In 2006 the BTG (Blogging The Globe) office in London was a very male environment. As far as girls went it was just me and Millie, a professional Barbie doll who covered wellness, beauty and lifestyle, basically all the stuff you read about in magazines I never buy. I once set her up to do an interview with Jennifer at her dance studio. When she came back she said, “The pictures should be good but your friend’s not much of a talker, is she?” That summed Jennifer up quite accurately. Millie and I couldn’t be more different − she ate salads when I ate burgers, she drank tea when I drank beer, she was married and I had an affair, she was straight and I was not, she wore flower-print dresses and I wore jeans, she had been around from the start and I was new − but we had one thing in common: we were both women. There’s nothing like the ties that bind two women who battle men on the work floor together every day. So I went up to Millie and asked, “Should we invite Lucy to a ladies’ lunch and tell her not to sack any women while we’re at it? You know, throw some of that girl power around?”
“God Lee, you look like death warmed up. What happened to you? Some simple foundation can hide the bags under your eyes pretty well these days, you should try it some time.”
“Oh shut up, Millie. I had a rough night, that’s all. So what do you think of Lucy?”
“I think Lucy is a class A bitch who will have the men here eating out of the palm of her hand by this time next week. Mark my words.”
“Damn, that’s bad news.”
“The only thing that can work on your behalf is that you like the ladies. Make your move before the guys do, Lee. Do that thing you do. Hell, do whatever it takes to save your job so I’m not stuck here on my own with all these adult-sized toddlers for the rest of my BTG days.”
“God Millie, you’re such a cynic.”
“Life has made me so. But seriously, rumour has it that some people may get fired. It’s a dog-eat-dog world, Lee. Woo her a bit, make her feel special. You’re good at that. I think she’s the kind of woman who wants exactly that from her subordinates. And before you ask, yes, I also think she’s the kind of woman who would call her co-workers subordinates.”
“She’s only been here five minutes but she already seems to have rubbed you up the wrong way.”
“Hey, you asked for my opinion. Brutal honesty is all I have. And I guess you can expect some fireworks in the coming staff meetings. And no, I don’t like her.”

Around noon I casually walked past Lucy’s office. It was empty. I wondered which one of the guys had beat me to it, despite their Friday ritual of sharing a pub lunch down the street from the office. Millie and I usually joined them, but Millie had an interview across town and, this Friday, sleep-deprived, rejected and scared of losing my job as I was, I had other plans. I muttered some curse words under my breath and made my way to the washroom. To my delight Lucy was just touching up her lipstick. Her eyes fixed on me in the reflection of the mirror and I tried my widest, most inviting smile. She said, “Lee, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. May I−” She turned around and leaned her body against the sink.
“Are you OK, Lee? You look a bit pale. And please, don’t call me ma’am.”
Taken aback, I stammered, “I’m fine. I was just wondering−”
“I hope it’s not the job. You are up to it, aren’t you?”
“Yes yes, of course. It’s just something personal.”
“As long as it doesn’t interfere with you doing the best you can, I’m not interested in your personal life.” She looked at her watch, and continued, “Please excuse me, I have a lunch date.”
That went well.

To be continued…