Young and employed
I just got off the phone with one of the consultants whom I manage for a small project. I've been working with her for about three months, but since it's a tiny project, we've only met in person once and we talk on the phone or exchange emails maybe once every two weeks.
I mostly like this consultant, although when she came to our office building, I found her to be a little bit of a nosy-pants. She noticed my to-do list on the white board in my office and said "Call Jane Smith -- is that Jane Smith of Competitor Consulting Firm in Philadelphia? Who used to be at Nonprofit X? What are you talking to her about?" So I found that a little off-putting, but in general I like her.
Anyway, she basically gave me a CYA update call, because things are going incredibly slowly with this project and she feels bad about it and wants me to know that they're actually working, even though the results are slow to come in. That was fine with me -- the people she's working with are notoriously impossible, which is part of why we hired this consultant to deal with them and, again, it's a tiny project that I just don't care about that much. I actually was feeling a little guilty that I pay so little attention to this project, and to this consultant.
And then she ended the call with, "Thanks, sweetie! I'm sure we'll talk soon."
There was a little pause, like maybe she realized what she'd just said, but I let it go. What else is there to do? But still, argh. I know she's probably old enough to be my mother, but since she's NOT my mother, or my sister, or any kind of relative or close friend, really, she has no business calling me Sweetie.
But maybe that's not fair. One of the most irritating things about me, I think, is the completely arbitrary nature in which I decide what's acceptable behavior from others and what's not, and how vehemently and rigidly I apply those arbitrary boundaries. One of the maintenance guys at work always calls me Kiddo, and I think it's sweet and lovely. When the guy confirming my furniture order called me Sweetheart, I wanted to jump through the phone and strangle him.
So it's not a gender thing, and it's not expressly a power thing or an intimacy thing. I don't know what it's about, but it just seems like another layer of the nonsense you endure when you're a young woman (with an unfortunately girlish voice) working in an organization and a field dominated by people who are much older. Even though, according to the organizational charts, I'm at the same level they are, or one step down, it's tough to play the part of a peer when every time a reference from more than ten years ago comes up, the entire room turns toward me and says, "God, I bet you weren't even BORN yet. How old are you, again?"
I'm 27-and-a-half. And one day, sooner than I think, I'm sure, I'm going to long for these days when I'm the youngest one in the meeting and the newest kid on the block. And when a few of our wedding pictures revealed, shockingly clearly, that I've developed crow's feet, I was horrified and totally surprised, because I still think of me as so young, definitely too young for wrinkles. I guess I can't have it both ways.
But, really, either way, don't call me Sweetie again.
I mostly like this consultant, although when she came to our office building, I found her to be a little bit of a nosy-pants. She noticed my to-do list on the white board in my office and said "Call Jane Smith -- is that Jane Smith of Competitor Consulting Firm in Philadelphia? Who used to be at Nonprofit X? What are you talking to her about?" So I found that a little off-putting, but in general I like her.
Anyway, she basically gave me a CYA update call, because things are going incredibly slowly with this project and she feels bad about it and wants me to know that they're actually working, even though the results are slow to come in. That was fine with me -- the people she's working with are notoriously impossible, which is part of why we hired this consultant to deal with them and, again, it's a tiny project that I just don't care about that much. I actually was feeling a little guilty that I pay so little attention to this project, and to this consultant.
And then she ended the call with, "Thanks, sweetie! I'm sure we'll talk soon."
There was a little pause, like maybe she realized what she'd just said, but I let it go. What else is there to do? But still, argh. I know she's probably old enough to be my mother, but since she's NOT my mother, or my sister, or any kind of relative or close friend, really, she has no business calling me Sweetie.
But maybe that's not fair. One of the most irritating things about me, I think, is the completely arbitrary nature in which I decide what's acceptable behavior from others and what's not, and how vehemently and rigidly I apply those arbitrary boundaries. One of the maintenance guys at work always calls me Kiddo, and I think it's sweet and lovely. When the guy confirming my furniture order called me Sweetheart, I wanted to jump through the phone and strangle him.
So it's not a gender thing, and it's not expressly a power thing or an intimacy thing. I don't know what it's about, but it just seems like another layer of the nonsense you endure when you're a young woman (with an unfortunately girlish voice) working in an organization and a field dominated by people who are much older. Even though, according to the organizational charts, I'm at the same level they are, or one step down, it's tough to play the part of a peer when every time a reference from more than ten years ago comes up, the entire room turns toward me and says, "God, I bet you weren't even BORN yet. How old are you, again?"
I'm 27-and-a-half. And one day, sooner than I think, I'm sure, I'm going to long for these days when I'm the youngest one in the meeting and the newest kid on the block. And when a few of our wedding pictures revealed, shockingly clearly, that I've developed crow's feet, I was horrified and totally surprised, because I still think of me as so young, definitely too young for wrinkles. I guess I can't have it both ways.
But, really, either way, don't call me Sweetie again.
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