The Office Party - Part 2

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Despite the strong sense of mission that all members of the WEI staff seemed to hold, I soon noticed there were cliques that had developed among them. I guess that’s not unusual in an office, but how would I know? Nonetheless, I found that strange. Basically, there were two major groups of women, mainly the younger girls, who were single or recently married and childless, and a generally older group of mainly married women or those unmarried with children.

The younger group seemed to find more time to gather for brief conversations, with much audible giggling, with the high pitched laugh of Sophia Menke rising above all others, drawing stern looks of many of the older women in the place. That was usually enough to break up the group; even I found her laugh distracting, but I had already learned she was a dedicated, hard-worker otherwise.

From the beginning, I had worked on the principle, taught to me by a mom that the customer needs to be served promptly, cheerfully, and efficiently.

“Show them you will do everything in your power to help them solve their problem, honey, and they won’t care who you are, what race or gender you are or whether you have two heads,” mom had told me many times.

I guess it was my low self-esteem, but I had always felt I was inadequate; I was slender, not very strong, and always acted a bit effeminately. I sensed that people looked at me and found me less of a boy — and now, less of a man. As a kid, I had sometimes been teased over my ineptness at sports and most kids shunned me. As I said before, I couldn’t imagine a girl wanting me as her boyfriend; she’d probably be embarrassed to be seen with me, I was certain.

Mom reassured me time and again that I was talented and skilled in my work, and that I needed to use those abilities to win respect from others.

“Just do your job the best way your know-how, and with humility, and you’ll see. All the girls at WEI will learn to love and respect you just as much as your mother does,” she told me.

I followed her advice, and I soon found out I was developing a whole host of friends in the office; I was usually cheerfully greeted each morning by most of my nearby cubicle mates, even engaging in small talk as the time permitted.

My job — helping the women solve their computer problems — helped, since when a woman needs her computer to work she needs you; even when I couldn’t immediately get to the problem or would have trouble diagnosing the issue, I learned to be pleased with the woman (who might be impatient and a bit unpleasant), fully explaining the issue as I knew it at the time.

“You’re so much more pleasant to deal with than our previous IT girl,” commented Kathleen O’Hearn, a gray-haired, fiftyish woman legislative representative, who was always intense, impatient, and excited.

Kathleen was difficult to deal with since she never did master even the basics of using computers. She was of the “old school” of lobbyists who carried in her head more knowledge of the maze of state politics than a whole bank of computers.

“Kathleen, you seem to have deleted that file on past voting records of Republicans,” I said, trying to explain her problem.

“What? How could I? My God, this will kill us. What’s the matter with you? Can’t you find it?” she shrieked.

The whole office seemed to stop working and Penny emerged from her office, her perpetual scowl seemingly more intense than ever, as if to accuse somebody, probably me, of being a total screw-up.

I stood up, so that I was visible over the 4-foot high cubicle barrier, and said loudly, “Kathleen, don’t worry, I’ll get it back for you.”

Kathleen, who was always smartly dressed in a modest business suit or skirt and blouse, looked at me. “Really?”

“Yes, really, Kathleen, we save everyone’s work, once they save it into our server, so we can retrieve most everything you do,” I explained.

“Oh you’re adorable, Shelton,” she said, hugging me in full sight of the office.

It seemed everyone cheered (they had all heard Kathleen’s outbursts before), but I noticed the scowl on Penny’s face grow even deeper as she realized again that I truly did know my business when it came to computers.

“Penny doesn’t like you very much, it seems,” Theresa, my cubicle neighbor, said to me as we joined for lunch at a sandwich shop nearby.

“She hasn’t liked me from the first interview I had, and I think she and Carolyn may have argued about my being hired,” I said.

“I don’t think she likes men.”

“That may be it, I guess. Oh well, Carolyn seems pleased with me and I guess I’m passing probation Ok.”

Theresa smiled. “You’re doing more than Ok. The girls all love you; you’ve not only solved our problems but you’ve taken time to explain how all these programs work. Lots of us girls struggle with stuff, you know. Besides, you’re cute.”

What could I do but blush?

“And I love how easily you blush,” she said, smiling. “It makes you even cuter, like a teen girl.”

She said it kindly, but I stiffened when the word ‘girl’ left her mouth. She sensed my discomfort.

