My office manager is continually amazed and perplexed at the amount of storage drawer space I have here. By company standards, I should have 2 lateral file drawers assigned to me. Whether a Partner or Admin Assistant, each of us is issued a certain amount of square footage for storage of what we think are critical client documents that just can’t be thrown out. These Life Threatening Files include twelve to fifteen versions of a single proposal that went south before it was even presented to a client, eight video tapes of a technology that never quite got off the ground, and six t-shirts from Community Outreach volunteer projects that the drawer’s owner never actually showed up for (but simply had to have the shirt!). That is truly what is in the drawers of the Big Kahunas. Not a thing worth keeping. The drawer is never opened except to make a deposit of more aging junque. But it’s Boss Junque! Aha!
Pity me the secretary who has to keep track of it all, on a dated inventory sheet, no less. As long as there are bosses’ lateral files, I will always have a job. During every merger or corporate restructuring, these files are boxed up and shipped off to permanent offsite storage, thus assuring other people’s jobs are secure as well. I personally have never seen a box return from offsite storage. I envision one big shredder the size of a warehouse.
Which brings me to my own storage option, as it is called. What would a corporate secretary keep in her drawers? All eight of them? (Hey, seniority has its perks.) Certainly I would keep client pitches and legal agreements. Dozens of performance review files and meeting minutes. Never! Instead, I collect even more precious artifacts of my profession. Things That Actually Mean Something!
Five cardboard tubes, each filled with six wall-size calendars for the year 2000. Yeah, that 2000. But they’re still considered too fresh to throw out. I’ll make for the dumpster and someone will pop up in Cubicleville and ask, “Where are those calendars?” because they were a great example of layout or marketing collateral. And where did they come from in the first place? Who knows? A manager named Bob said they were mysteriously delivered to his desk via FedEx, from a printing company whose name he doesn’t recognize. He thought it important that I keep them. As though everyone knows that Sam keeps meaningless wayward FedEx’s. Some secretary somewhere is now tracking them down because her boss thinks it’s imperative to confirm delivery and cozy up to the lucky recipient, sit down, and do some printing business. And so, her job is also secure. (Even though neither Bob nor I do any large-scale printing of calendars. And if we did, we’d be called Old Calendar Printing Support Staff.)
Three international connectivity kits, all missing the connectors for the countries to which my four bosses travel most often. I’d like to think that my bosses removed the necessary connectors from their genuine faux vinyl cases when they each took their last trip together. I’d like to think I can ask my guys, “Your adapters are in your bags, right?” to which I’d get a hearty nod. No, no. They have no idea where the connectors are. Don’t I have them? “And by the way, I need the British telephone one on Thursday.” The circle of life of Accumulating Half-empty Genuine Faux Vinyl Adapter Cases continues. Elton John, where are you when I need you, dear?
A half-eaten bag of pretzels imported from Spain, and purchased at Zabar’s in New York. I subbed for another admin about six months ago; she was on vacation and I helped out her manager, who was pregnant. Now, these special pretzels calmed her nausea. She made such a big deal about their healing qualities, but only made it through about 4 before she barfed. I felt a compelling reason to save the remainder of the bag, despite its conflicting effects. I know she’s had the kid by now. A strapping, colicky boy. She’ll pop in from time to time, and I get sweaty when I think of explaining that I recently tossed those last 6 snacks from Spain and New York. They meant so much to her at the time.
Nineteen suck-tops for water bottles. Another subbing story. Big deal female executive, clawed her way to the top, but can’t drink out of an open-top bottle of water (no bubbles, Canadian Cold brand only, please) because of her bridge work. So her admin gets appendicitis and asks me to fill in for a couple of weeks. No biggie. Except my friend directs me not to a calendar chock full of important appointments, but a bottom desk drawer filled with these suck-tops. “Every time she wants water, get her the Canadian stuff and put on a suck-top before you walk in there. Bridge work.” Thus, I inherited about a hundred of these, worked my way down to these nineteen, and the exec got transferred to Montreal and we never heard from her again. Legacy.
