Submitting to Her(3)

"If she can't get you motivated, she doesn't deserve the job," said Rona as she bounced a bawling toddler on her knee, and I appreciated the support and vindication, ignoring her huge bias.

My confidence in being a complete pig to our new boss was supported by friends, colleagues and after a while, even my own gut feelings. I came to forget how ridiculous I was being, the massive sense of injustice evolving into a full simmering winter of discontent as my strategy of missing targets bedded in for the long-haul Machiavellian route back to my birthright promotion.

And then, after a few months, everything changed.





Chapter Two





It was one particular Friday afternoon in April, just after lunch. The chief executive of the company - of all people - was bestowing the honor of a personal visit to our department. It was a two-hour meeting in Zoey's office, just the two of them. Must have been grueling to say the least.

Out in our maze of cubicles, the rest of us in the department looked at each other and signaled with small nods and bouncing eyebrows that something was going down in that room. It was Friday afternoon, which everybody knows is when people get fired.

The atmosphere was tense.

Four o'clock came round, and I felt this curious sense of nausea in my stomach. I knew full well it was guilt. Somebody was getting roasted alive - and I was the main reason for it. I wasn't immune to that innate human capacity for compassion, just because I was the instigator of the crisis. It wasn't really Zoey's fault she'd been promoted above me. She was just bright and highly qualified, and was probably always destined to jump ahead of a journeyman like me. And I'd made her life Hell.

I could so easily have been compliant, could have so easily spurred on the rest of the team to work hard and meet all our targets.

But I have to admit, part of that funny feeling within my belly was excitement. This was it, something was happening. Shaking up the constant tedium of life in the office. Perhaps by Monday, I would be the one with my own office, nicely sealed off from the rest of the floor with my own name stenciled on the sign.

Heading into the last hour or so of the day, the door finally opened. We all waited and watched with bated breath, as though expecting to find out some great revelation like the name of the next pope.

The CEO swept out and away without even a glance at the rest of us.

Silence.

The whole team was watching the clock, and waiting for that door to open again. Waiting for a certain Zoey Schoenberg to come scurrying out, tail between her legs, perhaps carrying a cardboard box with her personal belongings. But there was nothing.

Five to five, and I was beginning to actually worry. Had I gone too far? My ears were burning, my face hot with a rueful blush. What if she'd done something to herself? Jumped out of the window, or sliced her wrists with a pair of office scissors.

Now I felt sick.

I tried to hide it from the others, but silently I was muttering to myself that if everything worked out, even if Zoey kept her job, I'd cool it. I'd taught her a lesson by now, if that's really what I wanted to achieve. No point in sustaining my passive-aggressive onslaught. Suddenly, I was even calculating an insane strategy overhaul towards high productivity in the office, thinking if I failed to get her kicked out, the best plan might be to get her promoted on out of here or even head-hunted, so I could fill the VP shoes.

Three minutes to five. The other members of the department were heading out the door now, with me thinking them rather cold-hearted. They could have waited until five, just this afternoon. Maybe Zoey would need a final drink to see her off, drown her sorrows. Then again, perhaps the poor girl was simply waiting until everyone had gone home before she carried out her Walk of Shame, cardboard box clutched in front like some kind of shield.

Two minutes to five, my eyes firmly on the clock, the hand moving agonizingly slowly around the face.

A little ding from my email - a message from Zoey Schoenberg, no less. Calling me into her office.

Damn.

Now why would she want to see me so late on a Friday afternoon?

My stomach lurched down into my legs. I straightened my tie, and looked around to see if anyone else could see me, perhaps reassure me. Everybody had gone home already.

I stepped up, knocked on the door.

"Come in."

My career was flashing before my eyes as the door opened, revealing an impeccably tidy and overly large office, with our VP sitting in the office chair like a proud empress. I eyed the room for a brief moment, still with a glimmer of hope this place would soon be mine, though the optimism was beginning to seriously wear off. The blinds were drawn to block out the night sky, giving the place a rather claustrophobic feeling, despite the enviable expanse of the room.

"You... wanted to see me?"