All the Vanities.....

I googled the man who is calling himself my boss this week and found this NY Times article. I've shortened his name as to protect me from getting fired.

Return of the Munchkins
By PATRICK McGEEHAN
Nobody can accuse Brian B., an investment banker, of forgetting the little people. He invited some of them to his annual Halloween party -- as part of his costume.

At his house on eastern Long Island, Mr. B was dolled up as Glinda the Good Witch from "The Wizard of Oz" and flanked by three dwarfs he had hired for the evening to be his munchkins. Mr. B, who specializes in the health-care industry at the investment banking unit of [the place I'm working] spent about $3,000 on his get-up.

"Some people were taken aback" by Mr. B's human accessories, said one partygoer, but others were amused by another sign of good times on Wall Street.

Mr. B's sidekicks were not the only little people there. When Scott B., one of Mr. B's colleagues, showed up on a chartered bus full of guests from Manhattan, he was dressed as Dr. Evil, a character from the "Austin Powers" movies. At his side was Scott S., in an identical -- albeit much smaller -- outfit as Dr. Evil's alter ego, Mini-Me.

Mr. S., who is 4 feet tall, proved that there were at least three deal makers at the party. After agreeing to be one of Mr. B's munchkins, he backed out of the deal when a talent agency offered him the splashier, more lucrative role of Mini-Me. "I didn't have a contract," Mr. S said. "So I canceled the other job."

His earnings for the party, which lasted into the wee hours, were $650 plus a generous tip, he said: "It was great. We tore the place up."

My Tess McGill and Sherman McCoy

As I stood outside the building of my new job this morning I saw white men, one after another, in their black suits step out of their cabs and town cars. All with blue or yellow ties and silver wedding rings, most likely courtesy of Kim Cattrall-like trophy wives. I walked into the office where all the girls were in cubicles and all the men in their offices with unfathably beautiful views of Central Park. The girl showing me the ropes was a dark fluffy haired Brooklyn girl who told me she'd be there six years. "It pays the bills," she says. I didn't dare ask her what she "wants to be." The Joan Cusack to my Melanie Griffith. I am currently in a world where "Bonfire of the Vanities" has met "Working Girl."

My boss is apparently some really important investment banking boss. A Dermot Mulrooney look alike who doesn't seem to do anything but take breakfast, lunch, dinner and drink meetings. Then a car picks him up at his Fifth Avenue apartment to bring him to a trainers session, where the car will wait to take him home. (Why can't he take a cab? He's not a celebrity, he's not going to be harassed while hailing one.) Not one of his meetings are ever more than an hour long which makes me feel like "How could anything really be going on?"

Is this what corporate America is? It's so weird and cliche. So, I choose instead, to believe that my boss has secretly run over a young, underpriviledged black man in the South Bronx and that later on I'm going to take over the office and steal some accounts. Whatever these "accounts" are.

Shout out to Beatrice and a Van Driver

At a time when my faith in human beings is faltering, I was rewarded with two of the nicest people I could run into today.

#1 Beatrice- the saleswoman at the JCrew at Columbus Circle. I'm going to look up "Best Retail Worker in Manhattan" contests. This woman is the mother I always dreamed of having (no offense mom). She was an Upper West side type and it made no sense that she was working the dressing room rather than owning it. If the JCrew catalog had a "mature woman model" section, this woman would have been their star. Cute khakis, beautiful brown sweater, trendy but classy costume jewelry necklaces that must have cost about 5 weeks JCrew salary. She offered me water upon entering the dressing room and was helping a woman who was changing in the dressing room decide on outfits. At one point she said "those are great shirts but the white really flatters you- this green color, I don't know, I can't imagine that you would have much that would match it." She said it like she actually did care. She kept saying "we are just so busy today, I hope it's ok that you're waiting here sweetheart- you SURE you don't want some water?" And when the dressing room opened she winked at me and said "you're in." I was in such a good mood I bought two shirts and when the cashier asked me if anyone helped me I proudly said "BEATRICE!"

#2 Random driver- Kendall drove around her block for an hour trying to find a parking spot, finally she called to tell me that she was gonna bite the bullet and pull into a $12 an hour parking garage. After she did, she walked in front of her building to where I was standing and as she was complaining about how absurdly priced the garage was this man directly in front of her building hopped into his van. We both looked in horror at the van and he caught our eyes. "Can you wait 5 minutes?" Kendall asked. I don't even know why she was compelled to ask such an absurd question. "Sure," he said and hopped out. He patiently waited and 10-15 minutes later Kendall pulled up in her car and he directed her into the spot as she parallel parked and then he drove away.

Thank you random people for giving me hope when very not random people are ripping it away.

And I really am looking into the best retail sales person in New York awards.

Prego?

I don't know why people tell me things. I've worked at this office today for 5 hours now and the intern just asked me if I've ever had a pregnancy scare-- I don't even know her name. I was like "uh.. why?" and she looked down and patted her belly. I said "oh.. uh.have you missed...is there any..." and she looked like I intruded and walked away.

This isn't the first time a random person has done this to me. The first time I had known the girl like a week and a half at the law office I was working in for the summer. The receptionist was a 19 year old girl, Sheena, from Queens.

I sat in a big open room off of the three lawyers offices about 50 feet from the receptionist's desk. Sheena was the only other person in the room and all the lawyers were in their offices at the time. I was typing some arbitrations when Sheena ran across the office to me and left a note crumbled up. She jetted back to her desk and stared at me as I opened it up. It was incredibly junior high- like she really thought that if one of the lawyers saw her stand up and pass a note she'd go to detention. I opened up the note and it said:

I think I'm pregnant:(

I looked up at this girl, who didn't know anything about me, not my love of SanDiego or allergy to cats, or affinity for chai lattes, nevermind my medical information or sex life and she made a sad face, shrugged, stood up and showed me her clearly pregnant belly. She must have weighed about 100 pounds and was wearing a slightly baggy top but this girl had to be 2 months pregnant.

When the lawyers left I didn't know whether or not to come outloud with it. She broke the silence by saying "I'm nervous, your second time isn't so bad but the third is an overnight." She proceeded to tell me about her first abortion, and telling me that, "All my friends have had overnights, which means more than 2. But I don't want to get like that. I don't care about this time, but I don't want to stay overnight in a hospital."

For the next 3 weeks she showed me the progress of her belly and I urged her to get it over with or make another decision. She told me she couldn't pass the 3 month mark but she wanted to wait as long as she could because it was kind of cool how hard her belly was getting and also she had just taken off some time from work, so she didn't want to do it again too soon.

I had gone back to school by the time Sheena came back from her abortion otherwise I'm sure I would have heard about all the details and how she wasn't looking forward to next time when she had to stay overnight.... made me a little more skeptical about myself for being pro-choice.