Twelve Monopoly Get out of Jail Free cards. I know. You’re thinking, ‘There are only two in a game, so where do you come up with twelve?’ Long story short. Efficient Consumer Response. Big management method in the 90’s for retail clients. We taught them how to negotiate using certain strategic Monopoly cards and rules, and Get out of Jail Free was the equivalent of “You have too much inventory, it’s getting stale. But we’ll help you out… for now.” So we actually bought 31 Monopoly games and pilfered what we needed from each. The admin before me obviously got the spare cards and kept them in the drawer I inherited, probably because she garnered a false sense of job security from them. God love the assistant with the balance of the 31 games.
Four Dry-Erase marker tops. One each red, blue, black, and green. I can’t even explain where I got these or why I keep them, except there is the occasional bald marker left over from a meeting, and it needs a hat. I am the keeper of the Dry-Erase hats. Just in case anyone asks.
Six crusty, partially-full sampler tubes of hand cream. A beauty aid client gave us all baskets of these last spring, to give out to new hires and other guests. I made sure each new staffer received one as part of an office survival kit, but the novelty soon wore off when people started to request very certain scents or specific levels of Vitamin E. Come on, ladies, it’s hand cream. It’s .02 ounces of hand cream! And it was fu-re-ee!
Of course, when a new girl needs a place for her purse or bag, we direct her to toss it in the corner. “Our locking drawers are full of important client stuff.”
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Beginner’s Pluck
I like to think of myself as two things: thick-skinned and not easily disappointed. I understand that the world works in mysterious ways, and there are some things best left untouched. So when something doesn’t go my way, I digest it and move on. Live and learn, baby!
You can sway things in your direction, though, as I did when I approached the Mystery of Buying a House. I read, I researched, I surfed. My husband and I made a good choice. A little paint here, new wallpaper there. Homestead. Done. I’ve seen it all on HGTV, my own personal Mecca, so how hard could it be? I was invincible.
I tore off the kitchen wallpaper, no biggie. Scraped off the remainder, no problemo. Clean, bare walls. A clean slate. My husband was impressed with my new talent. What now? Ah ha! Wainscoting is back in style, perfect for our breakfast nook, which serves as a hub of conversation and activity. What could be more charming?
I’d seen wainscoting and paneling applied a hundred times on t.v. There were simple mounting and application directions at the wood manufacturer’s website. Furthermore, it was cheap! For less than a hundred bucks, I could have the coziest nook in the neighborhood.
Four hundred dollars and nine trips to Home “Take my Money, Please” Depot later, I had wainscoting. Sort of. First, never underestimate the power of panel adhesive. Or the manufacturer’s suggestion to “nail or glue, or BOTH”. I stayed up until 2am on a weekday applying the 6 different panels, delicately trimming around the window sill profile, with much first-timer success. I got the hang of the panel adhesive right away. That night my dreams were filled with images of “Architectural Digest” banging at my door for a center spread.
I came down the next morning looking forward to a cozy cup of joe in my cozy nook before I went to my cozy job (where there is no wainscoting). And there, my cozy wainscoting had popped away from the walls, every piece of it. Was I disappointed? Where was my thick skin now? I held back tears and grabbed a hammer. I could still look forward to applying the upper and lower trim. Right?
Two hundred dollars, 2 bruised thumbs, one quart of polyurethane, and six Purdy brushes later, I had trim. Sort of. What appeared to be a smooth, flat, plumb wall when I was stripping wallpaper now showed its contorted face. Gaps between the trim and the wall could only be remedied by one thing: panel adhesive, gently poked into the chasms. After which my husband and I leaned against each 36-inch section, in turn, for up to 20 minutes at a time, to assure a tight fit. Ah, the things we do for love. And HGTV. Eventually the nook was finished, just 30 minutes before my parents arrived for a long weekend.
Next was the food. What would I feed them? I had this awesome kitchen, now how about some grub? I was on a Good Housekeeping pedestal, so why not go for it? Food Network Chefs Sara Moulton and Emeril have spoiled the mysteries of phyllo dough such that I was brave enough to try it myself. Phyllo is the crispy, flaky pastry layers in spanakopita and fancy desserts. I was going to layer it and roll into it chicken & veggies, and top it with gravy (a “roux,” Emeril would say), much like a Greek chicken pot pie. Seemed simple enough. Reflecting on my paneling history, though, I had backup crescent roll dough at the ready.
