Big Shots: Cam's Blog

Suddenly I DON'T See

Jeez, I was kidding about the Miranda Priestly thing last week, but here come all the wannabe Reveal interns, all thinking that working here means you get to hang out all day with fashion royalty. Uh, first of all, it'd be makeup royalty, and second, good luck hanging out with anyone besides my beloved copier.  I shall call him Jonathan, after this kid I went to prep school with who was totally awesome with the multiplication tables when we were in 4th grade - get it?  Because Jonathan multiplies.   (Last I heard he was at MIT and I can only hope he uses his genius for good and not evil.  I would hate to think math-boy went all Satan on us.  Hello, awkward high school reunion.)

But I am psyched that Duncan let me hire someone to help me out at work - shlepping lattes isn't as easy as it looks - and I think I finally found the person to help me and Jonathan-the-copier out.  His name is Zack and he's -

Okay, blogosphere, I'm a little angsty over this.   Am I turning into my father?   Am I so totally abusing the little authority I do have?   This guy Zack, he's got the credentials - he's actually freakishly overqualified to collate - but then so am I, so that's not the issue.  The issue is that I hired him because in addition to being Mr. Smarty, he's also... a little hottie.   

I'm bad.   I am so joining Jonathan-evil-math-genius in a very hot place. 

BTW, what's the deal with Duncan?  Again he's lied to my mom - he told her he was fighting a hostile takeover.  A hostile takeover of his pants, maybe.   Who knows what he was up to?  And she was so totally excited about going away with him this weekend and then he pulls this on her.  Insane.  Insane!   

I just hate to see Mom so sad. 

To Catch a Fief

Genius move dropping out of college.  So much better to be out here, in the real world, working.  At least this is what I keep telling myself, as Duncan keeps trying to work me so hard that I beg to go back to school.  Silly, silly man.  I doubt he even knows which college I was going to.  Even if he did know, I’m still not going back.  He never had a college education, and look at him now – a huge success in the business world.  I figure I can get business smarts from him, and he can keep all the bad personal relationship juju to himself.  No thanks, Duncan.   

I’m okay being an intern at Reveal – really.  I didn’t expect Duncan to make me VP or even assistant regional manager on my first day, but I also didn’t expect him to turn into the Miranda Priestley of the cosmetics world.  That’s if Miranda Priestley slept with half of Manhattan. 

And didn’t whisper so much. 

It’s like Duncan comes to work every day thinking of new menial tasks for me to do or new places for me to get him lunch from.  You want me to go forty blocks away to get you your favorite green curry with chicken?  Why not?  I do so love smelling like your lunch all day.  And no, I’m still not going to quit and go back to school.      

So…work.  I’ve made a lot of friends so far, if by ‘friends’ you count the copier, the coffee maker and something called a ‘roll laminator.’  Oh, you may think the roll laminator is your new favorite toy masquerading as office equipment, but you’d be horribly, horribly wrong.   For instance, the other day, bored senseless, I got the brilliant idea to convert my vending machine sandwich into a tasty panini, thinking that the warm press of the lamination machine would be revealed as a culinary miracle maker. 

This is one of those things that sounds great in theory.  In practice, however…not so much.  That would be the day I met Vincent.  He’s the rep from the roll laminator company.  He wasn’t so excited to see me either.  I kept saying, I’m only trying to discover new revenue streams for you!  Think of it – George Foreman would have nothing on you – a panini maker that automatically seals the panini in plastic?  Genius!  Slap a patent on that bad boy and call me with my royalties.  But alas, Vincent did not see it that way. 

I offered him a Tab.

Seriously, I have learned a lot in my short time here, including which baristas will open the door for me while I’m juggling four extra-hot soy decaf lattes, who to call in case the printer jams, and which assistant will make my life miserable if I ‘mistakenly’ drink his last two cans of Tab.  Yes, I saw the sticky note.  Yes, I drank them anyway.  Yes, I would totally do it again. 

First of all, one was for Vincent, and that’s just being hospitable.  That’s just good manners.  But the other one I drank when I was stuck here at one in the morning waiting for some prints to come back from Japan.  That one I needed.  (I was going to replace it with a six-pack – two cans for a six-pack is a winner of a deal, right?  But the stuff’s impossible to find.  Seriously, it’s like the Waldo of the soda world.)

Ugh.  Gotta go.  Duncan’s calling.   Apparently I forgot to do something he hasn’t told me to do yet.  He can try all he wants to try to get me to quit but I’m staying. 

After all, someone’s got to be here when the new roll laminator arrives.