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“Bullshit." Debbie snaps, then balls her tiny fist and punches him in the arm.
My eyes widen.
Debbie smirks, “Honey, in the business we’re in, you better get used to the mouth of a sailor around here. It’s just the nature of the game. We aren't building and designing toys for kids; we build them for big boys, and big kids are naughty sometimes. Like this idiot here.”
I stand, “It’s no problem. I'm used to dealing with no filters.” I reply, thinking of Harper.
Debbie chews out Roger, and then she grabs my hand and brings me to HR. I thought Harper had a doctorate in chatting, but Debbie has her beat. I quickly learn the ins and outs of the office, who to avoid, and who to suck up to.
Three hours after my HR orientation, I’m back with Debbie, getting acquainted with my new office and what needs to be done. The inside is nicer than I thought, featuring a mid-century modern design with a color palette of white, black, gold, and emerald green. It's not your standard office design, which I appreciate. Instead of closed-off cubicles, everyone has their own office that feels somewhat spacious, well-designed, and clean.
The CEO has the entire top tenth floor, with roof access to the corporate helicopter. Our kitchen has a coffee machine and some espresso machines Debbie kept raving about. However, the machine looks like a bypass machine with metal pipes and multiple screens. Where the heck do I put the cup is my first question. I'm more of a Keurig kind of girl—just pop in a coffee pod and press a button.
There's a small reception desk right off the elevators and a set of doors with private clearance access to my office and the CEO's. It's so fancy and secure.
“And here is your office,” Debbie motions to the door on the right.
“The CEO’s office is there,” she points to the end of the hall, “but there is also a connecting door to his office through yours. Down the hall on the left is a small waiting room. If he has a late meeting, his next meeting can wait there,” she informs me.
“I should tell you, our office is a little messy,” Debbie replies, “but I’ll be here another two weeks to help get everything sorted,” she assures me.
A mess is an understatement. The current CEO, along with Debbie, are both ready to retire. That’s why I was needed. The company has brought in a new CEO who has no schedule at all, just endless emails with meetings he needs to attend, none of which are replied to.
My office is filled with half-packed boxes, some labeled 'personal,' others labeled 'classified.' I’m quickly learning that Debbie is a hoarder, and if she thinks this office is going to be cleaned out in two weeks, I’ll eat my hat. There’s no way.
The only light at the end of this packed tunnel is the new desk crammed into the office.
"Once I've packed up, my desk will be moved to storage. If you need anything, you can ask HR to send you the catalog and select the furniture you'd like," Debbie explains.
“That’s great,” I reply. I have to tiptoe around paper trails and boxes to get to my chair.
It’s okay, I can fix this space once she has moved it. It’s got a lot of potential. And once it’s cleared of boxes, it will feel more spacious.
“It’s not usually this bad; the transition period hasn’t been easy, and now we need to go through some extra protocols. The office was combed for bugs just the other day, so everything went topsy-turvy on me,” Debbie explains.
“Is that normal?”
“Oh yes, it happens periodically. You can never be too careful in the business we’re in. They check everything from the office furniture to your computers. It’s nothing to stress over. I usually take that time to go down to the cafeteria and get a pastry and coffee.”
I sink into my chair and turn on my computer.
“For now, I want you to concentrate on creating his schedule for the next two months. That's the most important thing to address.”
I nod. “I can do that.” It feels like I’ve been given a micro puzzle to piece together.
I click open his calendar and the emails I’m cc’d on. Three hundred and forty-five emails to back-check.
“The meetings that say priority are often clashing,” I note. The man is the CEO, not god. Why does he have six meetings scheduled at the same time? Two of which he has to present slides.
He's setting himself up for failure.
“It happens all the time. The most important meetings he will attend; the others you’ll need to attend and take notes to report back to him.”
Debbie glances at her watch, “He should finish his marketing meeting soon. I have to warn you he’s been very grumpy, but most men are. You make sure you snap back when needed. He will walk all over you if you don't, dear; these first few weeks are crucial. I know you worked in reception before; you always had to be pleasant. You don’t have to be that way here. It’s your job to get that man in order.”
Harper would love this woman.
The elevator dings and I hear two men shouting at one another, “I don’t give a shit what they are offering; I’m not entertaining it. No fucking way. Cancel the meeting; I don’t want to do business with them.” A deep voice grumbles.
