THIRTEEN #2
She jerked her head down the long conference table toward an arrangement of glittery midnight blue gift bags imprinted with the firm name and logo, and stuffed with silvery tissue paper peeking out the tops. “Make sure you pick up a swag bag on the way out. This one’s to die for.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “A Parsons Valentine fleece and a ceramic ‘We Love Diversity!’ mug?”
She laughed. “Try a pair of Knicks tickets, an Apple Store giftcard, a free week at Equinox, a massage at Bliss, and a Bobbi Brown lipstick.”
“Wow. Nice work.”
“Thanks.”
I looked around at the quickly filling room. “Well, guess I better go mingle, huh?”
She shooed me away. “Go. Schmooze, schmooze. That’s what you’re here for.”
A waiter stopped in front of me with a heavily loaded tray. “Hors d’oeuvre, miss?” He was already perspiring through his shirt, and the cocktail hour had just started. I felt bad for him.
“Thank you.” I smiled. I selected a skewer of grilled zucchini and shrimp and accepted the cocktail napkin he offered me, then wandered off to the far side of the room to look out over midtown and Central Park.
I wanted to put off meeting and greeting people as long as possible.
If I could just waste enough time until the seated dinner, I was home free.
These networking cocktail hours were pure torture for two reasons: I was a young single woman, and I was short.
It was miserable to attempt to sidle into a conversation already under way between some CEO thirty years my senior, his wife who was about my age, and some hungry midlevel asshole trying to chat up the CEO.
Add to this the fact that, even in three-and-a-half-inch heels, I still stood at eye level with most of the men’s armpits, so they all had to twist down awkwardly in order to hear what I had to say.
Either they didn’t bother or, when they did, it was to look down my dress or check my hand for a wedding ring.
It was a perpetual challenge for young, non-wedding-banded female professionals to telegraph our intentions at these networking cocktail receptions.
I remembered a conference for M most people were still standing and chatting.
Well, it was too late for me to get up now and stand—that would look foolish and indecisive, to anyone who might have been watching.
No, better to remain seated. I whipped out my BlackBerry and pretended to be engrossed in important e-mail correspondence.