Everyone Worth Knowing Read Online Free PDF Page B

meeting.
    Yes. Certainly. Of course. Yes. Naturally. Yes. A pleasure hearing
    from you, as always. All right, then. Bye-bye." I waited until I heard
    the click on her end and then slammed down the phone.
     
    Nearly five years and I'd yet to utter the word no, as apparently
    you need to have at least seventy-two months' experience before
    being qualified to go there. I went to send Aaron a quick email
    begging him to return Mrs. Kaufman's call so she would finally
    stop stalking me and was surprised to see that he was back at his
    desk, busily blast-emailing us his daily inspirational bullshit.
    Good morning, folks. Let's remember to show our clients our
    high energy levels! Our relationships with these good folks comprise
    our whole business—they appreciate our patience and consideration
    as much as our results-oriented portfolio handling. I'm
    pleased to announce a new weekly group meeting, one that I
    hope will allow us all to brainstorm ways we may better serve
    our clients. It will be held each Friday at 7 a.m. and will provide
    us with an opportunity to think outside the box. Breakfast is on
    me, folks, so bring yourselves and your thinking caps and remember,
    "Great discoveries and improvements invariably involve
    the cooperation of many minds."—Alexander Graham Bell.
    I stared at the email so long my eyes began to glaze over. Were
    his insistence on using the word folks and his constant references
    to "thinking outside the box" more or less annoying than his inclusion
    of the phrase thinking caps? Did he craft and send these
    emails just to add to the all-pervasive misery and hopelessness of
    my days? I pondered this for a few moments, desperate to think
    about anything other than the seven A.M. meeting announcement. I
    managed to move beyond it long enough to field another frantic
    call, this time from Mrs. Kaufman's nephew, that lasted a record
    fifty-seven minutes, ninety percent of which he spent accusing me
    of things that were entirely beyond my control while I said nothing
    or, occasionally, just to switch things up, agreed with him that I
    was, in fact, as dumb and useless as he claimed.
    I hung up and resumed staring listlessly at the email. I wasn't
    exactly sure how Mr. Bell's quote applied to my life or why I
    should care, but I did know if I planned to escape for lunch, now
    was my only chance. I'd abided by the no-leaving-for-lunch policy
     
    my first few years at UBS Warburg and dutifully ordered in each
    day, but lately Penelope and I had brazenly begun sneaking out
    for ten, twelve minutes a day to retrieve our own takeout and cram
    in as much whining and gossip as possible. An IM popped up on
    my screen.
    P.Lo: Ready? Let's do falafel. Meet at the 52nd Street cart in five?
    I punched in the letter Y, hit Send, and draped my suit jacket
    over the back of my chair to indicate my presence. One of the
    managers glanced at me when I picked up my purse, so I filled my
    mug with steaming coffee as additional proof that I hadn't left the
    premises and placed it in the middle of my desk. I mumbled something
    about the bathroom to my fellow cubicle dwellers, who were
    too busy transferring their own facial grime to their telephones to
    even notice, and walked confidently toward the hallway. Penelope
    worked in the real-estate division two floors above me and was already
    in the elevator, but like two well-trained CIA operatives, we
    didn't so much as glance at each other. She let me exit first and circle
    the lobby for a minute while she ducked outside and casually
    strolled past the fountain. I followed as best I could in my ugly,
    uncomfortable heels, the humidity hitting my face like a wall. We
    didn't speak until we'd blended into the line of midtown office
    drones who stood both quietly and restlessly, wanting to savor
    their few precious minutes of daily freedom but instinctively getting
    pissy and frustrated at having to wait for anything.
    "What are you having?" Penelope asked, her eyes scanning