I can’t say this project also went south on me. To the contrary, I spent about five bucks, and my little chicken roll-ups were a hit. I am sure I won’t be so lucky next time. In fact, I think I screwed up Malt-o-Meal the next morning. Maybe I should stick to woodwork.
My dad, my biggest critic, was charmed with the nook and the meal. The quality of light was supreme, and the colors harmonized with the hardwood floor and fireplace in the adjacent family room. The chicken was tender and moist, the veggies fresh and colorful. Our conversation centered on the joys of homeownership and me, Little Martha Stewart and Her Kitchen Skills. He asked when I was going to fix up the rest of the house. To which I handed him the remote and said: “HGTV, channel 71. Go for it.”
You can sway things in your direction, though, as I did when I approached the Mystery of Buying a House. I read, I researched, I surfed. My husband and I made a good choice. A little paint here, new wallpaper there. Homestead. Done. I’ve seen it all on HGTV, my own personal Mecca, so how hard could it be? I was invincible.
I tore off the kitchen wallpaper, no biggie. Scraped off the remainder, no problemo. Clean, bare walls. A clean slate. My husband was impressed with my new talent. What now? Ah ha! Wainscoting is back in style, perfect for our breakfast nook, which serves as a hub of conversation and activity. What could be more charming?
I’d seen wainscoting and paneling applied a hundred times on t.v. There were simple mounting and application directions at the wood manufacturer’s website. Furthermore, it was cheap! For less than a hundred bucks, I could have the coziest nook in the neighborhood.
Four hundred dollars and nine trips to Home “Take my Money, Please” Depot later, I had wainscoting. Sort of. First, never underestimate the power of panel adhesive. Or the manufacturer’s suggestion to “nail or glue, or BOTH”. I stayed up until 2am on a weekday applying the 6 different panels, delicately trimming around the window sill profile, with much first-timer success. I got the hang of the panel adhesive right away. That night my dreams were filled with images of “Architectural Digest” banging at my door for a center spread.
I came down the next morning looking forward to a cozy cup of joe in my cozy nook before I went to my cozy job (where there is no wainscoting). And there, my cozy wainscoting had popped away from the walls, every piece of it. Was I disappointed? Where was my thick skin now? I held back tears and grabbed a hammer. I could still look forward to applying the upper and lower trim. Right?
Two hundred dollars, 2 bruised thumbs, one quart of polyurethane, and six Purdy brushes later, I had trim. Sort of. What appeared to be a smooth, flat, plumb wall when I was stripping wallpaper now showed its contorted face. Gaps between the trim and the wall could only be remedied by one thing: panel adhesive, gently poked into the chasms. After which my husband and I leaned against each 36-inch section, in turn, for up to 20 minutes at a time, to assure a tight fit. Ah, the things we do for love. And HGTV. Eventually the nook was finished, just 30 minutes before my parents arrived for a long weekend.
Next was the food. What would I feed them? I had this awesome kitchen, now how about some grub? I was on a Good Housekeeping pedestal, so why not go for it? Food Network Chefs Sara Moulton and Emeril have spoiled the mysteries of phyllo dough such that I was brave enough to try it myself. Phyllo is the crispy, flaky pastry layers in spanakopita and fancy desserts. I was going to layer it and roll into it chicken & veggies, and top it with gravy (a “roux,” Emeril would say), much like a Greek chicken pot pie. Seemed simple enough. Reflecting on my paneling history, though, I had backup crescent roll dough at the ready.
I can’t say this project also went south on me. To the contrary, I spent about five bucks, and my little chicken roll-ups were a hit. I am sure I won’t be so lucky next time. In fact, I think I screwed up Malt-o-Meal the next morning. Maybe I should stick to woodwork.
My dad, my biggest critic, was charmed with the nook and the meal. The quality of light was supreme, and the colors harmonized with the hardwood floor and fireplace in the adjacent family room. The chicken was tender and moist, the veggies fresh and colorful. Our conversation centered on the joys of homeownership and me, Little Martha Stewart and Her Kitchen Skills. He asked when I was going to fix up the rest of the house. To which I handed him the remote and said: “HGTV, channel 71. Go for it.”
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