Ashley cannot get over how unfair her job is. Yesterday was the second time in a month that she’d been asked to pick up a lunch for the VP she supports.
“Do you believe this?” she asks me, waving a bagged lunch toward my desk.
I nod in my most commiserating fashion. I was an executive assistant for over a dozen years. Not only do I believe this, but I find it hilarious.
“He can just get his own lunch. I mean, seriously. Really? Seriously. I mean, why am I picking up his lunch? I went out for lunch an hour ago and no one offered to pick it up for me.”
“You should get an assistant.”
“This is not why I went to college.”
I smile. “Why did you go to college, anyway?”
She frowns at me. “Everyone goes to college.”
I shake my head. “Not everyone.”
“Well you’d have to be stupid,” she declares haughtily. “All the best jobs go to college graduates.”
“Yes,” I murmur, “clearly.”
She looks at me. Was that a cut? I smile at her, and she decides that the middle-aged lady still wearing pantyhose with skirts – pantyhose! Did you ever?! – did not just make fun of her.
“Look,” I say. “You work yourself up too much over this stuff. Picking up his lunch is not that big a deal. There are some bosses who ask that you pick up their dry cleaning, their dogs, make arrangements for their kid’s graduation parties.”
She appears shocked. “Well I wouldn’t do it.”
“You would if you wanted to get paid.”
Now it’s her turn to shake her head. “If everyone refused to do it, they’d get used to it and just do it themselves. Their sense of entitlement is oppressive.”
Oh, she’s so young.
I want to poke her with a stick.
“I’ve gotta run,” she breathes. “I’m meeting a friend at Starbucks.”
“I thought you already took your lunch.”
She tosses her hair. “I deserve a break.”
“Of course,” I say.