I’m learning nothing about money and finances but a lot about running a small office, how many software systems it takes to run a small business, and how intimate it is working day-to-day with only a handful of people around to ask for help.
When Michelle asks me for something, I feel this intensity, like she’s counting the seconds until I get the job done. It’s not like she’s mean or pressuring me; it’s just how she runs her company. She’s good at what she does. She talks to a lot of people, makes a lot of calls. Is hands on with everything. Which really sucks when you’re the person who seems not to know how to do anything.
And then, I made a mistake.
A big, big mistake.
I know it’s only been a month, but the very first day I started, Gennie trained me on the small stuff. Using the calendar system so Michelle always knows when she has in-office appointments. How to take messages so nothing ever gets lost. Don’t even ask me how many times I got locked out of my voice mail because I punched in the wrong password.
Yesterday was incredibly busy. A call came in from a very wealthy client. I still think of all the clients as rich people. No matter how many times Michelle tries to tell me to use one of the more delicate phrases—high-net-worth individuals or some such—they are all just rich people to me.
So, a guy in town who owns like three commercial properties wanted to ask Michelle if she could get him a better rate on something than what he was about to get from his current adviser.
He said he hated to rush her, but he was going out of town and wanted to make a quick decision. I honestly didn’t understand half of what he said.
All I do know is that he said he hoped Michelle would call him right back. I let him know she was in a meeting in her office with an appointment, took his information, and uploaded the details to the system.
I didn’t think about it again until five minutes ago when I got to my desk and found Michelle waiting for me, her lips an unusually angry line.
“Eden,” she says. “Do you remember putting Randall Tomlinson into the system yesterday?”
No good morning. No how are you. She hits me with this question, and the only thing I can think of when she says Tomlinson is a guy from a very famous boy band. I put like three new people into the system yesterday, but I don’t know which one she’s referring to.
“I think so,” I say, already starting to sweat. “Did I do something wrong, Michelle?”
She sighs and shakes her head. “You tell me.” She nods toward the computer on my desk and stands over me while I rack my brain to try to think of who this guy is and why she’s making a big show of asking me about him.
My fingers are shaking as I try to log in, but Michelle groans and waves me away. “Let me,” she says.
I literally get up out of my chair and stand over her as she sits at my desk, taps a million miles an hour at the keyboard, and pulls up a screen on the system I swear I’ve never seen.
“Look here,” she says, pointing at the monitor with a finger. “This morning, I ran a report of all the new entries in the database. Three new contacts were entered yesterday.” She points to one name and shows me a field where the other financial adviser, Glenn, made contact with the client and made a bunch of notes about the plan of action.
“I see,” I say quietly because I do see it, but I don’t understand what I’m looking at.
“And this one.” Michelle sounds just plain tired now. “See this note here?”
I bend a little closer and see that Michelle herself put in a note this morning disqualifying the person because of a pending bankruptcy.
“Yes, that lead is unqualified,” I say, hoping like hell I’ve used the right words.
“And what’s missing here?” she asks. She opens the client data screen for this Tomlinson person.
“Nothing?” I ask. “No adviser assessment or contact was made?”
She slams a hand down on the desk. “Yes. Do you know why that is?” she asks.
I’m starting to get really sick of this game. “Michelle, please don’t treat me like I’m stupid,” I say. “If I made a mistake, please just say it. Show me what I did, and I’ll make notes about what you want so I can try not to do it again.”
I can’t keep the irritation from my voice. This job sucks. I’ve been feeling it and thinking it. It’s not Michelle. It’s the whole business. I want to understand how to manage my money. I don’t want to put a million transactions into a million systems and get called on the carpet like I’m an idiot. Maybe I am an idiot. Maybe I just don’t care enough. Whatever it is, I’m starting to believe this job—this field, even—is not for me.
“Eden,” Michelle says, her voice taking on a cold note that I’ve never heard before. “I have a history with Vito, and I thought—”
“Oh no.” I hold up a finger. “Do not bring Vito into this. He has nothing to do with my performance on this job. If I’ve fucked up, you make this talk we’re having about the work. This has nothing to do with my relationship or your ex.”
Michelle is quiet, and she runs her tongue over her teeth, seeming to think for a minute. “This is my place of business, and I’d appreciate if you’d let me finish my statement.”
I can’t help myself. I cross my arms over my chest and lift my brow. “Please,” I say, “finish your thought. What exactly did I do wrong?”
