Beauty Industry Calling

A day after I told my agency that my "Little Blue Box" job was ending, a counselor called me and asked, "How would you like to work at a great cosmetics company? We've got a spot that would be just right for you."

Hmm. I remembered interviewing at a cosmetics company, and how sterile and unappealing I'd found the environment to be. But that was for a permanent job -- temping was a different story.

"Sure. Can you tell me more about it?" The spot was at a top cosmetics company, providing administrative support in a very high-level executive's office, through the end of the year (it was just before Thanksgiving). My counselor booked me to start the following Monday, at my highest temp salary to date.

The offices here were not hospital-like at all -- they were very nice, and located on the 40th floor of a snazzy Trump building overlooking Central Park. The view was very similar, and equally as phenomenal as the one from that mogul's building I had interviewed in a few years before. (Funny, New York really does have endless variety, but if you're here long enough things start to crisscross and overlap.)

The boss had two assistants (standard procedure for many high-level executives). Denise was the "Executive Assistant," and Ashley, the notch-lower "Administrative Assistant." Denise was eight months pregnant, and soon to start her maternity leave. She was transitioning her workload to Ashley -- I was called in to help Ashley during this process. I sat in the desk area directly behind her.

Ashley was a very pretty, ultra perfect-looking Southern belle. She was about five foot four, probably a size 2 (or zero), with blond shoulder-length hair and a fabulous body. She made sure to showcase her assets to the fullest by always wearing formfitting clothes, high heels, and a lot of makeup for a pretty girl who didn't especially need it.

When I began working with her, we exchanged small talk (as I do with anyone new), and she seemed fine with our chatting. She told me she was originally from the south -- one of the Carolinas, I believe, which explained her southern-tinged accent and gracious manners when interacting with clients. Yes, Ashley seemed amiable enough. At first.

On my third or so day, I couldn't help but overhear one of Ashley's phone conversations. She made no effort whatsoever to speak in a hushed voice when she complained, "I told him it was over between us, but he just doesn't get it. He won't stop calling me, sending me gifts, e-mailing me... finally, I had to change my phone number and e-mail address! Some guys just don't take no for an answer. You know what I mean?"

(Not that it would be anything to brag about, but I never had a guy hound me when I said it was over. But then again, I don't look like Miss Ashley.)

After Ashley got off the phone, she walked over to where I was sitting to use the fax machine. Casually, I commented, "Gee, you had to change your phone number because of a guy?"

The instant those words left my mouth, Ashley's once-sweet demeanor turned positively icy. She glared at me and replied, "That's a very personal matter, and I'd appreciate you not eavesdropping on my phone conversations."

Mee-yaow! The claws came out, and Miss Ashley dug them in!

I don't know how they do things down south, Miss Ashley, but us Northerners are usually a tad more discreet when discussing private and/or sensitive matters at the workplace. But I suspect you enjoyed your little power display over me, didn't you? After all, before I came along, you were the lowest on the totem pole.

For the sake of good standing (and to not jeopardize my relationship with my agency), I bit the bullet and apologized for commenting on her "personal matter." From that point on I carefully watched my every word. I refrained from commenting on anything I heard her talk about, or asking any non-business-related questions. Dealing with Ashley became the most stressful part of the job!

I'm a very non-violent person, but after repeated Ashley-reprimands for no apparent reason, several times I actually thought, Listen here, Miss 98-pound waif, I could kick your ass real bad. You realize that, don't you?

Yet it was weird: Between bouts of Ice Queen behavior, sometimes she would be very nice to me, and even give me stuff. One time, she said, "Here - want this?" as she tossed me a makeup bag filled with samples. Sure, I took it. (Megan was right about all the "free samples" when you work at a cosmetics company.)

On another occasion, she said, "Here -- do you want these?" as she gave me this nearly full tin of cookies from a chichi local bakery that a client had given her the day before. She bemoaned, "I've been eating too many... [she had maybe three, and they were small]... I'm getting fat. I have to lose weight. For the first time in my life my weight is in the triple digits."

The "triple digits"? Oh, what a travesty, Miss Ashley! That's horrid, if I do say! But wait... what normal, 5'4" adult's weight isn't in the triple digits?

Even though most of the time she acted like she was Goddess and I was Peasant Servant, I didn't hate her, or even dislike her for it. That's because the Ashley character study was such a novel and intriguing experience. I might have refrained from commenting on her conversations, but that's not to say I wasn't intently listening, slyly smirking all the while as I committed them to memory....

Some Ashley comments:

To her boss, an extremely high-level executive [his name was Dan]: "Hey, Danny boy!"

To a friend on the phone, about her current beau: "He's in real estate. But in the good kind of real estate -- like, he sold Puff Daddy his apartment."

To me, spontaneously, after I handed her a message that some guy had called for her: [As she rolls her eyes back] "Oh, God -- I can't believe he called me. I didn't give him my number -- I just mentioned my name and where I worked. I talked to him one night for like five minutes when I was out with my father."

To herself, as she was looking in the mirror touching up her makeup: "Ugh, I gotta quit smoking. I look like I'm 40." [She's 25]

And here are a couple of Ashley stories (told to me):

"I went out to dinner with this guy I was dating, and I wore a gorgeous new coat. It was long and swingy, with leopard print all over it, and it cost about $600. During dinner, we got into a huge fight -- he ended up storming out of the restaurant. When we'd checked our coats, the girl had given us only one ticket for both, and he had the ticket. Before he left he got his coat out of the coat check. When I went to get mine, the girl refused to give it to me because I didn't have a ticket. I swore the coat was mine, but she wouldn't give it back - I had to leave without it. When I called the restaurant the next day, they said they couldn't find my coat. I just know the coat check girl took it home with her."

"I started this job around the same time I moved to a different apartment, and I had no free time to do my laundry. So every time I ran out of underwear, I'd stop by Bloomingdale's and buy some more. I must have about 80 pairs of underwear. And shoes? Don't even get me started. I have a major shoe fetish...."

One thing I tip my hat to Ashley for is that she really worked her butt off for the boss. From eight-thirty in the morning until after six, she cranked it out non-stop (save for a cigarette break or two). Sorry, but I could never show such tireless devotion.

In contrast, my hours here were nine to five, and what did I do? As usual, not a whole heck of a lot, which is just the way I like it, and the reason why I'm a temp (you know why by now). I asked Ashley many times if she needed help with anything, but most of the time she couldn't reassign her work to me. Tisk, tisk.

Aside from the challenges I experienced dealing with Ashley, all in all, I had a pleasant five-week stay. Some of the perks included the unparalleled view, friendly co-workers (a certain someone not included here), above-average coffee (free, like it should be), and frequent opportunities to snag leftover food from meetings.

But the biggest perk of all was the generous amount of makeup/perfume/skincare products that were routinely given away, even to temp employees such as myself. Although I had no intention of actually using the many products offered to me, I still took them, because my scheming mind thought up another use: return the items to exclusive department stores for credit.

It worked like a charm. I racked up about $350 worth of credit, which spending was quite the heyday for usual thrift-shopper me. You should see my new comforter cover and matching shams -- they're simply smashing!

Call me "resourceful?" Yeah, I suppose you could. One must make the most of the situations at hand.