Chapter 10, Part Two: Los Angeles Mutual's Open House

The Monday after the Friday we got our new furnishings, Werner announced that we were going to have an Grand Opening party to celebrate LAM’s San Francisco branch office on the following Thursday after business hours, at 5:00.  Jim and Angie told us they were having it catered; they danced up and down in anticipation of showing off the office and décor.  We were ordered to dress our best for the account managers and officers from the agencies who bring us business.   

“Why Thursday?”  I asked Werner.

“Jim says so.  Most agencies close early or are short-staffed on Fridays,” he explained, “So . . .”

“So, it’s after hours.  Will we get overtime?”  Werner looked at me, huffed, turned his back and walked away.  I guessed NO.

But on Wednesday, disaster struck.   I opened a drawer in my new desk and the front came off.  Evidently the office supplies and insurance forms were too heavy for the cheap, pine construction.  Werner told me I pulled it out wrong; if I’d done it right, he said, this wouldn’t have happened.  How many ways, I asked him, are there to open a drawer?

  “It has to be fixed fast, before open house!” he whined, mopping his sweaty red face with a fistful of Kleenex he’d snatched from a box Candy kept on her desk, and throwing them back on it when he finished.

Candy sneered, “Ewww, ugh.”  Using a clean tissue, she swept them into a waste paper basket.  She left the office and returned with paper towels and soap, and scrubbed the top of her desk.  Werner called the furniture company and they sent someone out.  The guy told him he couldn’t fix the drawer in the office but had to take the desk back to the factory.  There was no guarantee  it’d be fixed by Friday.  Werner  almost had a heart attack,

“The whole friggin’ desk?” His jowels shook.

“ ‘Fraid so, sir.”

He stomped around and flapping his arms like Ralph Kramden. Candy and I sniggered.  But, he calmed down when the guy said,

“We will replace it with a new one.  We can deliver it by the end of the day.”

 So I ended up with a new, new desk. I filled the drawer with the same stuff and gingerly opened it. It held.

Thursday morning, Candy and I cleaned off every surface in the file room, moving files and supplies.  The caterers showed up with snack trays loaded with shrimp canapés, cubes of ham and cheese speared with colored tooth picks, chips and dip; crackers; small, bacon-wrapped wienies; and celery and carrot sticks with dip.  Werner saw that the hutch was filled with scotch and vodka to supplement the Bailey's.  Besides finger-food, the caterers set out buckets of ice and champagne.   At 4:45, Werner siad we could quit working and to fix the phones so all the calls would go to an off-site, message taking service.  (The era before message machines, voice mail, etc.)  Angie wore a frilled, low-cut white blouse, a pencil-slim, black skirt,  and 6 inch steel-tipped heels; her hair up in a loose chignon. We stood in a “receiving line” with Teddy, Jim, and Angie at the open office door.  Guests trickled in at first, then descended in bunches.  The women and some of the men complimented the LA contingent on the new office, running their hands over the furniture and stroking our gold, crushed velvet typing chairs. 

North West view

            “And the view!   Come look at the view!”  someone shrieked.

“Look at it from Werner’s office, then from Teddy’s!”   The view at night was spectacular, I had to admit.  The dark night sky, the streets from East to West lit up from the Bay to the Ocean; the lights on the Bay Bridge; the head- and taillights from traffic moving in all directions.  And practically every window in nearby hi-rises glowed.  

Bay Bridge looking East

"You girls don't know how lucky you are to be working in such a lovely office with such a lovely
view!"

             

View looking West

Jim held court, going into great detail about how he and Angie had driven to the Mission District where they found the desks, tables, chairs and hutch at a discount office furniture store .   I could tell by the looks and inflections that the comments were insincere, even sarcastic.  An account rep I knew looked at me sideways, half-laughing.  “Are they serious?” she said.  I told her to be nice.  I had to work here. 

Candy and I ended up like hired help (we were, anyway).   People asked us to fill their paper plates with this or that and pour drinks.  We had no time to eat but when the guests thinned out, we dove in.  Finally, we saw the last of them out the door.   Jim suggested to Werner that we propose a toast to our successful open house.  The good stuff was gone, all that was left was Bailey’s Irish Cream so we filled paper cups with it and raised them:  "Cheers!"  Then Jim, Teddy and Angie left to fly back to LA. 

            “Who’s going to clean up this mess?” Candy asked.

            “Oh, the janitors,” Werner assured us as he drew on his suit jacket and bustled out the door.

            “Okay, then, let’s split from this banana stand!" Candy shouted.”   It was almost seven o’clock.

Next up:  Chapter 10, Part Three: Post-party depression.  Werner talks about his girlfriend: TMI!  I refuse an archaic forms processing method, Werner threatens to fire me.