Today, for just a moment as I shook hands with a young woman, the LCD bubble* that encloses my life turned transparent. It was like a psychic impression (although I would hardly call myself a psychic). When I shook her hand, I heard the loud, happy laughter of a Kuwaiti schoolyard at recess, and I saw her even younger than her 28 years-- a beautiful, privileged 8-year-old girl with long wavy black hair flowing behind her as she jumped and played. Meeting her underscored how little I know about life in the Middle East. All I remember from the Gulf War was that the oil there had concentrated extraordinary wealth in a very small country. And while my brain stretched to absorb the differences between us, I noted that we were the same age and shared a common language.

*Bar 89 on Mercer Street has space-age bathroom doors made of clear glass. When a stall is unoccupied, you can see from the lobby straight into the small lavatory; but when you enter the stall and latch the door, the glass immediately turns opaque. John explained that the latch completes a circuit and that there are excitable LCD crystals within the glass which realign and deflect light (or something like that). It felt to me like our handshake interrupted the smooth, electrical current that keeps my world opaque.

The friendly, capable office manager for Suburban Square Management (the firm that runs Christie's office building) is a woman about my age. She has always been the person who got things done. Need a key? Ask Heather. Want to advertise an event on the web or the marquee? Ask Heather. Today I went to ask her about the mailboxes in the basement and found a new woman at the front desk. Heather has been promoted to an office with windows. I wonder what her new job is?

And later in the day....
A woman I've been working with internally in Christie's New York office has been helping me manage the sale of a large collection for a really difficult (read "crazy") woman. We are almost at the end of the consignment that has gone on for 18 months and seen the departure of two other managers before us. I just got an email from Dawn saying that today is her last day, and that she'd ask Settlements to forward the remaining paperwork directly to me for wrap-up. Where is Dawn going? Did she get a better job? ...or in today's tenuous job market, has she been, shhh.... laid off?

Things change quickly in a large corporation like ours, especially when times are tough. Administrators come and go quickly no matter what the economy is doing, spending an average of 12-18 months in a position before moving up or out. I feel a mix of pride and loss with each one. When administrators I respect are promoted, it's an affirmation of the work that we accomplish together. When someone leaves for something better, I again feel proud that all our work is recognized as valuable and is rewarded with a new opportunity. It's about time somebody realized that these people are the cream of the crop! Each promotion energizes me... and, selfishly, saddens me.

I mean, who's going to train these new people? And is anyone ever going to notice that I am a hell of a worker too? Unfortunately, in my small outpost, there is no opening above me. As the entire company has frozen raises and bonuses for the time being, the only way up is through promotion, and for me that would mean a daily commute to New York and a switch to one of the specialist tracks. Possible, but probably not very realistic. Sigh.

So good luck, all. Keep wow-ing them with your aptitude and capability. Make us all proud. It might be awhile before the rest of us get any direct recognition.

I'll be rooting for you.

PS: Squeaky is not changing his last name when John and I get married.
He will remain First Name: Squeaky, Last Name: The Cat.

This morning I charged off to work (45 minutes late) determined to tackle all the papers on my desk and the unnoted thoughts in my brain. I planned to make a big list, set the top 6 priorities and cross them off.

I worked furiously this morning-- Made the big list, set the top priorities, (sigh) spent the morning putting out fires for my colleagues in New York. I hadn't quite made it onto my own list of tasks when I decided I had better go to lunch, rest up, and get prepared for the interview I have this afternoon. At Wawa, the cashier asked about my day-- Oh, it's alright, I told him. He laughed, told me I'm a terrible liar and wished me a better afternoon. I mused all the way back to the office about whether my face is that transparent, or whether I am the most gullible person on the planet. When I got back to my desk, I opened the bag and realized that the Coke I bought as a special treat for myself wasn't in it! Damn!

So here I am at 2 pm, still determined to stop the comet and save the world.

Wish me luck.

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