“Oh I’m sorry, Shelton,” Theresa said, placing her hand on mine. “I didn’t mean it that way that you’re like a girl. It’s just that. oh darn, I’m sorry I said that, Shelton.”

“That’s Ok, Theresa, I should take it as a compliment, I guess.”

Of course, my blushing became even more pronounced.

“Yes, there’s nothing wrong with being a sensitive young man, Shelton,” Theresa said.

“Thank you, Theresa. And by the way, you can call me Shelly if you’d like. That’s what mom calls me.” Theresa smiled: “I like Shelly better, so much more.  ah informal, I guess.”

I’ve heard that sometimes plumbers can be the most important persons in the world, particularly when a family is dealing with a plugged toilet. Thus it is with the computer tech person (or IT guy) in a busy office; when that computer just doesn’t seem to want to do what you want it to, it’s then when the IT guy can be the most important person in a worker’s life. Thus it was with me: all of a sudden I was a “person of value” in the eyes of the women in the office.

I was careful not to let my new-found importance go to my head, and I still dealt with the other staffers with a pleasant smile, even when they were stressed and I was terribly busy. Mom taught me the value of being “nice” to people. “It doesn’t cost anything,” she said.

In truth, it seemed I had become just one of the girls. In more ways that one.

It wasn’t long before I found myself regularly in the midst of a half dozen young women in our lunch break room or around Theresa’s cubicle, joining in their chatter about fashions, makeup, the latest “hunk” singer, or boys in general. I soon found myself venturing opinions on what kind of outfits were most fitting for a girl or on makeup choices.

“How do you know so much about makeup, Shelton?” Heather Springer, a healthy, tanned looking young woman with carefully brushed blond hair. She was a research assistant in our legislative department and I found myself almost once a week rescuing her from computer disasters.

“Well, I worked in my mom’s cosmetics business before I came here and I still help her on my off-time,” I explained. The five girls in the breakroom turned their attention to me. After some querying, I told them I occasionally do makeup classes for women. I also told them the name of the company whose products we sold.

“Oh how great!” Heather cooed. “I use their stuff. It’s great stuff.”

“And you teach makeup, Shelton?” 

Theresa asked. I nodded.

“Maybe Carolyn will let us use the big conference room and you could do a class for us, Shelton,” Heather said.

My first reaction was to say “yes” to the idea, but fortunately, I thought for a moment before answering: “I don’t think I should, Heather. After all, it wouldn’t be right to promote our products in our office.”

“I’m going to ask her anyway,” Heather pressed.

“Yes, why not? We don’t have to buy anything and we all need lessons,” Theresa said.

“I’d rather not,” I said, but I don’t think I said it very convincingly.

The next day Carolyn agreed that, if I was willing, I could conduct just such a class during the one-hour lunch period (which was not paid time) in the conference room.

“However, I don’t want you to sell any of your products there, nor to pressure any co-workers to buy,” she said.

I agreed, and two weeks before Thanksgiving, I gave my first class; more than 15 women showed up, mainly from the younger staffers. I scheduled it to last 40 minutes, from 12:15 to 12:55, to give everyone a chance to get something to eat (or bring it to the room) and then five minutes to get back to their workstations.

Now there’s nothing strange about a male makeup artist, some of the best makeup experts are men. But I had developed a gimmick in my routine that had become a favorite among previous audiences. I called it my “Silk Purse” segment; you know, that’s in reference to the saying that it’s hard to turn something ugly into something beautiful. The saying usually goes this way: “You can’t make a pig’s ear into a silk purse.”

“I’m going to prove that it is possible to create that silk purse,” I would say to open the segment of my routine. Then I’d continue.

“Now the only person in this room who is like that pig’s ear happens to be me. So watch me for the next eight minutes and then you be the judge as to whether I can become a silk purse.”

Everyone would laugh, but I’d then put a towel over my shoulders and proceed to make myself up, using foundation, mascara, eye shadow, eyeliner, lipstick, and lip gloss. When done, I do a quick brushing of my longish light brown hair, creating a bang and a slight bob at the back.

“What do you think?” I’d say.

And they’d all applaud, with someone shouting out more than once, “If I didn’t know better, you’re a girl now,” and someone would echo, “Yes, and in 8 minutes.”

With that I’d curtsey, to even more applause.

