devour a meal made for twenty ever again.
Tom has left a beautiful arrangement of lilies and orchids on my desk with a little card that reads, “We are so glad to have you.” I couldn’t be more pleased, and feel a bit amused by the fact that Tom has omitted the exclamation point here, where most likely any other human being would place one. Reading it as a straight sentence, without the lilt at the end that an exclamation point would require, does make one take the statement more seriously.
You know, I think Tom has got something there. No wonder he is 21430_ch01.qxd 1/26/04 10:04 AM Page 77
D i a r y o f a Wo r k i n g G i r l 77
a Managing Director of Mergers and whatever that other thing is.
It does sound like a pretty serious job.
“Shall I leave you to settle in for a bit? Tom’s left all sorts of notes here for you about filling out your paperwork and meeting with HR about benefits and all. I’ll be right over the wall if you need me.” He knocks on our dividing line and raises his eyebrows in wait of my response. If the fidgeting and crimson cheeks serve as any indication, it looks like he just might faint if I require his presence for a moment longer.
“Sounds gre—” I go to lift my voice, as if there is an exclamation point, and then, stop myself, clear my throat, and repeat, in a monotone, professional way, “Sounds great.” John nods his head and disappears behind the maroon wall. I think I can hear a sigh of relief coming from the other side.
My computer appears to be brand new. I take my coat off and hang it on the side of my mock doorway. It’s so beautiful, I think it will make a nice first impression to passersby. Sitting at my new chair, which has a comfy, high back, and, I note, as I lean back into it, a fantastic rocking option—a nice change to the cheap, uncomfortable chair I use at home—I actually feel very much at home here.
One mountain of paperwork and the most boring meeting of my life later, I’m fidgeting with my computer, which won’t allow much fidgeting before a dialogue box prompts me to enter a password. Passwords remind me of voicemail and voicemail gets me wondering if there are people leaving me messages at home, left and right, offering me assignments for the first time in my life. I get a sinking feeling, realizing that I am not there to answer the calls.
So I dial my voicemail number.
While I’m waiting for the call to go through, I scream to John over the wall, “How do I get a computer password?”
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D a n i e l l a B r o d s k y
I can barely hear John’s response over a voice shouting in my ear, “Lane!”
I takes me a second to realize the voice is coming from the phone.
“Oh Swen! Sorry, again ,” I whisper when it all becomes clear.
“No worries, my sweet. I’m just coming in from the steam room.” Swen—otherworldly, fantastical, Swen. “So how’s the new job going?”
“You wouldn’t even believe it if I told you.” Lowering my voice, and cupping my hand over the receiver, I whisper, “There are, like, a million, trillion men here.” Again, I attempt to avoid silly exclamation points.
He asks, “What are you wearing?” I briefly wonder if I am feeding a fantasy he may be scheduling after high tea, but describe the whole outfit and the croc-shoe debacle anyway (sometimes the mileage you get out of a great story is worth the hassle of actually going through the experience), when that hideous globe tie appears before me once again.
“I see you’re settling in nicely,” Tom says, when I hang up the phone. And, I note, he glances—with a bit of a rosy cheek—to where I’ve propped his little note from the flowers atop my computer monitor.
“Thanks for the flowers. That was awfully sweet of you. How’d your meeting go?” And to seem extremely professional, I ask, “Are there any notes you’ll need me to transcribe?”
“Well, if you haven’t any more shopping to do this
Tom has left a beautiful arrangement of lilies and orchids on my desk with a little card that reads, “We are so glad to have you.” I couldn’t be more pleased, and feel a bit amused by the fact that Tom has omitted the exclamation point here, where most likely any other human being would place one. Reading it as a straight sentence, without the lilt at the end that an exclamation point would require, does make one take the statement more seriously.
You know, I think Tom has got something there. No wonder he is 21430_ch01.qxd 1/26/04 10:04 AM Page 77
D i a r y o f a Wo r k i n g G i r l 77
a Managing Director of Mergers and whatever that other thing is.
It does sound like a pretty serious job.
“Shall I leave you to settle in for a bit? Tom’s left all sorts of notes here for you about filling out your paperwork and meeting with HR about benefits and all. I’ll be right over the wall if you need me.” He knocks on our dividing line and raises his eyebrows in wait of my response. If the fidgeting and crimson cheeks serve as any indication, it looks like he just might faint if I require his presence for a moment longer.
“Sounds gre—” I go to lift my voice, as if there is an exclamation point, and then, stop myself, clear my throat, and repeat, in a monotone, professional way, “Sounds great.” John nods his head and disappears behind the maroon wall. I think I can hear a sigh of relief coming from the other side.
My computer appears to be brand new. I take my coat off and hang it on the side of my mock doorway. It’s so beautiful, I think it will make a nice first impression to passersby. Sitting at my new chair, which has a comfy, high back, and, I note, as I lean back into it, a fantastic rocking option—a nice change to the cheap, uncomfortable chair I use at home—I actually feel very much at home here.
One mountain of paperwork and the most boring meeting of my life later, I’m fidgeting with my computer, which won’t allow much fidgeting before a dialogue box prompts me to enter a password. Passwords remind me of voicemail and voicemail gets me wondering if there are people leaving me messages at home, left and right, offering me assignments for the first time in my life. I get a sinking feeling, realizing that I am not there to answer the calls.
So I dial my voicemail number.
While I’m waiting for the call to go through, I scream to John over the wall, “How do I get a computer password?”
21430_ch01.qxd 1/26/04 10:04 AM Page 78
78
D a n i e l l a B r o d s k y
I can barely hear John’s response over a voice shouting in my ear, “Lane!”
I takes me a second to realize the voice is coming from the phone.
“Oh Swen! Sorry, again ,” I whisper when it all becomes clear.
“No worries, my sweet. I’m just coming in from the steam room.” Swen—otherworldly, fantastical, Swen. “So how’s the new job going?”
“You wouldn’t even believe it if I told you.” Lowering my voice, and cupping my hand over the receiver, I whisper, “There are, like, a million, trillion men here.” Again, I attempt to avoid silly exclamation points.
He asks, “What are you wearing?” I briefly wonder if I am feeding a fantasy he may be scheduling after high tea, but describe the whole outfit and the croc-shoe debacle anyway (sometimes the mileage you get out of a great story is worth the hassle of actually going through the experience), when that hideous globe tie appears before me once again.
“I see you’re settling in nicely,” Tom says, when I hang up the phone. And, I note, he glances—with a bit of a rosy cheek—to where I’ve propped his little note from the flowers atop my computer monitor.
“Thanks for the flowers. That was awfully sweet of you. How’d your meeting go?” And to seem extremely professional, I ask, “Are there any notes you’ll need me to transcribe?”
“Well, if you haven’t any more shopping to do this
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