Opening up a can of Whoop Ass

I tucked in my shirt

So they cleared a desk for me up at the gig in Columbus. I share space with the Chief Marketing Officier. Fancy title for a bubbly chick who seems to balance motherhood and professional responsibility with aplomb.

I’m left staring at a few remnants of the prior occupant, so I spent the early morning hours arranging the visual noise to be less obtrusive to my convoluted thinking.

The job is going fairly well, but the notion of offices, people and working in a larger company seem to get more of my attention than the pixels on the screen.

Today, I noticed one of the junior marketers, public relations I think. She was dressed all smart with her hair done up nice and some whoopass boots on. I believe she had a meeting scheduled with a vendor. Some higher-up golfing-type left without her.

I hear this from others as they discuss it in the primarily female marketing department, and I realize that what I’m seeing is, quite simply, discrimination.

It saddens me a bit.

The P.R. person/girl/young woman/chick, went about her business outwardly unfazed. I realized that I notice these things, and it would make me a good manager. Better yet, I’d fare well at being the higher-up sans the golf.

Thank god I don’t exist in a place that requires titles.