Well, ‘did something’ might be putting it too strongly. I talked to someone. No, not human resources. It hasn’t gotten to that point yet. I talked to another attorney — a woman. Her name’s Lisa Rice. She’s been at BVF a little longer than I have. I just wanted to put out a feeler, see if my experience at all resonated with her. I waited for an opportune moment when there was no one else around, and I found one. I saw her go into the office kitchen, which I can see from my cubicle — oh yeah, they still haven’t given me an office, even though they’ve told me they would during my sign-on meeting.
Anyway, I got up and went into the kitchen. Lisa waited for the kettle to boil for her green tea. I made some small talk and then asked her, casually, if she’s ever felt discriminated against at the firm because she’s a woman. She looked at me kind of funny before saying no. “Why do you ask?” she said, narrowing her eyes. “No reason,” was my reply.
So, I didn’t end up having the we-gals-need-to-stick-together moment I’d been hoping for. Oh well.
I don’t need a shoulder to cry on. Because I am a strong, powerful and intelligent woman.
But a pair strong arms to hold me at night would be nice.
* * *
When I get to work,the number of emails I have to reply to has shrunk to double digits. A big victory. But my good mood is short-lived, because of what happens as I walk back to my cubicle from the water fountain. I’ve been on a hydration kick since the night at the bar.
I approach my desk and who do I see? Lisa Rice and Devin Baker. Yes, thatBaker. The Baker in ‘Baker, Vinz, & Frye.’ It’s the son. The founding partner Jim Baker, retired, and now his golden boy son is running around like he owns the place. Lisa and Devin are chatting about something, and when I pass, I smile, and they both look at me with strange expressions, kind of like a couple of bullies who plan on beating me up by the flagpole after school. It’s weird.
A sick feeling of dread descends upon me like a slimy net, and suddenly, I feel claustrophobic. Like I can’t breathe. Like I’m in a room full of enemies and spies.
Maybe Lisa told Devin I talked to her about workplace discrimination.
I start to hyperventilate, so I close my eyes and begin slow, deliberate breaths.
A man’s voice interrupts me.
“Bethster, what’s shakin’?”
One of my least favorite voices.
It’s Bob Sorensen. A guy in his forties with thinning blonde hair and a cheesy smile. He lovesgiving me busy work, because it clearly makes him feel powerful.
“What’s up?” I say, turning to face him in my office chair.
“Not too much, not too much . . . Say, if you’re not too busy —”
“I am too busy.”
He laughs. “You’re a saucy one, Bethster. But seriously, I need you to do something for me.”
I stare at him with thinly veiled annoyance. He smiles. “Don’t look so sad. It’s just a minor task. I made a bunch of hand edits on this brief here, and I need you to go ahead and plug them into Microsoft Word for me. Sound good?”
“Bob, come on — are you serious? This is like the fourth menial job you’ve given me this week. You do realize I’m an attorney here, right? I know I sit out here with all the paralegals, who might as well be subhuman in your eyes, but I’m not a paralegal.”
“Bethster . . .” Bob says, like he’s talking to a petulant child. “Don’t be difficult. We’ve all had to do what you’re doing. Pay your dues.”
I fight the urge to stand up, give Bob the finger and storm out of there. He plops the brief down on my desk.
Then he leans down and says in a creepy, hushed tone, “You look really nice today, by the way.”
As Bob walks away, I feel disgust and rage, and I’m not sure which one I feel more of.
What a day it’s been.
I shove the brief to the side. I’ll input his notes later. I can’t bring myself to start the headache-inducing task of deciphering Bob’s atrocious handwriting. Back to emails. Then a call with a client at eleven. If that doesn’t take too long, I can work on a few documents in desperate need of my attention before lunch.
I slog through thirty emails, and then I take my client call.
He keeps asking me the same questions, and it eats up a whole half hour. I really need to work on those files, so I skip lunch.
Around three, I head to the bathroom. My stomach’s growling and my brain feels fuzzy. I’m hungry, tired, and fed up.
