10 AM Terror

Every morning at 10 AM, I take two extra-strength Advils to ward off the splitting headache that I have learned soon follows Her arrival. She walks speedily around the corner and into my eyeline. Five-five and maybe 100 lbs with long raven hair, she dresses in the hobo-chic attire that is popular amongst the downtown set. Having only worked for her a few weeks, I already know that her diminutive stature belies a sharp and punishing intelligence.

“SMITH!”* she calls once she’s reached her office, just behind my desk. (She only calls me by my last name- like a football player or a frat boy). I rise and go to her doorway, awaiting my instructions. “Get me Pippa, Steven, Susan, Emily, Gia, Melissa, Amy,” she says, without looking up. I rush to my phone and call up to Footwear Design, hoping Pippa and Gia have arrived. Design typically starts their day later than the rest of the team, and 10 AM is cutting it close. If they’re not at their desks, I know it will be my fault.

While Pippa’s line is ringing, She continues to call out instructions to me. “I need a smoothie, and I want to see last week’s Top Ten,” she says just as Pippa picks up. “Yes, on it!” I shout, as Pippa waits on the line. “Pippa, She wants to see you, and bring Gia,” I say and quickly hang up. I have several more people to wrangle, a smoothie to order, and a Top Ten report I need to figure out in the next five minutes. I can already tell by the way She’s behaving that this meeting is going to be bad, and I want to avoid the probing questions that inevitably arise whenever someone is summoned abruptly to her office.

I spend the next few minutes rushing around our floor, summoning the others. I hate this part. Everyone looks at me like I am the merchant of death, cowering in their chairs and breathing a sigh of relief only when I pass. I am the second-most feared person in our division.

Once everyone’s informed and filing into her office, I rush downstairs to the local bodega. I’ve built a relationship with the employees there; they all know for whom I work. I eye Luis and make the signal for the large. She only likes one type of smoothie, and only Luis knows the recipe. It’s not listed on the board, and is called simply, “Her smoothie”. This is the most torturous part. The drink takes a full five minutes to create, five minutes that I never have, especially not today. I know that right now, she’s yelling at everyone in her office, and I know that she’s counting the minutes until I return. The longer I’m gone, the less I’m prepared for whatever curveball she’ll throw me as a result of the meeting. I need to be upstairs, hearing her through the closed door, anticipating what’s to come. And, I still need to figure out to which Top Ten report she was referring. I am new enough that most of what she says is over my head, and the previous assistant didn’t prepare me nearly as well as I’d like to be.

Finally, I return to her office, open the door and place the smoothie and her change on the desk. She doesn’t even glance at me, so consumed by her line of questioning. Pippa is the only one standing in her office; the others are sitting around her in a semi-circle, watching. I move to leave, but as I reach the door handle, She says, “Smith, I want you here for this.” I perch along her sideboard, notebook in hand, another audience member for her show.

Pippa is standing because She has asked her to. She is peppering her with questions, interrupting her before she finishes her response. It’s painful to watch, this public humiliation. Pippa has just been hired to design a line of footwear for the ‘contemporary, fashion-forward girl’ and from what I’ve heard, she’s quite talented. Unfortunately, she knows it, and She doesn’t take kindly to expertise, unless it’s her own.

The war of wills between them continues for a full half hour, and Pippa is mightily defensive. She is trying to get Pippa to admit that she doesn’t know what she’s doing when it comes to leather sourcing, but Pippa refuses to agree. The sideboard is too hard and too awkward a height for me to sit comfortably, and I find myself squirming, trying to find some padding for my already aching butt bones. I’m aware that I haven’t eaten yet and it’s nearing 11 AM. I will my stomach not to rumble.

Finally, Pippa grudgingly concedes a tiny point, and storms out of the office telling Her that she doesn’t have the time to continue this conversation any longer. I’ve never seen anyone stand up to Her like that, and I have to admit, I’m a little afraid for her. Regardless, I am relieved, thinking the meeting must be finished. I am wrong. For the next hour, She explains to her captive audience exactly what is wrong with Pippa. It’s almost a character attack, it’s so vitriolic. I find myself wondering why she asked me to be present for this, and what she says about all of us when we’re out of the room.

At noon, we are finally dismissed. I wobble to my desk, weak with hunger. She has barely touched her smoothie all meeting, and I wonder where in the hell she gets her energy. Just as I am about to grab my wallet and head to Pret, She comes up behind me.

“Where is that Top Ten report, Smith?”

I jump a little, and instantly hate myself for it. “I’m sorry, which do you mean?”

“You mean you don’t know what the Top Ten report is? How can you not know this? It’s vital that you understand the business, don’t you agree? Smith, you’ve really got to start focusing and applying yourself here if you want to be successful. This is not that hard. Elizabeth, come over here a minute.”

“Yes?” says Elizabeth, one of our Vice Presidents.

“Show Smith the Top Ten report”

Elizabeth goes to her office to print out the report while I stand there, dumbfounded. I know what the Top Ten report is, I only meant to ask from which department, handbags or footwear. I sense that it’s best to not correct Her when she’s in this mood, however, for fear of an even longer conversation. In the interest of eating as fast as possible, I wait for Elizabeth to return.

“Here it is.”

“Smith, does this look familiar to you?”

“Yes. So you wanted the handbag Top Ten report, not the footwear one?” I say, subtly conveying my point.

“Right,” she says, and turns to walk off.

Relieved, I rush downstairs to Pret and grab a salad, praying that no one will interrupt me until I’ve at least had a few bites at my desk...

***
I will manage to survive here; and under Her sometimes terrifying tutelage, I will even learn to thrive: I can now manage extreme stress, prove my points, garner respect, and survive solely on iced coffee, lettuce, and the odd nut.

A year and a half later, I left [MAJOR FASHION HOUSE] better, faster, stronger... and hungrier.

*scorpio*


*not my real last name- all names have been changed to protect the fashionable