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Chapter ThreeMaddie“So in conclusion, ‘workplace casual’ encompasses all of these items of clothing and none of these.” I’m up in front of a conference room, pointing between two posters. Both of them are covered in photos I printed out and pasted on with a glue stick. One says OKAY TO WEAR and the other says DO NOT WEAR. If you think visuals like this aren’t necessary for adults, you’ve never worked in human resources. On the OKAY TO WEAR poster, I have things like button-down shirts, jeans, polos, blouses, flats, and sneakers. On the other poster, I have swimsuit bottoms, flip-flops, tank tops, nightclub dresses—all of which I have seen people wear into this office.
“Now, does anyone have any questions?”
Ten hands shoot into the air.
Jeez. That’s…troubling.
How are ten people confused about this?
I start fielding questions.
The first complaint comes from good ol’ Joe in the back. He’s never been able to sit through a presentation of mine without somehow making it about him. “Yeah, okay, this is all well and good, but I have a note from my doctor that says I’m allowed to wear flip-flops in the workplace because of a fungus on my toes I’m trying to air out.”
Wow. Just wow.
“Let’s talk privately,” I suggest, before calling on someone else.
“Yeah, I can’t help but feel like you’re singling me out right now,” says a woman in a red bodycon dress that is eerily similar to the one I have pasted on the DO NOT WEAR poster. Oops.
I smile and shake my head. “No one is being singled out. This meeting is just a routine refresher so we all know what is and isn’t appropriate attire for the workplace.”
A new hand shoots into the air. It belongs to Dan, one of our copy editors. I’ve always thought he was kind of cute, tall and lanky with trimmed red hair and an easygoing smile. He’s universally liked around the office, and I know if he’s asking a question, it’s purely to break up the tension.
“Dan?”
“Yeah, I have a question about the sneakers,” he says, pointing to my OKAY TO WEAR poster.
“Okay,” I venture, trying not to smile.
“Are blue sneakers acceptable?” he asks with a serious inquiry squint to his eyes. “Because up there, you have white ones.”
I lose the battle with myself and crack a smile, albeit a small one. “Yes.”
“Black ones?”
I’m about to full-on laugh and break character. “Yes.”
“And what about blue sneakers with a little black on them?”
Now everyone’s laughing.
The meeting wraps up and everyone heads out, hating me a little less than they did before Dan’s jokes. My job is interesting, to say the least. I work at a boutique advertising agency called Zilker Creative. We only employ forty people, so while my official job title is office manager, I actually do the work of the human resources department and the kitchen cleaning committee and the fine-I’ll-empty-the-trash-can-because-no-one-else-will division. On top of all that, I also end up assisting the heads of the company whenever they need something done.
Dan is one of the good guys at Zilker. He tries to make my life a little easier, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Very nice work up there,” he tells me as I take down my posters.
I toss him a self-deprecating shrug. “Oh, thanks. You know, I’m never quite sure how these meetings will go. I think I lost everyone for a bit when I had to read over the company’s dress code word for word.”
He stuffs his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “It’s a tough crowd.”
I puff out a laugh. “Tell me about it.”
He smiles and tips his head in farewell before heading out with everyone else. I leave the room feeling slightly less shitty than I would have if he hadn’t been there.
After the meeting, I have to book it back up to the third floor to introduce myself to the new chief creative officer. She just started today, and I want to make a good impression. Outside her office, I shuffle my poster boards up underneath my left arm and knock gently.
“Elise, do you have a moment?” I call through the door.
“Sure thing! Come on in!”
Squaring my shoulders, I push the door open only to stop dead in my tracks a moment later.
Elise is face down on a massage table while a man in free-flowing linen attire rubs her lower back. She’s wearing a sheet to cover herself, but it’s still completely obvious that she’s nude underneath it.
“Oh, uh…” I’m a humanoid who’s forgotten its programming. I step forward, backward, half-turn, look up to the ceiling, down at the floor, then finally start to head back out the door. “Sorry! I didn’t realize you were busy. I can come back later!”
“Nonsense. Deepak is almost finished here, and I’m good at multitasking.” She picks her head up off the massage table so she can look at me. “Don’t just stand there. Come in and tell me why you’re here.”
