Chapter 5 #2
I interviewed for a publishing assistant role for about two pence an hour.
I read a decent amount and I thought I could be good in editorial.
They gave the position to a girl who’d written three novels, ran a book blog, and spent weekends reading to blind kids.
I applied to work at an environmental charity—again, for about two pence an hour.
I care about the planet and I’d like to make a difference.
They gave it to a guy who saved some kind of nearly extinct bug and had a side business cobbling vegan shoes.
I took this job because I needed money for rent and was so happy to be given any kind of work, always with the intention of leaving.
But then having this job made interviews even harder, because people kept asking “So why did you start working in recruitment?” and I didn’t have a good enough answer.
Eventually, I gave myself a break, always with the intention of getting back on it and finding something.
But when I returned to job hunting with renewed energy, the amount of time I’d been at WWYW became even harder to explain away. Eventually I gave up entirely.
And now here I am.
Margaret finally calls us to stop what we’re doing for the “big announcement.” Everyone gathers together in the kitchen. Margaret’s holding a bottle of bubbly and has bought a big box of cupcakes from the fancy bakery down the road. Ted licks his lips.
“Everybody, if I could have your attention. Thank you.” She looks around the room with her square grin.
Margaret’s expressions of pleasure always look like she’s baring her teeth rather than smiling.
“It brings me great excitement to come together today to celebrate a very special employee. Someone who you all know very well. Someone who’s been at the company a long time, who knows it inside and out, and whose years of dedication haven’t gone unnoticed. ”
She makes eye contact with me. My heart jumps into my throat. Oh no. God, no.
Is she talking about me?
“Recently we’ve been stepping up her duties and she’s been carrying them like a load-bearing wall. So, we’ve decided she’s surpassed the role of recruitment marketing executive and will now be . . . recruitment marketing manager!!”
Oh my God. Is this why she’s been giving me extra shit to do?
She was priming me for a promotion? I peek out from under my cap.
My head starts swimming. I cannot get a promotion.
I’ve spent years actively avoiding increased responsibilities for this very reason.
Everybody knows a promotion means you have to stay at least another year.
And then you get another promotion and have to stay another year, and on and on it goes until you’re too old to do anything else.
Once you get a promotion THERE IS NO ESCAPE.
“Without further ado . . .”
My lungs aren’t working. I feel like I might collapse.
“If you could all raise your glasses . . .”
Everyone around me holds their champagne aloft. I try to take a deep breath.
“To Jessica!”
The rest of the team breaks into cheers. “Hear hear!” “Congratulations, Jessica!” “Whoooooop!” “Go, Jess!”
It takes my brain a second to catch up. Errrrr. That’s not my name.
Jessica is getting a promotion? Jessica has “been at the company a long time”? Jessica “knows it inside and out”? Jessica “hasn’t gone unnoticed”? Jessica?! JESSICA?!
Jessica is only twenty-four. The exact age I was when I started. Jessica has been at this company two years. I have been here five.
FIVE.
Jessica makes her way through the crowd and stands next to Margaret. She flicks her long, dark hair and smiles and starts babbling about how happy she is and how her time at We Work, You Win has been the most rewarding experience of her life.
OH, PULL THE OTHER ONE, JESS.
I stand until the end of the speech, but as soon as everyone starts talking among themselves, I make a break for the bathroom.
Ah, the familiar, comforting second-floor loos.
The well-worn, gray linoleum floors. The dingy mirrors and harsh, unflattering lights.
I run my hand over a sink. How many collective minutes have I wasted in here, dawdling to avoid going back to my desk?
I dive into a stall and lock the door behind me.
As soon as I’m alone, tears start rolling down my cheeks.
This is the second time in three days I’ve ended up crying in a toilet.
Why am I upset? What’s wrong with me?! Five minutes ago I was dreading getting promoted. . . . I don’t want to be promoted.
But . . . watching them promote someone else above me, when I’ve been here so long, somehow feels equally devastating?
I sit for a few minutes, wondering how long I can stay in here before anyone notices I’m gone. My phone buzzes. For a moment I hope it’s a well-timed message from Max, or Angie or Dami, but it’s an email from Ted.
Saw you run off. To cheer you up . . . T x
Climbing a ladder
Is more than reaching the top
Beauty in the climb
I continue sobbing.