Working Girl

So my company is doing all this restructuring after the layoffs- blah, blah, blah. My new EVP wants to have a meeting with each person on my team to determine their likes and dislikes- strengths and weaknesses. Wait, let me preface this by saying that my old VP, and even my director whose office is right across from me never spoke to me unless they needed a Diet Coke.

So I meet with my new EVP at 4pm and I'm a little nervous. He is a tall, uber-professional, Ferragamo wearing family man and he screams BUSINESS (probably because 98% of people in my building are either female or gay). Luckily, I discover that he is from Arkansas. And he loves college sports. And wine. Oh family man, this is going perfect so far. My nervousness is fading, so I begin telling him what I like about my job, what I'm good at, and what I would change.

At this point he puts down his pencil, which he has been using to draw rectangles around each sentence on his paper over and over, and says "I can tell by the way you dress that you have superior taste. Combine that with the analytics and I think you can be a powerhouse in this business.."

Um, family man, what the hell are you talking about???

Okay, I will not deny the fact that I am super into fashion- love getting dressed- will spend my last dime on the perfect hat and eat Ramen for the next month. However, at this point I mostly put on black stretch pants every day which I deem to be "business casual" when paired with boots. For this entire week, I've chosen a random, usually oversized top before leaving and then put on the same tuxedo jacket every day once I arrive at work. Combine that with the fact that I sometimes go 3 days or more without washing my hair, and you've got........ what is it again family man? a fucking POWERHOUSE!!!

At least I can feel confident that if I put on actual pants I could really be going somewhere. Is this not a weird statement to make the first time you speak to someone??? Anyone??

So, with my newfound confidence I decide to attend Pole Dancing at the gym tonight. BFM. Big Fucking Mistake. I will say this: there was no identification of this class- you know like Beginner, Advanced Only, Make A Complete Ass of Yourself and No One Will Judge You. Alas, I go through their "warm-up" with ease and am certain I'm clearly a better dancer than most of these chicks. However, when the yoga mats get put away and the lights come on, I realize that everyone is strapping on 6 inch high glow in the dark stripper shoes.

"Is anyone here a beginner?," she asks. Uh, fuck yeah. The only time I have touched a pole is in the subway- and I generally try to avoid that at all costs by leaning against doors, people, etc. Apparently I have chosen an intermediate class, but she assures me that "I should absolutely stay." 45 minutes later, I stumble out with bruises all over my feet and shins, a pulled hamstring, and what dignity I have left.

Here is the lesson kids- Just because you do not wash your hair does not mean your new boss won't like you.

And just because you are good at a lot of other things doesn't mean that you will not get your ass kicked by pole dancing. Take note.