Parker was determined to be the perfect assistant. More than slightly nervous, she had stayed up late the night before, picking out her clothes and ironing them. After a cup of green tea to calm her nerves she read a few chapters of Casino Royale before going to bed. Her new position at Harper, Elliot, Locke was enviable. The publicity firm was small but highly respected and the job paid well. Parker wanted to save up enough money to carry her through when she went back to school to and pursue some post-graduate work.
Harper, Elliot, and Locke just wanted someone who would show up on time, file a few papers, and be respectful. While Harper had been dead seventeen years and most likely didn’t keep too much an eye on the hiring of subordinates, Locke loudly lamented the lack of work ethic in most of today’s youth. Elliot, who would be her immediate supervisor, just wanted someone quiet who wouldn’t remind him of either his mother or his ex-fiancé.
Throughout the interview, which had been mercifully cut short by some sort of publicity crisis, Parker had been distracted by two things. One: the portrait of George C. Harper, who looked as if he wouldn’t be adverse to chasing his secretary around a desk and then maybe having a cigar. Two: Kurt Elliot, who was actually Kurt Elliot Jr. and was, at the age of twenty-seven, taking over his deceased father’s position in the firm. Parker caught herself thinking that she wouldn’t mind being chased around the desk by him but she quickly snapped to attention when Locke bellowed, “Miss Parker, we’ve got to take care of some sudden business. But I think we’ve spoken enough. Can you start on Monday?”
Parker smiled maturely and murmured, “Yes, Sir, I’d be honored.” But Lock was already out of the office, bellowing into his cell phone.
As Parker sat slightly stunned by the blow of employment, she realized she was alone for the first time with her new boss. He studied her coolly as Lock’s call-me-back-with-your-answer-within-fifteen-minutes-or-I’ll-know-the-reason-why echoed down the hall. The silence was uncomfortable, but Parker didn’t feel free to speak or free to go. She sat for a minute longer before venturing, “I’m very enthused about working here, Mr. Elliot.”
Elliot smirked slightly, unbelieving, as Parker berated herself. Enthused? Parker, who says enthused?
“I’m very glad to hear it Miss Parker. I’m certain you’ll be up to your new responsibilities.”
Parker smiled a slight, forced smile.
Elliot continued. “I’d like you here at nine a.m. Please note that punctuality is something I value.”
“I pride myself on being a very prompt individual, Mr. Elliot.”
Mr. Elliot smiled, not kindly. “Then we shouldn’t have any problems. You are free to go, Miss Parker. I’ll see you at nine a.m. on Monday.” He left the room without waiting for another word from Parker.
It was probably for the best.
“Ass,” muttered Parker softly as she gathered her purse and headed towards to gleaming wooden doors of the elevators. Her honest enthusiasm for her new job had been strongly tempered by the priggish condensation of her new supervisor.
Parker lay on the sofa which served as her bed, unable to sleep. She hoped that Mr. Elliot wasn’t quite as bad as she remembered him. She hoped that tomorrow he would be friendlier and a little less stuck-up.
He wasn’t.
“Good.” He said as Parker walked off the elevator at five minutes to nine. “You’re on time.”
“Yes, Mr. Elliot. Good morning.” Parker smiled.
“If you had been late,” continued Mr. Elliot, “I would have fired you on the spot.”
Parker blushed, because she had contemplated being late on purpose just to irritate him. She only restrained herself because of her need of employment.
“Miss Parker, this way, please.”
Parker fought a rising anger as Mr. Elliot showed her her desk and brusquely outlined her duties: answer the phone, announce clients, send clients that he wanted to see in, send away clients that he didn’t want to see, file paper work, run errands, do as she was told, keep busy, and keep quiet. Parker was seconds away from telling Mr. Elliot exactly what she thought of his pompous orders when he concluded, “I hope you are aware that your salary is practically double that of a regular office assistant. It is a very demanding position and if you do not feel capable of handling it, there are hundreds of suitable applicants to take your place.”
Parker seethed. “Mr. Elliot, I am very grateful for the opportunity you have given me, and I am sure that you will find me a most competent assistant.”
Elliot nodded and went behind the great wooden doors that divided their offices. For the rest of the day, Parker was stressed and angered to the point of tears. Mr. Elliot didn’t speak to her whatsoever, except to issue brief instructions and admonitions. Some of the admonitions were not so brief. “The next time a client comes, ask if they have an appointment. If they do not, ask them if they would like to make an appointment. Do not tell them you’ll see if I can “squeeze them in”. I cannot. I am a very busy man and you’re waiting my time.”
“Yes, Mr. Elliot. Sorry, I…” Parker blushed furiously.
“I didn’t ask for an excuse, Miss Parker. Just don’t do it again.”
“Yes, Mr. Elliot.” Parker was scolding herself furiously. Do not cry in front of this complete jerk. Do not even thinking about crying.
Parker did not cry, but by the end of her first day she felt raw with criticism. Mr. Parker liked the pencils point side up in the pencil holder on her desk, the staple on a documented needed to be angled and in a particular position, and if she needed to step away from her desk, even for a moment, she needed to ask.
“Do I need a hall pass, too?” she wanted to snap, but visions of being evicted from her pathetic apartment held her tongue in place.
Back home, in her little one room apartment she was working so hard to keep, she did her best to rally herself. She spoke out loud to her lonely little apartment as she made herself some tea. “I can handle this. I can handle this man. I put myself through college, I’m going to put myself through graduate school. If I can keep this job for a year, just a year, I’ll save enough to go back to school. Just a year.” The long bleak year of criticism and nit-picking rose grimly before her and her tea seemed very weak.
She retrieved her laptop from the coffee table/nightstand and brought it to the kitchen/dining room table. She silently thanked her neighbors for not securing their wireless network and went to Google. How to handle a difficult boss. Over seven million hits. Parker picked her way through such gems as “Don’t blame the boss- change your behavior”. “Create a win-win scenario” and “Don’t let anyone take your power- be indomitable”. She sighed and tried another search. How to handle your difficult yet very attractive boss. Far fewer results and none of them seemed relevant. She shook her head. “He’s not attractive,” she growled. “He’s a jackass.”
But she was going to be the very best assistant to that jackass that she could possibly be.
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