I wake bright and early, ready to face into the day. I’m back to being Tony with a y today, at least until I get home from work. There’s nothing to it. This is what pays the bills and I’m going to have a lot of them soon so it’s a case of pushing aside my worries and just facing up.
I shower, finishing off my legs, my one gift to myself, clean up my pits and scrawl at my face with a different, blue razor, then I’m out of the shower, walking past the makeup sample bags I was given yesterday and staring down at my man clothes laid out in my bedroom.
It’s simple work gear. I never meet clients so just basic chinos, shirt and sweater. No tie. I do make an allowance to myself though. No, not the panties, that’d be far too risky, but the socks with ladybugs and butterflies on them. They’re just socks. Why would anyone care about socks? Except for me, I suppose.
Then it’s some toast and soon I’m getting off the bus and walking into my office building.
I pass the security guards at the door to the long, thin lobby — long but not deep into the building — just one row of reception seats set next to each other the whole breadth of the room — tall, glass-windowed frontage along the wall with the entrance — past security’s main station and swiping past the automatic barriers wondering if anyone notices anything different about me. No-one says anything if they do.
Arriving to my floor some people are already here beavering away while hoping to remain unnoticed. It’s a big room, with a low, drop ceiling and thankfully no fluorescent lights. The room is about the size of a basketball court, or feels that way, with plain, uniform desks set parallel to the walls. Somehow they’ve managed to give some feeling of privacy despite it being all open plan — not even cubicles — simply with the way the desks are staggered and slightly offset from each other in layering out from the wall.
At the top of the room are a few couches for my level of floor — and employee — to have informal meetings at; low tables set in front of the not-comfy, rough fabric, upholstered in bold, primary colours couches with a hot drinks station nearby.
There’s some meetings at the couches now with people writing the odd few words and making diagrams on the whiteboards they can roll up to the tables. I notice, for some reason, primary colours — and their neighbours — actually seem to be the theme to this area. I’ve never noticed that before but it suddenly dawns on me.
Set off from the top of the room is Greg’s office; Greg’s office of yelling. Whenever you go to the bathrooms — which are on the corridor leading to this hellhole — you almost inevitably end up hearing Greg shouting at someone. Sometimes seemingly shouting at a something and not a someone. Often indecipherably. Even yelping, at times. Greg is... Greg. And an asshole.
He’s not shouting as I make my way in. I haven’t abused the flexitime, not often, anyway, so he’s not really on the look-out for when I arrive.
I still feel like I’m sneaking, though, when I’m walking to my desk, which is clean, my laptop secured with the security cable, notepads, pens and post-its neatly arranged.
No-one says Hi or Good morning to me as I pass them, not that they’d normally do that.
I slowly start into my work, my morning basics; checking my emails — nothing new — then proofreading reports we’ll be sending out. I’ve read hundreds of them, maybe thousands, and often make suggestions that are mostly ignored. Mainly it’s typos and grammar issues I’ve found that get corrected for the final document. Why I still make suggestions I don’t know; I just do. I guess it’s my job even if I’m ignored.
I wait until after most people take their morning break and are returning before I decide I can take mine. I’m locking my monitor with my password when Greg comes walking up to me with a face like thunder.
“Do you know Mr. Mayer?” Greg asks.
“Yeah, of course,” I say.
“Well, he wants to see you.”
“What for!?” I ask.
“I don’t know. He asked to see you. And now, if you please!” Greg says, smirk on his face.
It feels like there’s a lead weight in my chest as I take the elevator two floors up, afraid to trust my legs on the stairs. I walk into Mr. Mayer’s waiting area where his secretary says my name, which I confirm, then she asks me to have a seat.
I wait for about fifteen minutes, with my tummy beginning to gurgle — from lack of food or nerves I don’t know — when the secretary says I can go in.
I stand and straighten myself up, knock on Mr. Mayer’s door then go in with his secretary staring.
Inside a formally dressed woman is sitting to the side and behind Mr. Mayer’s desk. Mr. Mayer is in an expensive grey and white striped shirt; his salt and pepper beard and extremely maintained hair giving the look of wealth and power; standard for the company.
“Tony, have a seat,” he says. “I’ve asked Therese to join us from HR. We have a few concerns looking over your file and work history that we’d like to clear up.”
“Of course, whatever I can do...” I say, sitting down. It’s looking really bad for me if HR is involved.
“OK, straight to the point. Have you ever felt bullied or unsafe in the workplace?” Mr. Mayer asks.
“What, no!” I say, without thinking.
“This is a zero tolerance workplace. Any harassment or bullying of staff is absolutely not condoned and will be dealt with immediately.”
