I am the office slave. My business cards will tell you I am a social media strategist. My personal website informs you I am a creative consultant, specializing in social media and content strategy. Those titles meant something less than a month ago as I worked holed up in my Los Angeles loft.
And then I moved back to Utah. It’s temporary. I repeat my mantra throughout my day, typically so many that I lose count.
When I negotiated my contract, I was very specific to state, I would not be returning to COMPANY X to be an executive assistant in any capacity. Slowly, but surely, my boss snarls at me over a printer that is apparently not printing the colour as he wishes. He barks because we are out of light bulbs, because I tell him making plugs look pretty wasn’t my priority.
We have an entry level kid who’s learning the business. His training does not include answering phones, watering plants, filing, taking messages, or making sure the CEO is organized.
I am kept from creative meetings because the boss wants a woman to answer the phone. He says it improves client experience. In private he’s admitted he feels he should be able to discriminate based on whatever grounds he sees fit. It is, he declares, his business and his alone.
I have proven my worth. Together, our creative director and I are brilliant. I came on to develop a new division as part of a re-branding. I love that. I’m passionate about it. And yet now I want out. Strong work ethic has never been something I’ve lacked. What I lack is patience for bigotry, racism, discrimination and bullshit.
Owning a business means it’s on you. CEO is not some figurehead position, just as heels and a skirt do not a secretary make. Welcome back to Utah, Jay. This is the place… so long as you’re looking for mousy, meek women, rampant sexism, and funeral potatoes.
Of course at this rate, it’s really just too bad that I’m not actually at my funeral.