Licensed to Titillate

Each time I enter or leave the building at work, I walk past a waiting area in the lobby. Here I always pause to partake in cheap entertainment. I glance at the visitors to pick-out the ones who are here with a license to flirt. Stunners, dressed provocatively, with heavy make-up, ironed hair, and high heels. Sent here expressly to banter, influence, elicit information, and, most of all, sell. They ply their trade not for gentlemen’s clubs, but on behalf of corporations with the most cerebral of reputations.

I still remember my first brush with one of these lady Bonds. Her team and ours were commingling at a fancy restaurant over drinks. When our senior executive took his place at the table, Bond snagged the seat next to him. Rest of our side watched in fascination. Nobody could quite put a finger on how she managed the illusion, it was a matter of inches here and there, but it seemed like the tall blonde was in a state of disrobe while staying completely clothed. She flirted lightly but expertly, pacing the encounter beautifully. Our king, if not shaken was certainly stirred. When he invited her for an early AM hike in the mountains, she must have felt the flush of sure success because at this point she huskily asked him whether it was time to take things to the “next stage.” Much to his regret, our executive was compelled to acknowledge that he didn’t have cart-blanche. Satisfying manager-X (of female persuasion) with a successful pilot study was necessary to consummate a sale. If she was disappointed, Bond didn’t show it. She (kept the hiking date) however disappeared from the scene after that evening. In her stead, a replacement flew in the very next morning.

The replacement was a fine looking man who sat in our conference room right next to manager-X. By the way, if you think you know where I am going with this, think again. For Mr. Chippendale made no attempt to indulge in the dark arts. He also kept his business suit on, metaphorically and otherwise. He did his bit to regale manager-X with ordinary stories from everyday life but did nothing to push the envelope. The pilot study commenced that day and ended a few weeks later. A decision was made based on merits of the product.

I’ve seen such routines play out many times since. Male decision makers are frequently targeted, while equivalent females are not. The result (at my work place) is that men pull the trigger prematurely, while corresponding women make informed decisions. From one point-of-view, it would appear that women are evolving the corporate workplace. But then nothing of import is so cut and dry. There remains the expendable lady Bond and her side of things. It remains possible that everything I’ve observed is merely a distorted reflection of what takes place at the highest levels of…tennis and skating, where only women flash underwear in the arena. Perhaps it isn’t respect for the abilities of female managers, only cultural conditioning at play. The establishment might not be quite ready to devalue men, not even for a sale. So men in power are courted– by lady Bonds in restaurants, and urbane salesmen on golf greens. The female manager has to be satisfied with decencies and a job well done.

There is much that will play out in coming times. It remains to be seen whether, one day, athletic men will flash colorful briefs on the center-court at Wimbledon. Or whether everything will tilt the other way– women deliver the Lutz in “full-pants.” In the meanwhile, I can only continue to glance at the waiting area. And later on, when I inevitably encounter a poor product choice or shoddy vendor on the premises, I can marvel at the women and men who sell and buy (respectively) sizzle.

Sell the sizzle, stupid
It's the sizzle, stupid
Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle

The grouchy woman

I’ve always tended to smile at people in my workplace even if I’ve never met them before. Invariably, they reciprocate in kind. The lone and consistent exception is Ms. Grouch. In her 50s, with a BMI in the 30s, wrinkled face, silver hair, dressed in shapeless jeans and t-shirt– I first encountered her in the hallway on my floor a few months ago and realizing that she was new, I smiled at her. She just walked by with a grim expression on her face. I figured that she had had a bad morning and forgot all about it. Besides, at the time, I was on my way to introduce myself to the floor’s new admin who had joined that day.

The admin turned out to be the antithesis of Ms. Grouch in both appearance and demeanor– dressed smartly in a skirt-suit and exuding a bubbly personality. She also began making a professional difference right away. The previous admin could never be counted on to ensure that coffee, creamer, and sugar were accessible and plentiful. Needless to say, her coffee related blunders regularly resulted in more than a few surly workers on our floor. With the new admin’s arrival, that problem was resolved. As a coffee drinker, I for one was very appreciative. I even sent her a well deserved thank-you e-card for contributing to a pleasant workplace.

My second encounter with Ms. Grouch took place the very next day when I entered the elevator to find her inside already. Once more, I offered her a smile and again she just looked through and past me avoiding all eye contact. When we reached our floor, she exited rapidly and disappeared. I was left a bit disconcerted. Strike two. After a third encounter that yielded similar results, I decide to create an ignore list and make her the first entry. I promised myself to never smile at her again. I also speculated uncharitably about the cause of her unpleasant demeanor.

From that day forward, I started to divert my gaze at the nearest cubicle wall if I saw Ms. Grouch. I also ceased to look at her or acknowledge her presence. Unfortunately, this awkward encounter took place more frequently than I would’ve liked and usually on my way to the break-room. I suppose her cubicle was located somewhere on the way. The upside of course was that the pot at the end of my journey always yielded freshly brewed coffee. Yaay for the new admin.

After a few months, one morning I arrived earlier than usual and entered the break-room…to find a thank you note near the coffee maker. It read “Whoever is making the fresh coffee every morning, thank you. Signed by the floor Admin”

Huh? So it was not the new admin who made the coffee that kept the worker bees sane? Who was this mystery do-gooder? As I pondered, Ms. Grouch appeared by my side, picked up the coffee pot, scrubbed it, set it up to brew a new batch, and walked away.