I think back to being made clean the kitchen, wash up after people, scour coffee cups and mugs and generally sweep up but if my job is at risk maybe now is not the best time to mention anything that could come off as sour grapes; especially against Greg who’s untouchable according to all accounts.
I shake my head. “Nothing, no...” I whisper.
“We’ll set that aside, then... I’ve reviewed some of your work, just a quick skim through and it’s not terrible,” he says. And now I’m waiting for the But. “But it’s not great. And after a conversation with Therese I’m wondering why that is...”
“I... I don’t...” I stammer out.
“But whatever about the long term, whether it takes a department switch to a new supervisor, maybe to some other work focus or something else down the line to bring out what you can show us we’ll have to get to work on proving to people you can be as good as — if not better than — all the other employees here.” He pauses and looks towards the woman. “Now it’s your turn, Therese,” he says to her, sitting back.
“OK! Tony...” she says with a big smile. “The business’s health insurance plan — the over-arching directional policy — is coming up for review. It’s an opportunity for us to negotiate and add new parts, from HR’s input, to remove parts that don’t apply and generally tailor it all to what we need as a modern business with a diversity of employees. As you know we have offices across the countries so some elements are there to serve less, well, less forward thinking administrations, shall we say, even if they don’t quite apply here.”
“Sure, I understand,” I say.
“What me and Mr. Mayer want from you,” at this point she stands and hands me a large print out, “Is a review of this policy from someone in your position. I’m sure you know you’re in our lowest pay bracket, although that can change, you’re relatively young and you haven’t been here for too long a time rather long enough a time you should feel comfortable and have all our benefits.”
“Yes, of course. I do,” I say as I look at the cover page of the thick document and riffle through a few of the sheets of paper. “Is there anything in specific you want me to focus on?”
“We don’t want to direct you,” she says. “Whatever comes to mind when you read through. Whatever applies to you and people who’d have just joined the business or are on a low-ish salary is what we’re hoping for, but you’re not limited to that. If you notice anything else, or have heard anything from anyone else please include it if you deem it relevant to your level.”
Mr. Mayer shifts in his seat. “Tony, we make mistakes in hiring people, of course. But when I said your work hasn’t been terrible I read through your recent drafts on documents and some of the suggestions are quite good, in fact, but not in the final report. Hence the question about any mistreatment. As a business we need to value all our co-workers for what they bring no matter what we think of them.”
I’m not sure quite what all this is about but I guess it’d make sense they want the opinion of someone on the lowest of low wages, they do take on new graduates who’d be on near to the same wage as me. And I’m not essential to any project so I can be spared at the moment. “When do you want this done by?” I ask.
“Today I just want you to read through the document, as much as you can get through. You’re to focus solely on this for the coming week. If anyone asks you to do anything else say you’re under my orders. If they push you further call me. Susan outside, my secretary, will sort them out. Tomorrow morning, 7am, I want you to meet with some people; an informal get together who I want you to ask for their thoughts on the current health plan.
“After that I’ll talk with you again and we’ll set out exactly what I’m expecting for the next few days.”
“Sure, of course,” I say.
“Now if there’s anything else?” he asks. “Therese?” She shakes her head and he looks at me. “Tony?” I shake my head too. “OK, get to work, please. This is an opportunity for you, Tony. A fresh start and your first time doing something directly for me.”
I nod, fully understanding the gravity of the situation if not every consequence. This could very well be a test to see if I keep my job. “Of course, I’ll do it as well as I can,” I say.
“That’s all I ask of anyone,” Mr. Mayer says.
As I’m walking towards the door, feeling light headed, he speaks up again, “And Tony, if you ever get me in an office gift exchange, Christmas, whatever... Socks, please! You can never have enough socks.” I laugh, but I’m not quite sure why, and soon I’m back at my desk.
I’m reading through the document, forcing myself to pay serious attention. This really is a big opportunity and it’s perhaps my last opportunity. It’ll decide my future here, I know that. And I really don’t want to be looking for another job while my personal life is being entirely rearranged. In fact I don’t know if I could rearrange my personal life if I was struggling for one of the rare jobs around here that are available.
As I read through the document I notice, eventually, the it’s been worked on before, just someone reading through it with a pen. There’s careless swipes from when someone absent-mindedly dotted at something or accidentally ran their pen over it as they turned a page.
It’s a complex document, with a lot of referring to other sections, sub-paragraphs and clauses changing other elements. I’m incredibly focused on it, I have to be, when I notice my boss, Greg, standing above me.
“What time is it?” he asks.
I look at the clock on my laptop, “3pm?” I say.
“And have you been to lunch?” he asks.
