But we Might Need That Someday

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.”