“As assistants, we’ve all completed the craziest tasks and bent to the most outlandish demands,” says the shimmering blonde with the lavender scarf, over wine and tapas.
Flickering candles light the rims of our glasses with metallic white. To the left, girls toss their hair on first dates, to the right, men recount their game plans for the evening, and directly in front, the waitress passes, for a third time, without filling our tumblers with ice water.
We talk about one assistant we know who had to hand deliver a boss’s urine sample. Another dragged his society editrix to Beth Isreal for an overdose of Xanax. The last assistant is legend: the media buyer who became so drunk trying to show her bosses that she could “hang and bang” with the rest of them, she soiled herself on a white couch at the Fox upfronts. The back and forth through the media world was tremendously cruel, mass emails filled with comments, “Bet her boyfriend really gave her ‘crap’ about it!” and “I wonder how many hours she’s ‘logged’ trying to make up for that!” Some of the emails included pictures. Still, we laugh hysterically, reminiscing.
“I just want to be doing something with a purpose,” she says when the last fit of giggles subsides, her blue eyes lowered to her hands. “Something that’s bringing some good into the world. Before I’m too old and jaded to realize it’s not possible.”
“I know,” I nod, “Work should be one of three things: what you love, paid enormously well, or giving back to the world. Perhaps not in that order.” I nibble at the spinach flatbread, though I’ve already eaten dinner beforehand.
“Oh, you mean not fact-checking the latest ‘Stripper Memoir: What Latex and Lucite Taught Me About Life and Love'?”
We laugh. I say, “Oh come on, it’s not that bad.” Her face is grim.
Flickering candles light the rims of our glasses with metallic white. To the left, girls toss their hair on first dates, to the right, men recount their game plans for the evening, and directly in front, the waitress passes, for a third time, without filling our tumblers with ice water.
We talk about one assistant we know who had to hand deliver a boss’s urine sample. Another dragged his society editrix to Beth Isreal for an overdose of Xanax. The last assistant is legend: the media buyer who became so drunk trying to show her bosses that she could “hang and bang” with the rest of them, she soiled herself on a white couch at the Fox upfronts. The back and forth through the media world was tremendously cruel, mass emails filled with comments, “Bet her boyfriend really gave her ‘crap’ about it!” and “I wonder how many hours she’s ‘logged’ trying to make up for that!” Some of the emails included pictures. Still, we laugh hysterically, reminiscing.
“I just want to be doing something with a purpose,” she says when the last fit of giggles subsides, her blue eyes lowered to her hands. “Something that’s bringing some good into the world. Before I’m too old and jaded to realize it’s not possible.”
“I know,” I nod, “Work should be one of three things: what you love, paid enormously well, or giving back to the world. Perhaps not in that order.” I nibble at the spinach flatbread, though I’ve already eaten dinner beforehand.
“Oh, you mean not fact-checking the latest ‘Stripper Memoir: What Latex and Lucite Taught Me About Life and Love'?”
We laugh. I say, “Oh come on, it’s not that bad.” Her face is grim.
“No, seriously. I just keep thinking, I graduated from an Ivy for this??”
9 comments:
I totally agree with you H. Did you hear about the assistant who had to call her boss' doctor up, and give her a play by play over the bathroom door because her supposed tampon was stuck and couldnt get out.
Im an assistant too!
LOVE ASSISTANTS--WELL ALL BE FAMOUS SOMEDAY--RULE THE WORLD!!!
Hi there!
Welcome to New York and the blogosphere, you're off to a great start with posts like that!
I've added you to my blogroll so there's one link for you to go with!
greetings to the blog world
OMG! So true. My old boss, the very famous, very former, and now very shamed publisher of a man's magazine, once yelled at me for not buying the right lint roller. That was before he decided he didn't like my handwriting, and dictated, letter by letter, my name as he watched me recreate my writing. Twenty years of student loans for this!!
Hey, thanks for procrastinating in my blog/universe ;-)
You have a good blog going! Will come back for updates and will add you to my blog roll xx
I don't feel as bad about leaving Princeton waiting just to take the path most travelled, by alcoholics and boys who will never be men.
J/K. We're all still looking for something better out of our careers. I think of it this way, when I am content, when I have reached my career aspirations, I have nothing else to work towardsa or wonder about. Then the journey is over. Please exit in the rear of the plane.
Os
You're getting great feedback and it's all well deserved. That story of the girl at the Fox Upfront is the stuff that Urban Legends are made of...And think the upfronts are only a few months away now!
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