“No. I’m fine, really. I need to get this—”
“Yes, I know, you’re reviewing something for Mr. Mayer. But if you don’t eat your work will be as poor as it usually is and that’ll look bad on me. Get something to eat. At the least a sandwich.”
I take the elevator to the cafeteria, with the health insurance document tucked under my arm, where I get a coffee and ham salad sandwich. I sit down and take a bite of the sandwich, looking around the cafeteria, wondering what the people around me, or people like them — there’s workers from loads of different businesses in the building — would make of trying to decipher a document like this. It’s incredibly dense. But unlike me they’re probably well used to work like this; this is an expensive building.
I finish my sandwich and start into my coffee when another pen dot catches my eye, right next to Gender Affirming Care. I look around to see if anyone’s watching me, cross my legs and hunch over, beginning to read.
I must have read the entire gender care part, and all the subsections and referrals five times over when I realise I’ve been sitting here far too long, with my coffee now ice cold. I rush back to my desk and it seems Greg was waiting for me; as soon as I’ve sat down he’s out of his office.
“You can just go home, Tony,” he says.
“I still need to read th—”
“You might need to read something but you’ve spent nearly two hours wasting that opportunity on a late lunch. Go home. You’re wasting your time here! My time now!” he says.
I try to protest but his look at me says he’s having none of it.
I acquiesce, agree to his demands and pack up. When he leaves I shove the document from Mr Mayer and Therese in my bag before leaving the building and walking to the bus home.
Sitting on the bus I receive a notification. It’s a message from Jess, “How was work, hun? Everything go OK? Nothing to worry about?” And it’s like she’s read my mind.
I message her back really needing someone to talk to. “I’ve been given a special project. I have to do a review of our health insurance. Reporting to one of the higher ups. I think they want to see if they can work with me or if I’d be better off somewhere else, you know? Not working there. It’s a big deal. I’ve been worrying all day.”
Jess messages me back immediately, either already at home herself or on her way there. “Try and give yourself time to be you, Toni, you need some space. If you can find that I’m sure you’ll do a good job.”
I think of the makeup samples at home and getting changed into normal clothes, and maybe just going for a burger but I push those thoughts aside knowing this really is my last chance. “Yeah, I will,” I message to Jess, a little bit of a lie. “I need an early night, though. I’m wanted in first thing to meet with some people about the document tomorrow. I really need to know what it says if I’m to talk with them and I’m nowhere near finished.”
“OK. Get comfy, take some breaks but just do your best. That’s all anyone can ask.”
I message Jess back a simple, “Thank you,” and then I’m right by my stop and making my way to my apartment.
My plan was to finish work as normal, switch on youtube and watch some makeup tutorials but that’s out the window now, although I do do something for me, sort of. I look up the care plan we have for here from work’s website, with the document next to me, and begin to search out all the medical systems and accesses provided by our insurers that involve trans healthcare.
It is a total pain to work through. Nothing is clear. Everything is hidden away and some of the web pages that are supposed to contain information don’t even exist, despite there being direct links. I did start this for information purely about trans care but I’m quickly extending my search out to anything. It’s nigh on impossible to find what I need. Then I’m looking nationally, and internationally — through our group — and it’s even worse again. Some things apply in some areas but not in others. Some of our offices could be on the border of two or three different insurance districts and depending on address, despite being in the one office, you might have access to some, all, and in one case I even found a situation where you could have access to no approved healthcare.
I don’t know if this is what Mr. Mayer wants from me. He asked for gaps in what’s provided, for renegotiations, but if people can’t even access what supposedly exists already, or don’t even know about what’s available, then what’s the point in demanding more? No-one gets it in the first place unless they’re really forced by dire circumstances to navigate all this.
It’s getting really late and I realise my plans have been whacked out of line completely. Not only have I not dedicated my time to me and then not just to looking up the trans healthcare my workplace provides but now I’ve been wading through a document and website that looks like it’s purposefully made to keep things hidden.
With a headache starting to fully develop, now, I know I need to stop, and I don’t know if the pain in my head is from all the reading and confusion, or because it’s late, or if it’s just because I need to eat.
I think of what’s in the fridge. I didn’t do any shopping at the weekend so go and check. There is some eggs and bacon; the items G bought.
I send G a message, just to say something to anyone, to hear from someone not trapped in health insurance documents. I tell him I’m planning on making the eggs he made, along with the bacon he bought that we didn’t eat, and ask him if he has any expert cooking advice.
I’m considering cracking open one of the beers Steph brought from Light Avenue on Saturday night when G texts back. “Butter! Very patient and slow with the eggs at first. Then as they’re getting solid a burst of quickness. They’re ready before you think they are.” Simple, direct and straight to the point.