I did that on the first session at the office, this time drawing hoots of laughter from the girls in the room. “Maybe you belong in dresses,” Heather said afterward. She was teasing, of course, but for some reason, the idea tantalized me.

Needless to say, my makeup session grew to be a big hit; repeatedly the women urged me to do my self makeup routine, but I resisted. The truth was that I knew more about applying makeup in a tasteful and efficient manner than any of the others in the office. I specifically refrained from selling our products in the office, only suggesting that they check our website for further information. When mom told me she’d been receiving inquiries from my office-mates, I told her to keep me in the dark; I wanted no part of being accused of a conflict of interest.

Outside of watching Penny’s scowls grow whenever I put on these once a month makeup sessions, only one other woman seemed distressed by them. Anita Embree was a well-coiffured volunteer from a wealthy neighborhood who seemed disturbed by my behavior. She told Kathleen, one of the older ladies who had become friendly because I had helped her with computer problems, that she was glad that I wasn’t her son, and that what I did was “abominable.”

Kathleen said she argued with the woman about me, saying there’s nothing wrong with a man being a makeup expert or even acting a bit effeminate. “You just keep being yourself, honey,” Kathleen advised me.

As I was slowly learning, I was being well-accepted in this workplace of all women.

Activities in the office heated up quickly in November as the staff reviewed recent election results, particularly in the State Legislature; that’s where most of our efforts had been directed in recent years, since legislation on such matters as women’s pay equity, domestic violence prevention, abortion rights and same-sex marriage centered mainly on state governments.

“We’re going to have a dickens of a time in the new legislative session,” Carolyn told us in a staff meeting on the Monday before Thanksgiving. “We have fewer friends in the Statehouse now, and we can face many negative efforts to backtrack on women’s rights issues.”

She spent an intense 90 minutes discussing strategies for WEI in dealing with the situation, causing considerable debate about what caused the election losses, before Carolyn raised her hand and said: “Stop. That’s enough. We can’t cry over spilled milk. Let’s look ahead.”

I had to admire her: I know she was disgusted with the election results in the state (although nationally the returns were more positive), but she recognized the focus should be on the next few months. What a leader!

“Now,” she said, after the long, sometimes heated discussion. “Let’s spend a few minutes on something more pleasant. Our holiday party.”

Everyone let out a sigh of relief. “Are we planning the same thing, Carolyn?” one of the women asked.

“Why not? It seems popular with all of us.”

“Cool, I love going there,” said another worker.

“Yes, ladies,” she said, probably not realizing I was in the room, since I was in the back and with my long hair probably just mixed in with the rest of the women.

It turned out that the party for the last number of years was held at the Women’s Club in its second-floor ballroom. The party would begin at 12:30 p.m., on a Friday, and would include a light lunch, cocktails, and a fashion show staged by an upscale women’s store in town. Realizing the women who worked for the agency could hardly afford to shop at the place, the store brought along samples, seconds, and overstock that it sold at ridiculously low prices.

“Sometimes I think I’d work here just because of this annual Christmas party and the chance to shop for bargains,” Megan Foster, one of the girls who frequently stopped by to chat with Theresa or myself. The two had stopped by at my desk after the staff meeting, just for a quick chat.

“It’s really a pretty cool party,” Theresa said. “Lots of nice fashions, including lingerie, plus great food and drinks.”

“Sounds great,” I echoed.

“And it’s a real dress-up party, too,” Megan said. “We all get to wear our best outfits. I’m planning on putting on a lovely holiday cocktail dress. Oh, I’m so excited.”

“Oh my God,” Theresa said, bringing her hands to her mouth as if in horror. “You can’t go, Shelly.”

“That’s right,” Megan said, displaying the same shocked expression. “You’re a boy.”

“And boys or men are strictly forbidden in the upper floors of the Women’s Club,” Theresa said. “It’s got something to do with an old deed restriction. It’s been fought in the courts, but the Club is still bound by the rules.”

Just then Carolyn walked by. Megan hailed her, and the executive director moved next to my cubicle.

“See you’re all glad we’re holding the party at the Women’s Club again this year,” she said, smiling.

“Yes, Carolyn,” Theresa said. “But what about Shelton? How will he be able to attend?”

