I was an administrative assistant for the President of small subsidiary of a larger Japanese television network. The company was comprised of my boss and me. So, depending on the day or event, I was the Director of Media Relations, Research Director, or my favorite, Director of International Co-Productions. I dressed like an executive and wore high heels everyday (never did that sneaker/commuting thing). I carried a nice leather briefcase. My calls were all screened and transfered in to me. I went on business trips to London and Cannes and had meetings with Presidents and CEOs of other media companies. I got to make offers and read scripts. And best of all, I took long, long lunches with my boyfriend or girlfriends while my boss was on business trips.
My boss was a stout little Japanese man who loved to be boss. He introduced himself to everyone as Dr. Matsui - a "Dr." due to his Ph.D. in Telecommunications. Think napoleonic samurai as Michael Scott from "The Office" and you'll get the general idea. As such, his position wasn't nearly as important as his title (President, Founder... sometimes he'd throw in an Esq. here and there after his name for effect) might suggest. More accurately, he was boss of me at a bogus little company he'd basically made up. He was also President of another Japanese subsidiary with an office across town, where he was boss of Janet and Mary. I was the brunette, Janet, the sexy blonde, and Mary, the adorable redhead - we used to joke that we were Charlie's Angels. And I don't think any of us ever believed it was a coincidence when we met each other.
But for a few brief moments I thought that I was included in important meetings because of my intelligence and media saavy. I read up on the companies we'd be meeting with and learned what I could about each executive. And then I started noticing the little comments and innuendo. Yes, it was humiliating, but at the time I was more preoccupied with how oblivious he was to the astonished looks he would get for being totally offensive and socially retarded. He was sexist in the way that only the most impotent men need to be. So much to prove. People would generally overlook it with the possibility of a big chunk of a production budget still on the line, but it was clear what people thought of him. One of the presidents of a big network pulled me aside once to suggest that maybe I should call him if I was interested in making a career move, but as I wasn't sure whether it was to rescue me from such a jerk or to allow him to behave like one himself, I never pursued it.
I did have some real work, though. I really did do quite a bit of research. That's part of what my company did. We (I) researched all kinds of international media trends and put together monthly reports of how those trends could impact Japanese media companies. And while I felt it was all more or less bullshit, I did a pretty thorough job of reporting it all. Once I put the reports together, I'd hand them over to Dr. M. and he'd translate them into Japanese, put his name and the name of the company on the front cover in bold letters and remove any trace of me. I knew enough Japanese characters to recognize that.
However, it was in Cannes, at MIPCOM (I can't even remember what these letters mean now), that I realized what my real purpose was. I prepared for weeks and weeks for the meetings that I would have there. I was so excited to be going to Cannes, and I would be going without my boss! I had a number of meetings set up, and I was to stop by and visit a number of booths to seek out various executives we'd been communicating with. I got my hair cut, bought some new "work clothes", just to make sure I'd look like I was serious. All for nothing. Well, my hair looked cute, but I hate work clothes. I realized during my first meeting that I was by far the youngest person at this event. A joke. No, not even a joke. An offering.
I had one-on-one meetings with some very important potential partners. Every one of them a forty or fifty-something year old man. Every one breezed through all the parts of the meetings I had prepared for and then invited me to this party or that dinner... or had I had a chance yet to just explore Cannes and see some of the nicer hotels? And I recalled Dr. M. saying to me before I left, "You won't need to worry about meals. Just get invited places."
I bought sandwiches off carts in the street (delicious) for just about every meal. I hated Cannes.
BUT, I then learned one of the greatest feelings I know. My very favorite thing about that job, even better than the long lunches when my boss was away, was quitting.
I didn't even know I was going to do it, which made it all the better when it actually happened. Dr. M. was being his typical oppressive, irrational self and I openly disagreed with him about something. I can't remember what it was - doesn't matter. He was caught off guard by my unusually assertive behavior and began to berate me. And I stood there, stunned, for a couple of seconds... and then I just blurted it out. "You know what? I don't want to work here anymore."
At first he looked enraged. Then powerless. Then I swear he was doing everything he could not to cry. I felt kind of bad for him. I mean, really, doesn't everyone feel sorry for Michael Scott, as much of a jerk as he is? But still. You wouldn't want to work for him.
So I quit. And I'm proud to say, it wasn't the last time. Walking away from things that suck is way, way underrated.
