Beauty Industry Calling

"How would you like to work at a great cosmetics company?" my counselor asked. "We've got a spot that would be just right for you."

From Tiffany's I moved onto Estee Lauder cosmetics, in the President's office. They were located on the 40th floor of a snazzy Trump building overlooking Central Park. The view out of the many windows was equally as phenomenal as the one I stumbled upon several years before when interviewing for the job with the real estate mogul, a.k.a. the one's who didn't like my hair.

The President at Estee had two assistants. Denise was the "first assistant," and Ashley the notch-lower second. Denise was about to start maternity leave and was transitioning her workload to Ashley. I was called in to help Ashley for an unspecified period of time. I sat in the desk area directly behind her.

Ashley was a very pretty, ultra perfect-looking Southern belle. She was about 5'4", probably a size 0, with blond shoulder-length hair and a fabulous body. She made sure to showcase her assets to the fullest by always wearing formfitting clothes, high heels, and a lot of makeup for a pretty girl who didn't especially need it.

When I began working with Ashley we exchanged small talk and she seemed fine with our chatting. She told me she was originally from the south, one of the Carolinas, which explained her southern-tinged accent. And if graciousness were a southern trait, Ashley would do the south proud. She had wonderfully gracious manners when interacting with clients. Yes, Ashley seemed amiable enough.

On my third or so day, I couldn't help but overhear one of Ashley's phone conversations. She made no effort whatsoever to speak in a hushed voice on the phone when she complained, "I told him it was over between us, but he just doesn't get it. He won't stop calling me, sending me gifts, e-mailing me -- I had to change my phone number and e-mail address. Some guys just don't take no for an answer. You know what I mean?" (Not that it would be anything to brag about, but I never had a guy be so persistent when I said it was over. But then again, I don't look like Miss Ashley.)

After she hung up with her friend, she walked over to where I was sitting to use the fax machine. Casually, I commented, "Gee, you had to change your phone number because of a guy?"

The instant those words left my mouth, Ashley's once-sweet demeanor turned positively icy. She glared at me and reprimanded, "That's a very personal matter. I'd appreciate you not eavesdropping on my phone conversations."

Mee-yaow! The claws came out and Miss Ashley dug them in!

Excuse me, Miss Ashley. I don't know how they do things down south, but us Northerners are usually a tad more discreet when discussing private matters at the workplace. But I suspect you enjoyed that little power display over me, didn't you? After all, before I came along you were the lowest on the totem pole.

For the sake of good standing, I bit the bullet. "I'm so sorry. That was very wrong of me. I assure you it won't happen again." Got to have that good standing, with Ashley and my agency. Don't want to turn the corner and find myself at the bottom of the temping barrel again.

From that point on I made sure to watch every word when interacting with her, refraining from asking a single, non-business related question. But even on "perfect behavior" (when I didn't say or do anything that could be considered inappropriate), she still continued to reprimand me. After repeated Ashley-reprimands for no apparent reason, I actually thought, Listen here Miss 98-pound waif. I could kick your ass real bad. You realize that, don't you?

Yet it was weird: between bouts of Ice Queen behavior sometimes she would be very nice to me, and even give me stuff. One time she said, "Here -- want this?" as she tossed me a makeup bag filled with samples. Sure, I took it.

On another occasion she said, "Here -- do you want these?" as she handed me a nearly full tin of cookies from Black Hound (a nice bakery in the East Village) that a client had given her the day before. She bemoaned, "I've been eating too many... [she had maybe three, and they were small]... I'm getting fat. I have to lose weight. For the first time in my life my weight is in the triple digits."

The "triple digits"? Oh, what a travesty, Miss Ashley. That's horrid, I do declare. But wait -- what normal, 5'4" adult's weight isn't in the "triple digits"?

Even though most of the time she acted like she was Goddess and I was Peasant Servant, I didn't hate her, or even dislike her for it. That's because I found the Ashley character study to be fascinating. I might have refrained from commenting on her conversations, but that's not to say I wasn't listening intently, slyly smirking all the while as I committed them to memory.

Some Ashley comments:

To her boss, Dan Brestle, an extremely high-up executive at the mega-company: "Hey, Danny boy!"

To a friend on the phone about her current beau: "He's in real estate. But in the good kind of real estate -- like, he sold Puff Daddy his apartment."

To me, spontaneously, after I handed her a message that some guy had called: [Rolls eyes back, shakes head in annoyance] "Oh, God. I can't believe he called me. I didn't give him my number... all I did was mention my name and where I worked. I talked to him one night for like five minutes when I was out with my father."

To herself, as she was looking in the mirror of her compact, touching up her makeup: "Ugh, I gotta quit smoking. I look like I'm 40." (She was 25.)

And here are a couple of Ashley stories that were told to me:

"I went out to dinner with this guy I was dating, and I wore a gorgeous new coat. It was long and swingy with a leopard print all over it. It cost about $600. During dinner we got into a huge fight. He ended up storming out of the restaurant. When we checked our coats the girl gave us only one ticket for both coats, and he had the ticket. Before he left he got his coat out of the coat check. When I went to get mine the girl refused to give it to me because I didn't have a ticket. I swore the coat was mine, but she wouldn't give it back so I had to leavewithout it. When I called the restaurant the next day they said they couldn't find my coat. I just know the coat check girl
took it home with her."

"I started this job around the same time I moved to a different apartment, and I had no free time to do my laundry. So every time I ran out of underwear I'd stop by Bloomingdale's and buy some more. I must have about 80 pairs of underwear. And shoes? Don't even get me started. I have a major shoe fetish...."

 

One thing I tip my hat to Ashley for is that she really worked her butt off for the boss. From 8:30 a.m. until after 6:00 she cranked it out non-stop, save for a cigarette break or two. In contrast my hours were 9 to 5, and what did I do? Not a whole heck of a lot, which was the way I liked it and why I temped. Many times I asked if she needed help with anything, but most of the time she couldn't reassign her work to me. Tisk, tisk.

Aside from the challenges I experienced dealing with Ashley, I had a pleasant six-week stay. Some of the perks included the unparalleled view, friendly co-workers (a certain someone not included here), above-average coffee (free, like it should be), and frequent opportunities to snag leftover food from meetings.

But the biggest perk of all was the generous amount of makeup/perfume/skincare products routinely given away, even to temp employees such as myself. Although I had no intention of actually using the many products offered to me, I still took them -- it's convenient to have a supply of nice gifts on hand.