Carolyn looked at me, her face turning into a scowl. “Theresa, you’re right. No men allowed up there. This is the first time we’ve faced this issue. I’m so sorry, Shelton; I don’t want to leave you out, but I don’t know if there’s any way to get you in there.”

“Can’t they make an exception?” Megan asked.

“I don’t think so, Megan,” Carolyn said. “I understand that repairmen can only go up there when the place is closed. Even the wait staff has to be all female.”

Theresa argued: “Wow, that’s so old fashioned. Isn’t there a law against discrimination? We’re an agency fighting against such laws for women. It should follow for men, too.”

“I agree, Theresa,” Carolyn continued. “But the club is private and has that right. This party is being provided by one of our wealthiest donors, and I’d hate to alienate her.”

I stood by silently, listening to the women discuss my issue, feeling a bit embarrassed by it all; yet I was warmed by the concern all three of them seemed to have for me. I certainly didn’t want to spoil their party. The truth was, however, I really wanted to go since I knew of the fashion house that was putting on the show and always admired their outfits as being classy, functional, and innovative without being outlandish.

“Oh that’s ok,” I finally said, breaking into the conversation. “Don’t worry about me? I wouldn’t want to ruin the event in any way.”

Carolyn looked at me, her face betraying relief.

“It’s not fair,” Theresa said.

“That’s Ok, Theresa,” I said. “You can all tell me about it later.”

Carolyn looked at me. “That’s an awful understanding of you Shelton,” she said. “I hate to leave you out, but we’ll arrange something suitable for you since I think you know we’ve all come to value your contributions to the agency here.”

The director left but promised she’d check with the Women’s Club and the sponsoring donor to see what could be done to include me. I didn’t have much hope that there’d be any changes made. The following day, Carolyn informed me that she had no luck in getting the “women only” policy waived so that I could attend.

“You’ll get the whole day off, of course, and with pay, plus we’ll get you a generous gift certificate to the store of your choice,” the director said.

I must have shown my disappointment since I had been secretly wishing I could have attended; as I had gained in makeup skills I had become more and more aware of women’s fashions. I just loved how many choices women had in clothing, while men were so limited. Often I found myself wondering how I’d look in some of the fashions, a feeling I had every time I did my makeup demonstration on my own face.

“Oh, Shelton,” Carolyn cooed, sensing my feelings. “Really, I’m so sorry. Next year, we’ll plan something different.”

“No, that’s Ok, Carolyn. I know how much the girls love it.”

At noon, Megan joined Theresa and me as we went to the food court of the downtown mall for lunch. We were giggling about something when our turn came up to give our order at the Thai House counter, and the diminutive Asian woman behind the counter said to us: “What can I get you, girls?”

I blushed and Megan and Theresa giggled, but none of us corrected her as we gave our orders.

“That gave me an idea, Shelly,” Theresa said after we had settled in at our table.

“What gave you an idea?” I asked.

“She took you for a girl, Shelly, and I can see why,” she said, his cute round face sparkling mischievously.

“Yeah, with your longish hair. Besides, there’s the way you brush it back, just like a girl,” Megan said.

“When you do that make up demonstration, Shelly, my God, you become so pretty. Your face really is handsome. Well ah ah let’s say pretty.”

“What’s your idea?” I said, already beginning to suspect what was on her mind.

“Why we could dress you up just like one of us, and no one would be the wiser and you could attend the party, too,” Theresa said quickly.

“Yes, he’d fit in so easily,” Megan agreed.

“Oh, I couldn’t do that?” I protested though I suspect my protest may not have been too vigorous.

“Of course you could, Shelly,” Theresa pressed on.

“Yes, and you’re about my size, Shelly,” Megan said. “What are you” about 5’7”? Almost the same as me, and we got about the same body size, too. I’m a size 4 or 6 in misses sizes, depending on the outfit.”

Theresa looked at both of us. “My gosh, Megan, you and Shelly could be twin sisters with your light brown hair and light complexions.”

I continued to protest, but the lunch period was consumed with a discussion, mainly between the two girls, as to what outfit would look best on me.

“It’s not right,” I continued to argue. “It’s dishonest since I’m not a girl.”

“You could fool us,” Megan giggled.

“And you fooled the lady at the Thai House,” Theresa added.

Even as I protested the idea, I began to realize something. Yes, I could easily be a pretty girl.