I have worked at three major corporations, so I feel I can tell you with some authority that it doesn’t matter how competent you are at what you do — to a certain degree at least. The executives, or the Big Guys, as I like to call them, don’t give a damn about the majority of their underlings. From Management, up, it’s a world of crybabies that feel they are the Center of the Universe. Again, I speak with some authority because from 1986 until 1997 I worked at a company in Arizona as a secretary in several areas, but this story is about my time as secretary in the Facilities Department. Essentially, Facilities is the complaint department of a corporation.

Check below for some examples:

If there’s a light out, or if you are freezing at your desk — or for that matter, roasting at your desk — call me, Jean, at extension 4244. It’s practically impossible to regulate the air temperature in large buildings filled with cubicles, but we tried. No one was ever satisfied.

If your phone isn’t working, that’s me, too.

If you think someone can see up your dress because it doesn’t have a modesty panel in front of your desk, call Jean, extension 4244.

If your plant is dying, call Jean, extension 4244. I was told to “Get someone here right away. This plant is dying before my eyes.” An emergency call for the plant doctor?

“Ruth’s office cubicle is one inch bigger than mine, and I have seniority over her. Adjust it, or I’ll take this higher.” Higher than Jean at extension 4244? An easy thing to do. Go ahead, but you may regret it.

What’s that? You say you were accosted in the parking lot by a flasher? Call Jean, extension 4244. She’ll get on the two-way radio to security and try not to giggle as she’s reporting your problem. She’ll also try to rush down to that parking lot to see if she can get a glimpse of the flasher — his face, just his face to i.d. him for the police later if need be.

There’s a huge company meeting in a tent on the lawn, and the CEO of our parent company is addressing all employees, but maintenance forgot to turn off the auto-timed sprinklers, so now all the chairs we rented for this occasion are wet.  Call Jean.

I know what to do. I’ll send the engineer down to Home Depot to get turf carpeting to put over the wet grass, and we’ll dry off all the seats and get on with the meeting.

But wait…there’s a huge power outage because some idiot pushed the wrong button in the computer room, and now all the systems are down — a big deal when your business depends on your online connection to your customers.

I know what to do. I will call the engineer on his two-way; tell him to drop what he’s doing (buying the turf carpet) to come back to see what’s wrong in the computer room. Call security and ask them to call 9-1-1 because someone has reported seeing smoke coming out of that same computer room.

Meanwhile, my boss is standing in front of my desk scratching his balls, as he often does when he’s panicked, his eyes darting all ‘round wondering if he could sneak out for a cigarette without HIS boss knowing he’s leaving the scene of the crime, and I’m wondering what story I’ll come up with this time.

I got the inevitable call.

“Where the hell is he?”

“He’s out at THE SITE,” said I.

“What the hell is THE SITE?”

“I haven’t a clue,” I admitted, “but it really sounded good when I first thought it up.”

He, as usual, was not amused.

“He,” was the CFO, and he was a certifiable lunatic, but that’s another story.

Never could I have imagined how my working life would supply so much fodder for my creative life.  There are SO many stories.
The End