Attention Employee: Office Holiday Party

An email that went out to my business "associates."

In the spirit of the holidays and because everyone else we know has office/company christmas parties, I've decided to make my own. I know you guys, my fellow freelancers, actor's assistants, writers, "entrepreneurs" and unemployed friends, will appreciate this one.

Begin forwarded message:

Please join me at my office holiday party. Celebrating the season's festivities and a toast to the employee of the year, AVB. The party will take place starting on Monday, December 17th during office hours: 11 pm - 3 am extending through Christmas and into the New Year. During the party, I will be revealing my secret santa, a refreshment will be served and don't be surprised if karaoke makes its way into the festivities! Dress code is business casual (read: flannel pajamas and old camp tee shirts). Please be on your best behavior as a photographer (me with a camera) will be documenting the event and photos will be available for purchase. 

Please note that due to recent cutbacks and a flagging economy, the annual holiday bonus will not be given this year. Instead a "donation" has been made in AVB's name to the Human Fund, funding humans where they need it most.

Please RSVP to AVB in the HR department.

Happy Holidays!

AVB
President, Founder, sole proprietor, etc. etc.



Dictated, but not read.

Ode on a Tangent (or Ode to an Assistant)

So I should be packing for my whirlwind three-day vacay, but instead have decided to check out Maureen Dowd's column, which then lead me back to Gawker's coverage of K-Fed's Teen Choice Awards "performance," which then lead me to literary hot-or-not, and the Penguin UK blog (this is totally not a good idea, people are supposed to think publishing is mysterious, not realize the boring reality of it).

So all of these tangents got me thinking, how would Maureen Dowd ever know about K-Fed (or even his nickname) if not for her assistant--whom I'm sure is a constant checker of Gawker like the rest of us minions. That's the thing about assistants, we are the inside man, we know it all. My brain has always been constantly tapped for useless information gathered from all over. I'm beyond jeopardy into well into the realm of the obscure. Would our employer counterparts ever be able to function, let alone create, without our useful knowledge of...well, everything? Inspiration comes from nature, muses, lovers, whatever metaphor Keats chose to tap, but what about assistants? We deserve our own category of kudos. Could you picture Shakespeare, Scott, or Rossetti sitting back, musing on their assistant as a source of poetic inspiration? That will be the day.

To my fellow assistants, we all know what lies beneath. Now back to work.

Disenchantment in the Age of Enlightenment

I want to be 18 again. Not because I loved college (I NEVER want to suffer through an Ithaca winter again!), but because I knew what I wanted to do with my life. I had a goal, career path, and job that I really loved. I already had two years experience under my belt and I was only 18.

Now I'm 25, I have even more experience under my belt, have deviated away from my initial career path--not because I didn't like it, but because there weren't any jobs that gave me health insurance--and don't know what the hell I want to do. I know what I like (hard work, risk, creativity, encouragement) and what I don't (a paycheck under $40,000/yr.), but that sort of leaves me either overqualified for entry-level positions, but under-qualified for anything above the $35,000 bracket. How's a girl to win? New York is supposed to be a city that never sleeps, takes gambles and risks on things like the stock market and cable TV, but yet I can't find someone to take a gamble and hire me. Why is this so damn hard? Here's a list of the craziest offers I've ever received:

1) Entry-level job at big corporate media company: $31,000+benefits (sit in cubicle all day and use computer. No break. (I actually took this offer)

2) $600/week, no benefits, desk, office, computer etc, working for indie producer (I took this offer too, spent three months sitting on a couch reading, and hated it)

3) $15,000/yr. no benefits, no overtime, but would be expected to work overtime. I laughed, thanked them for the offer, and promptly hung up.

4) $55,000/yr full benefits, dental, paid vacation (3 weeks), as an assistant to a powerhouse publisher. It turned out they were crazy. I was warned by several people to expect my phones to be tapped, mental and verbal abuse, and possible physical side effects to occur. (I decided this wouldn't be a wise move. I was harassed for 4 days by said company after turning down the offer, and had to screened calls for a week).

5) $30,000/yr, benefits, no over time (but 18 hour days expected, 6 days/week) no lunch or pee break (I kid you not). Massive amounts of verbal abuse. 20 page confidentiality agreement. Lots of damage control to be done. (I reluctantly took the position, but they decided to re-neg and hired internally at the 11th hour...literally 11 hours before I was to start working). And no, this wasn't for Scott Rudin.

I could keep going, but you might think I'm crazy for passing these opportunities up. I know people would kill for them, but most of these jobs would kill you first. The way I look at it, I've saved myself many ulcers, acid reflux issues, massive therapy bills, loss of sleep, and loss of mind. I always thought there would be some sort of middle ground here, like those movies where the editor takes a gamble on a bright, talented, young-but-naive journalist who hits it big with the scoop of the decade, and gets the man. What happened to that ideal life?

Risks, gamble, whatever you call it, at eighteen, it all seemed possible. Maybe it's not age at all, maybe all I need is to move to Vegas.