Soon I’m sitting at my little table with some eggs and bacon on a plate, and one of the beers next to it. I take a picture of it and message G with a, “Thanks, Chef Ramsay.”
I’m halfway through it, and it’s actually pretty decent, by my standards if not G’s, when he messages me back with a picture of Gordon Ramsay with text over it of, “Eat your fucking dinner before it goes cold, you sausage!!!”
Finishing up, as I’m doing the washing, I realise my eyes are drooping. It’s late, but not that late. I wonder what has me so tired as I’m rinsing a fork and then I smile to myself. I guess I have been busy lately. Then I laugh. I’ve been so fucking busy. There’s no break at all!
I dry everything and put it away, then pack up my work stuff into my backpack before laying out my clothes for tomorrow and get changed into a nightdress, all the while smiling; exhausted and smiling. I follow all the instructions the woman who gave me the makeup samples said about skincare as I wash my face.
I walk into my living room, ready for bed, and laugh again. It quickly turns to proper hysterics and I can’t stop. Who am I? What the fuck is happening? What am I doing?
I feel great! Life has been great despite... Despite nothing!
When Steph left the beers on Saturday night she also left a bottle of whiskey and told me to save it for a special occasion, or for with a special someone, as a birthday present to me on my birth-day. I can’t think of an occasion more special than this. Or a person I’m more happy to be with than me. Just me, all on my own. And comfortable with myself. Maybe for the first time in my life!
I take a glass from the kitchen and open the whiskey. I pour myself a small measure and sit on my couch. I take out my phone and randomly flick through the various sites I’d normally spend hours on looking at funny videos and pictures but never really laughing at them. Not out loud, certainly, but now everything feels so light and simple and I’m laughing like I’m insane.
I finish my whiskey and think about pouring another but instead I go to bed, hugging the bedclothes around me. Sure, another drink might be nice but I’m not worried about tomorrow. I’m not scared of tomorrow. It could be good or it could be bad. I don’t know. And that’s a joy of life. It wasn’t great for me before but a surprise night brought, well, me to me.
I’m wide awake early the next morning, completely forgetting how quickly or not I fell I asleep but it was easy, no tossing or turning. It’s not too early, but early enough that despite having a meeting before normal work hours I can just lie in bed and rest for a while. My mind feels like an ocean; waves of peace, sunshine and a gentle breeze. And it’s all stretching for thousands of miles.
After a few minutes of silence, both around me and in thought, I know what I have to do. I take my phone from the table at the head of my bed and message, Steve, “Hey, what’s up? How are you?” I don’t sign off with Toni. I think it’s because I want to leave the onus on him to say anything.
A little over an hour later I’m walking into work. It’s the earliest I’ve been in the building in years but it’s not quiet at all.
I find the room Mr. Mayer mentioned, knock on the door and let myself in. It’s a meeting room with a big oval conference table, open in the centre, different sections of table pushed together. There’s a few people already sitting around it, chatting amongst themselves, and Mr. Mayer is standing with a coffee near some dispensers in the corner where other people are mingling. He beckons me over.
“I’m in the right place?” I ask.
“You are,” he says. “Coffee?”
“Please,” I say, and he pours one out asking if I want anything in it. Normally in meetings I’d be the one handing out coffees and keeping invisible.
He hands it to me and begins to talk. “This is an informal group, nothing really official. LGBTQ+ employees who just want to get together and talk. It’s typically about any problems they might have, about news applicable to them, any grievances they don’t quite want to make official yet or just want advice on. Ninety percent of the time it’s just gossip. It’s a bit of stress relief, really. A place to unwind and talk shop with no pressures and no after work alcohol.”
Mr. Mayer keeps talking and seems not to have noticed me drop then barely catch my coffee again when he said LGBTQ employees, and I don’t think he can actually see the two very sharp knives currently stabbing me in the temples. “Anyway,” he continues. “With you looking at the healthcare plan I thought you’d be great to listen to any concerns or issues they might have specific to them.”
I take a deep breath. “Sure, yeah. OK. Of course,” I say. “I’m not sure if I have anything to say, yet, though.”
“Just listen. You don’t have to say anything,” he says.
I sit down on a free seat in front of the conference table, with my heart pounding. Why has he picked me for this? Surely it can’t be the sock comment from yesterday? No-one can figure out what I am purely from ladybug socks, right?
A woman seems to be talking to me, that I didn’t notice, and I apologise for not hearing.
“I was just saying you’re new here, or I haven’t seen you before. Don’t worry, everyone’s friendly,” she says.
