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02-22-2016, 09:21 PM
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__________________________________________________ _______
I work in an office with middle-aged men still capable of slogging around a box or two. That is, if the box is intended for them and contains a pair of shoes or the latest electronic gadget.
But, when boxes of magazines arrive and are stacked three-rows deep in the storage room, the men quickly attend to important matters, like choosing unique ringtones on their cellphones, leaving the boxes for me to handle.
I, the only woman in the office, am the V.I.P. in charge of boxes. I lug them, open them and remove the magazines, piling them on the shelves. A co-worker will then use an empty box as a footstool for tying a shoelace or as an end table for a coffee mug.
Lenny, my boss, is always courteous. When passing through the storage room, he stops by to offer important advice on how to lift a box without straining the back. He takes time from his busy schedule to show me how to bend and lift without actually touching a box. He doesn't believe in using props. He fancies himself a mime and lifts air, instead, while teaching me the finer points of "the bend," "the grab" and "the lift."
"Don't hurt yourself," he says before trudging out the door.
Other co-workers will stop to say hello or tell me the latest joke they read in an email. After they offer a moment of levity, they walk away. Others don't stop at all. As they race past me, the breeze tousles my hair.
Sometimes a co-worker will tell me, "Can't get my suit dirty or crease my pants. Got an appointment. Sorry." Then he disappears and returns hours later with a ketchup-stained tie and a wrinkled suit from a lunch that lasted an afternoon. By then, all the magazines have been stacked on the shelves, and I'm left with a handful of broken fingernails. I drop them in a cup by the water cooler and sink to the floor, too dizzy to stand because of blood loss from paper cuts.
When I finally return to my cubicle, a co-worker inevitably buzzes me on the intercom and asks me to stop by his office for some dictation. "Sorry," I say. "Due to several chipped fingernails, the weight on my hand is no longer evenly distributed, making it impossible to write. Buzz me in two weeks after my nails grow back," then I disconnect the call.
If I want my co-workers to leave me alone, I simply place a sign on my cubicle wall that says "package adjustment" and then go upstairs to the luncheonette for a cup of decaf -- one of the advantages of being V.I.P. in charge of boxes.
Another is supervising deliveries.
The next time the UPS man arrives with boxes of magazines, I'll ask him to stack them in the doorway of my cubicle. If someone buzzes me, I'll say, "Sorry, but I'm boxed in at the moment," as I try to reattach my broken fingernails with glue.
-----
This is a revision of an essay that appeared in The Front Porch Syndicate and ThinkSpin.com. -- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. (http://start.westnet.ca/newstempch.php?article=terms.html/) It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.
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__________________________________________________ _______
I work in an office with middle-aged men still capable of slogging around a box or two. That is, if the box is intended for them and contains a pair of shoes or the latest electronic gadget.
But, when boxes of magazines arrive and are stacked three-rows deep in the storage room, the men quickly attend to important matters, like choosing unique ringtones on their cellphones, leaving the boxes for me to handle.
I, the only woman in the office, am the V.I.P. in charge of boxes. I lug them, open them and remove the magazines, piling them on the shelves. A co-worker will then use an empty box as a footstool for tying a shoelace or as an end table for a coffee mug.
Lenny, my boss, is always courteous. When passing through the storage room, he stops by to offer important advice on how to lift a box without straining the back. He takes time from his busy schedule to show me how to bend and lift without actually touching a box. He doesn't believe in using props. He fancies himself a mime and lifts air, instead, while teaching me the finer points of "the bend," "the grab" and "the lift."
"Don't hurt yourself," he says before trudging out the door.
Other co-workers will stop to say hello or tell me the latest joke they read in an email. After they offer a moment of levity, they walk away. Others don't stop at all. As they race past me, the breeze tousles my hair.
Sometimes a co-worker will tell me, "Can't get my suit dirty or crease my pants. Got an appointment. Sorry." Then he disappears and returns hours later with a ketchup-stained tie and a wrinkled suit from a lunch that lasted an afternoon. By then, all the magazines have been stacked on the shelves, and I'm left with a handful of broken fingernails. I drop them in a cup by the water cooler and sink to the floor, too dizzy to stand because of blood loss from paper cuts.
When I finally return to my cubicle, a co-worker inevitably buzzes me on the intercom and asks me to stop by his office for some dictation. "Sorry," I say. "Due to several chipped fingernails, the weight on my hand is no longer evenly distributed, making it impossible to write. Buzz me in two weeks after my nails grow back," then I disconnect the call.
If I want my co-workers to leave me alone, I simply place a sign on my cubicle wall that says "package adjustment" and then go upstairs to the luncheonette for a cup of decaf -- one of the advantages of being V.I.P. in charge of boxes.
Another is supervising deliveries.
The next time the UPS man arrives with boxes of magazines, I'll ask him to stack them in the doorway of my cubicle. If someone buzzes me, I'll say, "Sorry, but I'm boxed in at the moment," as I try to reattach my broken fingernails with glue.
-----
This is a revision of an essay that appeared in The Front Porch Syndicate and ThinkSpin.com. -- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. (http://start.westnet.ca/newstempch.php?article=terms.html/) It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.
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