Yesterday I blearily got up and got ready, opting for a Boho peasant look with the gorgeous French Connection skirt Angus gave me for my birthday. I threw on my denim jacket and grabbed my briefcase and dashed out the door to endure the first 2.5 hours of train riding I would need to get to the conference center up north, where Dream Job had booked our unit’s anual meeting. The trains were invariably packed, and late to boot, so when I finally stepped off the train I was cutting it fine to make the 10:30 start time. I hail a cab and get to the conference center, stepping off the curb and running smack into one of my seniors.
“I thought senior managers were always on time.” I joked, pulling my briefcase strap higher on my shoulder.
“We like to make an entrance.” he replied deadpan. “I thought project managers always deliver on time.”
I grin and look at my watch. “It’s bang-on 10:30. I choose to be called efficient.”
“I see you didn’t elect to read the invite, which said ‘No denim’.” he says, pointing to my jacket.
He’s right. I did elect not to read the invite. “I’m going for punky boho engineering rebellion here.” I reply. He grins at me and we sneak into the room.
I am stunned by the sheer enormity and professionalism of the gig. There are camerammen everywhere and a sound board running in the back of the room. Spotlights are strung across the massive ceiling and there are no fewer than 5 massive screens on which scenes from the stage is being projected. Two professional photographers are circling, and there are around 1500-2000 people in the room.
I am impressed.
I take a seat on an empty row all the way in the back to the left, my senior sitting on a line of chairs just beneath the spotlights behind me. I have the entire row to myself, and so I kick off my shoes (as one does) and tuck my feet beneath me (as one also does). I notice my phone has no coverage in the room so I put it in my bag and sit back. Third in Charge is talking on the stage with the spotlight squarely on him.
And it’s talk.
Lots of talk.
Right about the time they start slinging around “EBITDA” I realize I am a tiny bit bored. I am not one for the financials. I open my briefcase and dig out the bag of jelly beans I brought. With regret, I realize it is too dark in the room to see the flavors I have in my available spectrum.
On stage: “And our unit’s margins this year were…”
Me: Eat jellybean. Be pleased it was berry flavored.
On stage: “Our financial objectives this year are….”
Me: Pretend to put bag away in a display of restraint but know I am only fooling self and so open jelly bean bag again.
On stage: “The percentage of gross margin…”
Me: My boy shorts are riding up my ass. Oh…wait…yes, and up my crotch now, too.
On stage: “Very pleased that spending….”
Me: Gross. A banana-flavored one. Hate banana. Burn down banana plantations.
This goes on for some time.
Then the stage changes. Funky hip-hop music comes on and the lights turn bright orange. Third in Charge now grins and explains that the employees this year who were recognized will now have their names shown on the screen. I grin and, popping a sour pear jelly bean and wishing I could adjust my knickers, I see my name go up the screen, one of about 60 individuals and 8 teams of about 10 people each. I smile inwardly and wonder where the hell my bottle of champagne and £200 worth of vouchers have gone to. I whisk a pen out of my bag and scribble a note to check that on the fleshy part of my hand.
Third in Charge smiles. “And of this group, some special individuals will be the winners of the ‘Outstanding Performance of the Year’ award from Dream Job. They will be going with the senior management team to a resort European destination”-and here they show an amazing clip complete with beautiful people and sparkling blue water- “with their partners, all expenses paid. This includes flights, transfers, and the luxury hotel! So when I call the name, if you’d please come up and receive your letter of commendation and have your picture taken, please. And let’s make sure we give them a big hand for all of their hard work!”
I eat a margarita flavored jelly bean and shrug. Long for a real margarita. Wonder if I will eat all my jelly beans now or if restraint really will kick in at some point in my early 30′s.
The music gets funky as people start getting awards. I reach into my jelly bean bag for another one when I hear:
“This next Outstanding Performance of the Year award goes to a hard worker and her-”
My ear twitches. Her?
“-contributions towards the commercial and technical aspects-”
Hang on. Of all of those names the only female who is technical is-
“Miss Helen Adelaide-”
-me.
“-of Project Rocket-Riding Gerbil!”
That’s my project.
That’s me.
My heart explodes as I realize they called my name. Shaking, I put my shoes on. The lights swing towards me as I numbly walk to the front of the room in front of all those clapping people. Third in Charge grins and extends an envelope to me which I somehow grasp. He kisses my cheek and shakes my hand.
“Well done. We’re very proud.” he says.
“I swear the rocket will be launched on time.” I croak.
He smiles. “I know.” We turn towards the photographer and have our photo taken. I am told later that I grinned the entire way up and down the aisle, but I don’t remember any of it.
I head back to my seat, stopping to hug my senior in the very last row. With shaking hands, I open the envelope.
And that is how my everyday Tuesday up north ended.
I have a bottle of champagne and £200 worth of vouchers.
I am also going away with Angus on an all-expense paid trip to a stunningly posh hotel in June.
To Monaco.
-H.