“Mr. Mayer asked me to hear some concerns from people, about the healthcare plan,” I say.
“Benjamin? He’s lovely. If he asked you to be here then you’re very welcome,” she pauses and seems to be sizing me up, almost retreating into herself before saying, “Have a nice weekend?”
“Yeah, I was out with some friends.”
“At your age I bet it was wild, it certainly was when I was in my twenties. Where’s everyone going to now? I don’t think I’m quite Mom enough yet to be totally out of touch.”
“A place called Light Avenue,” I say.
She seems to relax a little at that, then says, “Are they still running the minibus? Not that it was actually a minibus in my day. Just the biggest, ugliest looking mini-van thing with the most seats on the market — probably imported specially, actually.”
“Yeah, still the same,” I say. “It took me home. My first night in there, too.”
“Oh you did have a good weekend then. The minibus was great. I met my wife on it,” she says as she wiggles her fingers showing off a ring, looking lost in a thought. Then she smiles to herself.
“How was your weekend?” I ask.
“I’m glad to be in work, even with the early starts,” she says, shaking her head. “Nothing here is as tiring as multiple birthday parties every damn weekend with a five year old. There must be hundreds of kids in his class. And the cost of gifts!”
“Everything is so expensive!” I say.
“You’re too young to be pointing that out. The price of things for you now is the most affordable they’ll ever be.”
I laugh, almost in dread, as Therese calls everyone’s attention. “Thanks for coming, all,” she says. “Sorry to call the meeting forward but a couple of things came up. The big news is we’ve signed a deal with the LGBTQ+ gym chain. I thought people would want to know straight away.”
A few people clap their hands together and there’s one or two boisterous cheers.
“Now, we can’t keep this gym private knowledge. Everyone in the various offices we have around the city will know and have access to it. You could meet anyone there but they do have a reputation so you shouldn’t run into anyone being an ass.
“We’ve also got an agreement for a couple of classes if the machines and weights aren’t your thing. It’s not everything we wanted but most classes they run are covered. If you’re planning on taking one or two a week you shouldn’t have any problems.”
A man from the other side of the room speaks up, “Did we get the pool?”
“You won’t let me build the suspense, will you, Marcus?” Therese says. “Yes, we got the pool. And full family membership. Along with four guest passes a month if you apply through the company. You can buy up to twelve a month with the gym. The pool does have a few more rules.
“They’re not open generally at every hour, but most of them. There’s a few private hours for the kids, and nephews and nieces of members, swimming classes and the like, and a few hours set aside for trans members, but trans people are, of course, free to use it during general hours not just during their dedicated times. That’s simply an accommodation for people who might not feel comfortable and want a bit of privacy; something I’m sure we all understand.”
I look around as she says that and most people have no reaction beyond a few nods in acceptance, or agreement.
“When can we sign up?”
“Yeah, I never get any rest, or thanks...” Therese says, and there’s some gentle laughter and a clap or two. “I’ll take a list of names here and send the first email with our employees to the gym after lunch. You will need your company ID when you first see them then they’ll issue their own membership ID which you need to get in. Make sure you look stunning for your photo! But, yes, you could be sitting in a steam room come 7pm this evening.”
This time there really is an outbreak of clapping around the room.
“The other reason for the meeting is Tony,” she says pointing to me. “They’re doing a review of some of the health insurance. If anyone has any concerns or issues they don’t want to or haven’t pointed out to me or someone else in HR they can message Tony. Just ask them for their email address once I stop droning on.
“Do you have anything to add, Tony?”
“No, not really,” I say, and pause for a second in thought. But all this is about proving my worth. “Except for the HR point. I’m sure you know the document very well, everyone in HR will, but if you want to research it on your own, or just look things up on online it’s convoluted. Confusing even. Some of the links and webpages are dead. And I’m—”
“That’s a fair point,” Therese says. “But to start any new process, even if we don’t need precise details, you do have to go through HR and we have a good understanding of what’s available. We can show you how to search the documents on your own.” She turns away after saying that, changed just barely from her happy, open personality to more of what I’d encounter on a normal workday.
The woman next to me, with the kids’ birthday parties, speaks up. “No, Tony is right. Sometimes you don’t actually want anything. You just want to know. Maybe planning for something long term, or even just thinking. Me and Megan weren’t planning on having a child, not really, not in the short term but we wanted to figure out options. We looked at the plan and couldn’t figure out anything about IVF, or pretty much any pregnancy options for two women. Going to someone in the company would have been a commitment, or at least felt like it, and too big a step. We spent months pulling our hair out looking at various sites and dead pages, downloading PDFs. I think it did actually discourage us for a while.”
