I just found out that Mad Men was based on my company, and the TV show even featured client work we've done as well as direct references to us. So I'm going to start some installments of what the real Mad Men life is like. Then eventually, I'll have to get over my hatred of TV and actually watch the show. Names have been changed so that no one comes across this in a google search and gets me fired....
When I clamber into the office I’m already a bit sweaty, my hair a bit wind strewn and my spirit already frightened like a pig to the slaughter. I take off my ratty sneakers and jam my stumpy meat sticks into some sexy pumps to give some oomph. They say the only different between try and triumph is a little umph. Hopefully that’s what these heels can do for me.
Sir Wordsworth, my boss, is already working away, looking fresh in his crisp pink shirt and cacky pants. He’s drinking one of his brands out of a large paper cup and wearing the other on his feet.
Despite the palatial dimensions of his window walled office; he’s squeezed himself into the very corner, with his back to the world and his desk taking residence in a window gap. This is the high-powered prince’s way of showing his humility. “Yes I demand to have the largest corner office with couches and chairs for the six days I’m in the office every month. Yes I will kick my assistant out of the office for typing too loud (that’s me and my clomper hands) but look at this admirable lack of hubris? I won’t take up too much space, I promise. I’ll be just as cramped as you guys out there okay? I won’t even look at my beautiful office. It’ll just SIT here okay??
Which is fine with me because I can pretend that he is an animal in the zoo. All I have to do is stare through the glass wall between us and giggle to myself about his quirky little habits. Hopefully he even feels like an animal in the zoo sometimes.
My desk is already piled with crap from his morning offload; books he doesn’t want, batteries, paper clips, pens that don’t work. “Throw this away!” He’s said to me before with a flourish of his well manicured hand.
“Annnnaaa!!” he calls to me in the needy and yet powerful voice of a spoiled British child. My heart begins to pound and I rush into his office, stopping short just at the door. “Yes” I say in a worried breath. He looks at me with his steely blue eyes, his nose sticking out in regal proclamation. “I’m going to send you an email!” He announces. I let my breath out and try to sound breezy. “Okay!” I say and scuttle back to my desk.
Moments later, “ANNNAAAAA!!!” Again the scared shuffle to his office. “Have you gotten my email yet?” I blink, wide-eyed and a bit terrified. Between the last time I went into his office two minutes ago and now, we’ve already exchanged five emails. Did I miss something?
“Yes…..” I say. His scary, “You’ve done something deathly wrong” face irons out into something bright and cheery.
“Okay great! I want you to send that book I told you about to Susanna Sneahbowwwwwl”
“Will do!” I say and run back to my desk! Now I have to figure out who Susanna is and what her address is because Wordsworth hates it when I can’t read his mind. HATES it. He told me so when I didn’t know about the meeting he’d scheduled in his head.
I try to translate the English to the American. Sneahhhbowwwwl? It couldn’t…no it couldn’t be. I pull up the companies’ worldwide contact list and type in variations of Sneah Snobo etc. After dabbling around for a bit I give up and go back into Wordsworth’s office.
“Umm….Wordsworth?” I interrupt in a mouse-like voice. He ignores me long enough that I think he hasn’t heard me. I begin to retreat to my desk. Just then he turns and asks me what I want.
“ Can you please repeat Susanna’s last name so I can send her the book?”
“She’s the CEO of our London office.” He says definitively and swivels back around.
“Oh great!” I proclaim and find the address for the London office. But again I need to know her last name so I can write it down too.
I go back in and ask him if he can spell her last name. He looks exasperated, “What is it exactly that you need Anna?”
“Um I just want to make sure I spell her name correctly on the package” I mumble.
He blinks, once twice, three times. I’m the zoo animal now. I gulp and let out a tiny audible snort. Animals in captivity will do that when under close scrutiny.
“Sneahhhhbowwwwl. Like. Litttttttrally. Sneaaaahhhboowwwl.”
“Ahh great thanks!” I say. Yup it was snowball all along. I curse myself for stupidity and prepare the package. We spend a couple hours on our respective sides of the glass and my heart settles into a normal beat.
Executive number two rolls in somewhere around 11. A smile is spread across his little face and shiny eyes. He’s swinging his imaginary golf club boisterously. As he passes the Creatives working away at the foosball table, he claps them on the back, spews out some jibberish sport’s talk to each of them. He passes by the ping pong table and deftly intercepts a ball in mid air, handing it back to the players with a laugh. It’s like watching the big popular football player on campus after high school spring break. All smiles for his fans and followers, crooning and glowing in their imaginary attention.
“Hey Bud!” He says to me as he passes. He spies Wordsworth, back from weeks away on business, resplendent in pink in the corner and his eyes light up.
“Wordsyyy!” He calls out and stampedes into the zoo. Wordsworth rises slowly with a cautious smile, “Duckey.” He replies and the two men grasp each other’s arm in a small manly brohahah of affection. They settle onto the couch in Wordsworth’s office for a bit to catch some footie as the Brit calls it. Within seconds the two of them are shouting my name simultaneously. I rush in and they continue to scream my name, as if “Anna” is a hilarious joke. I smile at their joke and wait.
“Can you believe the SHIT Duckey is drinking.” Wordsworth points at Duckey’s coffee cup with disdain. “I mean what is that, is that actually coffee, or is it toxic sludge? I mean that is just gawwwwdawful. Horrendous. Bloody disgusting.”
The Brit is not known to euphemize.
Duckey puts on his best British accent, “Ooooh so sorry I’m not 4 dollar coffee snob in my dashing pink blouse. Hmm hmm yessss look at me in my shirt, aren’t I prettily made up today?”
The Brit rolls his eyes. I watch the two animals display their pretty feathers and butt antlers for a bit. Do you think fighting stags really enjoy the fight more than the mating? They just like to have the female there for show, so no one knows how much they love their love trysts.
“Let’s bring Wordsworth around to meet everyone in the office. You and your “North America” travelling. This will be great. You can learn some names.” Duckey says excitedly.
Wordsworth is silent, unsure of the challenge.
“Or if you already know them, you can say hi, I mean they are your employees.” Duckey adds. I turn to my more stoic boss to see how he’ll respond.
Sir Wordsworth sticks his chin out, ready to stick up for himself against the little bug-eyed bully. “No! I will not be paraded around the office like some prize chicken!” He declares. And so they separate to their offices leaving me in a peace for a moment.
