I have never been a fan of Mondays. Not because they signify the end to the weekend, but because they are evil and out to get me. I’ve learned to take precautions over the years to try and protect myself from their sneaky tactics.
I make my living as a sales rep in the shipping industry. All week long I stomp in and out of warehouses. I probably don’t have to tell you that my customer base is predominantly male. As such, my competition tends to be female. The industry is highly competitive and there are times when you just want to scream because you know you lost the account for the wrong reasons. Service was perfect. Price was unbeatable. Competition had a shorter skirt.
My company is pretty fantastic. They want our business to speak for itself. We don’t buy our customers and they would never ask me to dress like the competition. We clear on that? What happened in no way reflects on my company.
As I said, we don’t buy our customers but we do show appreciation when they continue to ship with us. I take customers to lunch…drop off donuts…or supply the occasional game ticket.
How does this relate to Mondays? Well Mondays would be the day I fall off the dock or break a perfectly good heel or get lost in a bad neighborhood or screw up the sales presentation all together. Smart blonde that I am I have made Mondays my office day. Self protection and all that. On Mondays I drive in to our operations center, print out my marketing materials, meet with the staff and make a million cold calls on the phone to set up my schedule for the week. SAFE. SECURE.
The day in question
Yesterday. A Monday. Temporary panic followed by the soothing reassurance of a day at the office…hated but safe. I was standing there in my nylons and bra doing the “what shall I wear” stare into the closet while drinking coffee. Enter Kali, dog of chaos chasing something that I apparently can’t see on only 1 cup of coffee. She slammed into my leg and my coffee went everywhere. Great. After removing my sopping wet nylons and refilling my coffee cup I returned to the closet and ended up selecting an absolutely adorable suit. The skirt is waaaaaaay too short for a normal day but just fine for going to the office and has a gorgeous fitted jacket to match.
Alas, no other nylons without runs. This was not a problem. I had been to Victoria’s Secret on Friday afternoon and the sales lady had talked me into buying thigh highs instead. Pretty, comfortable and less likely to run because you don’t have to stretch the suckers up around your hips. They felt strange but I confess I felt kinda sexy in them too. The tops were pink lace with a special elastic band that keeps them up on your thighs. Ask any woman, we can be in sweat pants but if we have something sexy on underneath we feel completely different. Confident. Mysterious. Naughty. Fun. I told myself to get a life, stopped pacing about in my heels while pretending to be on a runway and made for the office.
The day was well underway. I had ordered hockey tickets for a particularly strong customer the week before and they’d come in by fed ex. I gave Rick a call to schedule a day to drop them off but he was going to be out of the office the rest of the week and asked if I could bring them by at the end of the day. (gasp. Leave the office on a Monday?!) Well why not. All was going well since the coffee spilling incident and I was feeling pretty confident.
You probably already know what’s coming…
I arrived at the warehouse with only 10 minutes to spare. I grabbed the fed ex packet and began cruising through the warehouse to the other side where Rick’s office is. The confidence was somewhat gone as I felt self conscious about the outfit and the looks some of the warehouse boys were giving me. I picked up my pace a bit and just as I got to the dead center of the warehouse it happened.
The left thigh high had become a knee high. Verging on an anklet. Whatever had I been thinking to leave the safety of my office on a Monday?….and there I was at a dead standstill and completely out in the open. I glanced around and no one seemed to be looking. Ok. Now what. I could simply remove the offending garment but I’d have to lean over to remove my heel and my skirt was too short to do so. Ditto for trying to pull the sucker back up. I shuffled over closer to one of the warehouse racks and carefully bent my knee so I could reach the shoe.
Success. But now I had one leg bare and the other still nylon clad, and that pink lace on the right thigh was holding on for dear life. One of the guys walked past and I studied the fed ex pack intently as though I had a reason to be stopped right there. How ironic to be in this situation and holding a competitors envelope (we don’t do small pack). I began tugging again as soon as he was gone and eventually shimmied out of the other one. Of course I didn’t have my purse so I had to shove the nylons into the fed ex pack.
After a moment to compose myself I held up my chin and sauntered into Ricks office. Rick looked a bit flushed but the warehouse was anything but warm. I handed him his Wild tickets and tried to engage him in conversation but he was staring at the fed ex pack. I continued babbling and sort of moved it to the back of me.
“What else ya got there?” he asked with a strange look on his face.
“Oh well. Heh. Umm. Yeah, so I don’t like carrying a purse into appointments so just my keys and such,” I stammered.
“Did I tell you we just got a new security system Wendy?” he said while clearly trying to keep from busting out laughing. Then he moved to the side and I got to see the closed circuit tv with a clear as day view of the very rack I’d stood near while trying to resolve my dilemma.
Who knew a girl could run so fast out of a place in 3 inch heels? Mondays. Yup. Hate em.