“OK, that’s good to know and we’ll keep it in mind. Thanks Kris,” Therese says but that seems to open the floodgates. So many voices are talking about policies and healthcare plans — and their problems with it — I’ll never remember it all. I don’t even have time to reach for some paper with the issues coming so fast.
After a minute or two more of this, and me sitting in a daze, Mr. Meyer speaks up, slightly loudly. “OK, thanks everyone. We can all email these concerns to Tony. That’s why I have them assigned to this task. So if everyone can quieten down Tony can call out their email address.”
That does seem to settle people down, eventually, and I call out my my first and last name, enunciating the dot in the middle of the email address.
“Is that Tony with an i or a y?” someone asks, and I can’t help but laugh to myself, and I spot Mr. Mayer smiling too.
“A y,” I say.
“OK, I think that’s that for today. As soon as you all finish off the coffees and pastries, and the always important chats, you can do what you’re supposed to be doing here, which is working and not tormenting Therese or Tony.”
He motions at me with a finger and I walk over to him.
“OK, come with me Tony,” he says, but he’s already turning and confidently striding away — with me struggling to collect all my things and catch up with him — like this is him returning to Big Boss mode and me the insignificant pawn trying to validate their worth. Something this meeting may very well have been a part of. Maybe, I think. Although I’m not fully sure on that any more.
I grab my things and reach Mr. Mayer just as the elevator is closing, me out of breath.
We go to the café on the ground floor where Mr. Mayer orders two coffees.
We sit down at a table with people casually eating morning snacks and light breakfasts all around us.
“How much coffee do you drink?” I ask Mr. Mayer, then quickly realise that could be taken as petulant, especially if he misinterprets the hint of anxiety in my tone; instead he laughs.
“Most of my job is drinking coffee with people, sometimes something stronger. It’s rare I ever finish one. If I drank them all I’d never sleep at night.” He rotates the cardboard cup around in front of him. “You seem more relaxed today. I’m glad. Do you think you’ll be back to the group again? It’ll open a lot of doors for you.”
“You know, don’t you?” I say, feeling my face heat up, and everyone in the café staring at me.
And even if he doesn’t know I’ve now let slip there is something to know.
“In my position I only know what’s written in plain English, documented and signed, sitting before me. But because I’m good at what I do I know a lot more than that, unofficially, never to be spoken of. Including when some employees loan their friends the official work fleece and are out shopping with them.”
“Oh...” I say. “I didn’t think of that...”
“And don’t think of it again,” Mr. Mayer says. “You’ve done nothing wrong. At least not in this office. It could make things difficult in some of our other locations but I won’t let it here.”
“I guess, yes, then,” I say. “I probably should go back to the meeting.” I don’t actually have to speak there. I can just sit and listen.
“I’ll tell Therese to add you to the mailing list. Don’t worry, no-one will say a word about anything you bring up there. At least not attached to a name. And you don’t have to say anything at the meetings. You’re in now.”
“Will you be there?” I ask.
He seems to know what I’m really asking when he says, “I’ve been with my husband so long he’s stopped finishing my sentences and instead just tells me to be quiet. He uses less business appropriate terms, however.”
“Was that rude? Asking...” I stop, feeling like I’m being intrusive.
“No,” Mr. Mayer says plainly. “It does give me an idea of where you’d fit into the company better. Everything I’ve seen so far is helping me on it.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Your style,” he says, but I’m just wearing chinos and a shirt, so he can’t mean that; certainly not my socks, again. Then he continues. “I’m not sure if you’re doing it completely deliberately yet but you’re pointing out things other people might not see, or acting on what you see. People talk a lot of rubbish about blue sky thinking and thinking outside the box but that’s typically because they haven’t had an original idea in decades. Then they call us in.”
“Consulting?” I say.
“Yes... There’s something holding them down, or dragging them back. Something they can’t kick off that’s stopping them from doing what they could have been very good at a few years before, or had the potential for but never quite reached.”
I stop and consider things. “I’ve never worked with anything raw, like direct documents, or processes or interviews. Not with an actual client,” I say.
“You’ll get there,” Mr. Mayer says. “You’re literally doing it for us now, internally.”
I think back to how I seemed to annoy Therese by bringing up a problem that’s under the HR department. “Did I make an enemy of Therese?” I ask.
“No. She’s professional. And she’ll appreciate it come a few hours or days. The people who don’t appreciate it, and I include our clients in that, typically go out of business or get fired.”
The talk stops and I sit, drinking my coffee, watching Mr. Mayer simply hold his paper cup, when something occurs to me. “I don’t want to complain...” I say, then pause. There’s no reaction on his face but he seems receptive. “But didn’t you just out me to a room full of people. When, I’m, you know, not out. Not at work.”
