All in A Day’s Work makes light of all of the horrible, life altering events that take place on the job. This book rummages through the not-so-secret world of office politics, and what goes on behind the scenes. Nepotism, racism, sexism and classicism are all prominent themes in this comical but realistically brutal tale.
Regina is the Office Manager and a fly on the wall at a small but successful Public Relations agency in New York City. While some people have to deal with pompous bosses and office politics, Regina is coping with a cross-dressing Vice President, promiscuous co-workers, cantankerous clients and the occasional drug peddling intern. After a Senior Account Executive's death at his desk goes virtually unnoticed, the other employees wonder what happened to Stanley and if they'll suffer the same fate. At World Wide Communications death, deception and scandalous liaisons occur All In A Day's Work.
What is that smell? That’s the first thing out of everyone’s mouth when they walk in the office. Since yesterday, before anyone could utter a half hearted “Good morning” Regina is greeted with “What is that smell?”
Initially there was joking that a rat crawled into a crevice somewhere and died, or maybe someone forgot to toss the Thai food from last week’s luncheon. Some day old salmon maybe? For Regina, it came as no big shock when she received a couple of emails asking if she would investigate the suspicious stench that she was beginning to get accustom to.
Marie graced the office with her presence, which was usually rather bubbly but over the past few weeks had become somber and withdrawn. Marie’s downhearted “morning all,” was quickly exchanged for the more appropriate “what is that,” as she pinched her nose, directing her newfound irritation at the offensive odor in the office. As Regina gradually started rising from her warm chair to begin investigating, the doorbell rang. She opened the door at the same time shouting for Stanley.
“Your breakfast is here.”
“He’ll be with you in a minute,” she assured the impatient delivery boy who was bogged down with bags. Heading toward the kitchen, she listened for Stanley’s sluggish footsteps but heard nothing. She decided to continue on with her original mission: to search for and identify the stinging stench. As she slowly and hesitantly search in the kitchen, peering through the shelves of the office refrigerator which was only three feet high, Percy could be heard galloping out of his office and toward Stanley’s cubicle. Before reaching Stanley you could hear Percy begin to launch into one of his infamous hour long, five-minute conversations with Stanley. This would be Stanley’s first day back in the office after a weeklong business trip.
“Stanley, boy, am I glad you’re back from Canada. I just need five minutes to discu- Oh my God! Regina call 911.”
Any New Yorker who works in Manhattan knows from personal experience that getting to work is a job in itself. Monday through Friday, every morning and every evening I fight my way into the city and box my way out. As I maneuver through the sauna that is our subway system I am not sure which feeling is more overwhelming; the nausea of smelling a collective aroma of homeless people’s urine saturated with ammonia or the constant flow of heat underground that blankets me from all sides. Knocking down and pushing pass little elderly Asian ladies is almost second nature. It sounds cruel, almost barbaric but they are strong, fast and flexible and have no problem tramping over anyone else for a spot on an already overcrowded J train. Subway trains are standing room only during rush hour. After battling my way on to the train I have the pleasure of being molested by multiple strangers on any given day. My ass has been rubbed, palmed, pinched, poked, groped and squeezed. Funny thing is I’ve seen it happen to other women and men too. Fortunately I have Beyoncé blasting in my headphones and my IPad in my hand, which is always a conversation piece.
“Hey miss that’s the IPad 2?”
“No. The first one,” I say annoyed that I’m even entertaining the question at all.
“How much you pay for that?” The bug eyed young lady inquires, as I look her up and down. Clearly thinking she can’t afford it so why ask? “I can’t remember.”
“Yes you can bitch,” she shouts loudly drawing attention to us, as the other passengers amusingly look on. Clearly embarrassed and a little nervous I try to look away and ignore her outburst.
“Ya’’ll type of bitches make me sick. Think ya’ll better than somebody cause you got a lil money.” Suddenly she starts poking me in the arm as she declares, “You got money bitch. How much that IPad cost? Bet you suck some dick to get it! Nah, you probly bury your head in the bushes don’t you? You a fucking lesbian. One of those lipstick lesbians!”
I knew this conversation wouldn’t end well and started to head towards the back of the train as she followed close behind. “Don’t walk away from me dyke, I can buy an IPad too.” Without missing a beat she glances in the direction of another passenger and fixates on the Kindle in his hand. “Hey mister, how much that Kindle cost?”
I used the diversion as a chance to get close to an exit so that I could get off at the next stop but before departing the train I could hear- “You ignoring me? I’ll slap that Kindle out ya fucking hand. Fuck you mister.”
That was the last thing I heard.
Every morning after climbing out of the underground battle royale, I brawl my way through a sea of foreigners and out-of-towners alike to get to work and believe you me there are plenty of days I much rather let them win. Our office is a hop, skip and a jump away from the Empire State Building in Midtown, the heart of New York City. This area is also a tourist trap. The best part of working in this area is being in walking distance to Macy’s, Madison Square Garden, The Gap, Victoria’s Secret, H & M and all the other shops from Fifth Avenue to Eighth Avenue.
Spending fifty or more hours a week with the same people day after day does get monotonous, especially when there is no sex involved. What adults never tell you to expect after college is that work is boring. No matter how much you enjoy your job one day it will hit you like a ton of bricks. Will I be stuck doing this for the rest of my life? Coincidentally marriage is the SAME way. God bless our parents for never coming into our rooms at night, tucking us in and saying with all the love in their hearts kid you’re screwed! Make the best out of the first twenty-one years of your life because after that it will take all the strength in the world not to kill yourself.
Don’t get me wrong there are days when I would rather be at work than anywhere else but that has more to do with my lack of a life not a deeply rooted need to succeed. I absolutely loved the hustle and bustle around the office for the first couple of years but like dating- the thrill is gone. So how do I spice up my work life? As it stands I am a single, twenty nine year old with a cat at home keeping my bed warm because no man has in years. Work is the only thing I really have to get excited about.
As I push through the revolving doors of our office building I notice that there is a new "permanent" security guard on duty by the reception area and since I've never seen him before I am pretty sure he will be harassing me for I.D. Before he could say a word I pull out my tenant I.D. card, slap it against the magnetic strip and keep walking.
At the reception desk directly behind the security guard there are two Most Wanted posters to remind us of the dangers of terrorism. One of the outdated photos is of Osama Bin Laden and the other photo resembles the guy who runs the Halal truck a block away.
"Good morning shorty,” the security guard says with a grin just wide enough to expose a gold tooth. “I don't recall seeing you up in here before," he says as he scans my body with his eyes and then my info. "Suite 311 huh, Imma remember dat."
I didn't even bother to respond, rolling my eyes as I head to the line for the elevators.
Our office has an industrial look to it, with stainless steel air ducts that hang low and exposed. The huge picture windows allow us to look over the rest of the city like giants. Entering the office I immediately notice the conference room door closed and Albert, Elizabeth and Lindsey huddling around the Polycom.
The conference room is the first thing you notice as you make your way into the office. Constructed of all glass, nothing escapes your view. The glass ceiling is the least visible but most durable staple in our office.
JD Kennedy firstname.lastname@example.org