didn’t know it – and I never told anyone – but, I once heard her crying in the bathroom stall. It was after work hours and I had stayed later to complete a project. She must have thought the building was empty. I was in one of the stalls and kept quiet when I heard her talking to someone on her cell phone—actually, she was yelling at someone, screaming something about not following through on their promise. The phone call ended with a “go to hell” farewell and her shouting “bastard” either into the phone or simply out loud.
I silently put the toilet seat down, gathered my legs, and pulled them to my chest to hide the fact that I was occupying one of the stalls. I sat and waited for her to leave; only she stayed for at least another ten minutes, and that was when I heard the whimpering. That was when I realized that she was not emotionless or without feelings. She was simply someone trying – maybe a little too hard – to compete in a male-dominated workplace like a man and not a woman.