“If someone did that it would get them fired,” he says.
“But?”
“First off, how senior am I in this business, nationally... Internationally?” he asks.
“Quite?” I say.
“Try Very. I can get away with a lot. It is extremely unfair. Secondly, what did I actually tell people about you?”
“You said it was a group of LGBTQ+ people, straight to me.”
“And sometimes I bring non-LGBTQ+ people to the meeting, to speak on something. They’re always people I trust not to be prejudiced or loud mouths. But it’s good you’re thinking. You might have to make some decisions.
“Someone simply saw you in a department store because they recognised the company logo on a sweater. And I genuinely don’t know any more about you than that. I can’t guarantee everything about that room or group, certainly not what people see around the city, never mind any potentially life-changing choices people could have before them. And I can’t stop gossip or anything like it, just try to deal with it when it comes up; which I will do my utmost on, should the need arise. But part of that group’s purpose is to discuss the intolerance people face and the barriers put up by simply being who you are, both in the wider world and in the workplace. There’s a lot of value in that but it doesn’t mean the barriers don’t exist. There’s few enough people who don’t face barriers of some kind. For a person who you could be they’re potentially even greater.”
I nod, feeling a reality I haven’t felt before. Not just since I put a dress on but ever.
“It’s something to keep in mind and think about if you haven’t before. There’s only a few people here who know anything about an employee in a department store being bought a handbag.
“I’ll still put you on the mailing list, unless you don’t want me to. Me and Therese are the only people who have access to names on it. If you want to come to the meeting again, when it’s next on, I’m sure you’ll learn a lot. If you don’t come no-one will know you’re getting the emails unless you tell them but you’ll be informed. Which is what I would like, but there’s no pressure either way. Is that OK?”
“Yes,” I say. “Put me on the list.”
“OK, anything else to add?” he asks.
“No. I’m fine, and thank you.”
“Alright, I have to go not drink coffee with some people far less pleasant to be around. Finish up when you’re ready and report upstairs.”
I nod and he leaves.
I pick up the paper coffee cup he left, lid still on it, and, yes, I find it completely full despite him giving the impression he was drinking it as normal.
I finish my coffee and take the elevator to my floor but when I get to my desk my laptop is missing, although nothing else. I go to Greg’s office door, which is open, and knock, feeling eyes from the other people in the room on me.
“Come in, Tony!” he shouts.
I walk in and stand opposite him. He looks at me expectantly, almost urging me on. “My laptop is missing. It was there—”
“It’s been updated for work from home,” he says, pointing to a brand new laptop bag that’s placed on a cheap office chair sitting to the side of the room, the bag on top of a loose stack of Harvard Business Reviews.
“Work from home?” I ask.
“Yes, you’re working from home for the next week while you’re on the health insurance review for Mr. Mayer. We don’t want people finding out and bugging you with all their problems. I’ve been told you’ve consulted with one group already, and you should include their feedback but we don’t want this spreading to everyone in the department who wants the Mayo Clinic for their athlete’s foot. This is about your work!”
I remain still not really knowing what to say.
“You do have somewhere you can work at home, don’t you? Table, chair, wifi? Please tell me you have a home.”
“Yes, I do,” I say.
“That’s acceptable. We won’t be giving you the full kit-out with desk and monitors and fancy seat made by some high-tech German rip-off artist that no-one actually needs. I don’t expect this to last longer than a week. What you need to know is I will phone you every morning, before twelve, to get an update. No-one else will phone you, this is about giving you time to focus and do a proper job. Maybe the change will get some good work out of you!”
“There is something I should have brought up about the insurance,” I say, thinking of the work.
“Please don’t interrupt me, Tony,” Greg says, despite him seemingly having paused, then he continues. “Apart from my one call no-one else will be onto you. Not even I will phone you a second time, no video conferences, no Teams or Skype, not that I know which one we actually use; that thing is an awful bloody plague; a constant fucking nuisance.
“Unless the office burns down you will be largely uninterrupted to do what you should have been doing for years. Even if the office does burn down you’re so low on the priority list after literally everyone else you can expect a call next summer, long after your wages have stop being paid.
“Answer emails first thing, emails later in the day can wait until the next day unless they’re from me, or Mr. Mayer, and you deem them urgent, although I’m not sure you’re quite capable of making such decisions.”
“Are these rules in place for everyone working from home?” I ask, a little taken aback at the litany I’m receiving.
“Are you being smart with me?”
I shake my head rapidly.
