In my new job, I get to deal with a handful of reasonably high-profile authors and wannabe authors. Today was one of those days. There's this woman, we'll call her "Amy." Amy is not really a celebrity in her own right, but she has turned up on Page Six, so maybe she thinks she is.
Amy and my boss were supposed to have lunch at 1:00 today, to discuss a project Amy is maybe doing. I've been trying to schedule this for several weeks now, but Amy's hard to reach. My boss and I are forced to go through her manager whenever we want to get in touch. (I'm actually a little shocked she has a manager, since it's not like she does much, but oh well -- she does.
Anyway, today at 12:10, I get a call. "This is Amy," says a voice that sounds like a bratty 17-year-old. (Amy is 30.) "Look! I didn't know about this lunch thing! My manager just called, like fifteen minutes ago to tell me. I find it absolutely abhorrent that he JUST CALLED to tell me about this--"
"Oh, I'm so sorry," I interject at the first time she pauses to sigh with the force of a person deeply overburdened by her schedule as a psuedo C-list celebrity. "We don't have your contact info, so we have to go through him, and he said he'd spoken to you. I promise this won't happen again."
"Whatever, [exapserated sigh] my whole day now is all messed up. I mean, I know it's not all your fault [does she really? and ALL my fault?] but well, what am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do? I'm WAY uptown and -- well -- where are we meeting?"
"Union Square Cafe," I tell her. It is a nice place. If someone wanted to take me out to this place for lunch, I'd be very happy. But she is not.
"Ok, well. I don't even know where that is." (Note: WHERE DO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK THE UNION SQUARE CAFE IS?) I look up the exact address and tell her. "OK. Well. I don't know what to do."
And so on. I attempt to calm her down and say my boss can really meet her later in the afternoon, perhaps at another location if she wants. "Whatever is easiest for you," I say no less than five times. Finally, Amy decides that she can make it to lunch after all. So she does.
Cut to several hours later, when my boss is returning from lunch. "Everything ok?" I ask her. "She's just such a doll," she sighs. "So nice..."
"Oh good," I say, and make my best attempt to not laugh or roll my eyes.
(Addendum: This is not to say I don't have faith in my boss' ability to judge character. It is more to say that if you are bitchy to all assistants and nice to their bosses, you ARE a bitch.)
previously | http://parenthetical.org/ | next