My boss laughs with me and we clink beer glasses. All walls of superiority are broken down and my brain is buzzing with a defiant confidence that only $3 Coors Light pitcher beer at the bar across the street from our office building at 6PM on a Tuesday can offer. I don’t think the people here quite know my fun side.
I am thinking about doing a cartwheel at this office happy hour.
Sure, we put our heads down all day and run this toiletry marketing company effectively. We make decent salaries and do a damn good job of getting hair gel out there in front of the people. But do they ever get to see me as myself? No, not as the print copy queen or as the one who always gets the breakroom cakes secretly ready for birthdays. As the real me. As the kind of woman who had some light dance experience from being Lily St. Regis in “Annie” in high school. As the kind of woman who enjoys attention from people who I must present an impressive version of myself to on a daily basis. As a woman who has read far, far too many self-help books and inspirational blog posts about third-wave feminism. As a woman who tweets about “sometimes just taking chances<3”.
I should totally do a cartwheel at this office happy hour.
“Swing, Swing, Swing” just started playing and Allan – the cute and confident guy from creative who is usually soft-spoken but really blossoms at happy hours – has been totally looking at me. He wants me to do something. He wants the unexpected. Oh, you’ll get it, Allan. You will get it.
I’m a star! I’m the center of this company! My 14-month tenure has really solidified my place as a social “queen bee”, if you will, of the team and they deserve some classic “me” action tonight! They all say hi to me when I walk in in the mornings. It’s like, guys, there’s one of this sassy, city lady to go around! Come on!
Oh God. Here it is. This is that moment they talk about in those Toni Morrison books. I have to do it. I am a heroine. I am here only this once. My mid-level career at a mid-level company marketing mid-level products is peaking right now, and goddammit, how else will I express it?!
Move that fucking chair, Shannon. Hold my shoes, Ellen.
Hey everybody. It’s me. It’s fucking ME.