“The reality is if you follow the few simple instructions set out no-one cares if you spend the rest of your time hanging your arse out the window to have it communicate with the local pigeons via butt cheek. Especially if you somehow manage to do good work. Monday you spend finalising the report. Next Tuesday, after lunch, you come back into the office and present it to me. Printed out. I want to check your work before it goes to Mr. Mayer. Do you understand?”
I nod.
“Now there was something you said you wanted to bring up, already. As if you actually got work done on your two hour lunch break yesterday.”
“It’s about the insurance coverage and by that I mean the physical locations, not procedures or doctors.”
“Go on,” Greg says.
“I was checking over—”
“I don’t care how you got there tell me where you are.”
I nod, and straighten myself, surprised that I’m actually in a man’s shirt and pants, and feeling a little weird about it. “There’s a part of the US, possibly more places, I don’t know, where there’s literally no coverage. The document says things like If not applicable then nearest in direct distance but some of the locally contracted health groups I checked seem to exclude that on a strict address basis.”
“On a general website or in terms and conditions? PDFs, and the like?”
“In the actual, proper documentation, with the legalese,” I say.
“OK, Tony, sit down and explain it me, as best you can. This time in detail but not with your life story, just the coverage,” Greg says.
As I sit he picks up the phone making a call and asking for a taxi to be pushed back by twenty minutes.
I’m sitting in the taxi thirty minutes later, on my way home after Greg saying That may be the first bit of exemplary work I’ve seen from you. But being Greg he had to add If it checks out.
I get home, with my new laptop bag and updated work laptop, and check my emails. There’s a few from people who were obviously at the meeting this morning and I quickly begin checking into their concerns.
I take a few breaks, to eat a little, and watch quick makeup videos on my own laptop, but I feel like I’m getting good work done.
It’s the early afternoon when my phone goes off, Steve’s number, direct to me; an actual text. I don’t give myself time to think and just look at it. “Lads’ Night is cancelled, Sam and Alan broke up so I don’t think they want to see each other and Big-G says he has some work function. There is a good game on first thing in the bar we normally go to. If you want to come.”
I message back without much thought — just thinking of the soccer — that I have to check with some other people first and I’ll let him know as soon as possible and he messages back, “I’ll be there either way. You can come if you want. I don’t care who you come as. You’re just you.”
I try to put his snippiness out of my mind and get back to work but he’s completely tilted me. I message Jess asking what time our pedicure will be and if I need anything special for it, trying to shake Steve’s text from my mind.
“We’ll meet at noon. You don’t need anything but if you want to show off your new toesies then some sandals.” And she includes a link to the nail shop’s website.
I check the website and all the packages are more expensive than I would have thought but I guess there’s a premium for having to deal with feet.
I try to go back to work but I still can’t get Steve’s message out of my mind. I figure I’ll try out a few of the makeup techniques I watched.
I shave for the second time and take out some of the products from the pharmacy bag. I’ll just go with some lip gloss, the BB cream and mascara. After cleaning random pokes from the mascara wand from around my eye, which is quite difficult and stubborn, I look in the mirror and it doesn’t seem super obvious. My lips are a little bit shinier and my eyelashes look thicker but I don’t notice much difference. Although that could be the low light in my bathroom.
I sit myself down in front of the laptop again, determined to get some work done but it’s just not coming. I can’t do this, and I’m not sure of any alternative. And just as I think of that I think of Light Avenue, and how I’d like to get dressed and go out. I have my makeup on so why not more? Maybe I’ll feel normal again.
My hand is shaking as I take my phone out and dial Greg’s number. He picks up after a few rings. “Yes, Tony,” he says.
“Sorry to bother you, Greg. Something’s come up. Is it OK if I finish a little early today?”
I hear what sounds like wind down the phone, and then nothing, and then Greg says, “Was my line about hanging your arse out the window for the pigeons not memorable?”
“Yes...” I say, unsure.
“Tony, please listen, no-one cares what you do as long as you take my morning call and get the work done. If you work all night and play video games all day, that’s fine. If you spend the next week redecorating your home I do not mind if you can produce a good report. If you outsource the report, and it’s good, I’ll know it’s not your work but I’ll be impressed with your moxie as I’m firing you. But the big question is do you deserve and/or absolutely, vitally need some time off and will you still be able to get the report to me next Tuesday? Now don’t answer that, just think about it. This is a chance for you.”
“Thanks, Greg,” I say, his point made clear and my days filling up.
“No-one died, did they?” he asks, a little hesitantly
“No, not at all,” I say.
“That’s good. I don’t want to be unnecessarily insensitive.” I break out in a laugh at that, unable to keep it in. “Now hang up,” he says. Which I do.
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