“The second one,” Marty confirms, inserting himself into the conversation. “He’s always buggingus.”
“Not anymore he’s not,” I tell them. “Let me reply to him, John,OK?”
“Sure,” he says.
I roll up my sleeves and start typing. No one bullies John on my watch.
Brandon,
Just jumping in here. While I appreciate this is time sensitive for you, this particular ask falls outside the remit of the Data Strategy team. Given John’s existing workload, he’s not the best person to handle this efficiently, and in future I’d appreciate it if you used the established ticketing system rather than approaching him directly. The report you’re looking for can be pulled from the dashboard, and if you’d like any assistance with this you’re welcome to attend a future learning session we’ll be hosting soon. I’ll be sure to send you a calendar invite.
All best,
Annie
To think I thought of Brandon as a good guy back in Product! My eyes have been well and truly opened. Luckily, there are few things more satisfying in this life than shaming someone in passive-aggressive corporate speak. I feel a surge ofsatisfaction when Brandon replies minutes later with a surly message of defeat.
“Did you just—” John says, reading the email, his mouth open in shock.
Martin reads over John’s shoulder, then punches the air. “Hell yeah!”
“What’s happening?” Ben asks from the top of the table, his attention caught.
“Annie just bitch-slapped Brandon over email,” Martin says.
“Thanks, Annie,” John says, looking bashful.
Truth be known, I have a blast. I underestimated just how much fun it would be to act as their human shield, denying lazy product managers their pointless requests, settling a few of my own scores in the process.
“She strikes again,” Martin says, obsessed with reading every reply. “That one was brutal.”
I preen. It was, if I do say so myself.
The only person who doesn’t seem to get any relief by my taking control of the inbox is Connor, who I quickly learn gets many, many requests that bypass it and go straight tohim.
I watch him answer query after query, pulling data, building spreadsheets, writing mysterious pieces of code. He wears it all lightly, but now and then I get the impression that it’s intensely stressful. He has a to-do list as long as his arm, which isn’t even scratching the surface of all the things he’s covering forhisboss while she’s off on mat leave.
As my seatmate, it is impossible not to be aware of him, and I study him with the intensity of a cultural anthropologist.
I notice things about him that I’ve never paid attention to in anyone before: the set of his shoulders, the way his hair curls around his ears. The freckle on the back of his neck.
His arms, too, are very nice, as are the backs of his hands, which I get to watch typing away on his keyboard all day long.
CONNOR: You’d be a TERRIBLE spy
ANNIE:Excuse me?
CONNOR:You know when you’re staring at me you turn your head all the way to the side?
ANNIE:I do not
CONNOR:You do, you’re doing it now
ANNIE:I’m not even looking at you
CONNOR:Yeah NOW you’re not. But you were
ANNIE:I wasn’t
