Office life

So what do I do?

Holly Budd

Wat', I asked my secretary, Debbie, 'is your assessment of your status in the company?'

'Invisible.'

'Why?'

'I wasn't sent the questionnaire.'

There seemed no logic as to who was and who wasn't. Other secretaries were, I was, and so were some other managers. How such decisions are made is part of the ineffable mystery surrounding Top Man- agement, who dole out these wearisome distractions in the interest of what they call vertical communication. This time I decid- ed to answer rather than sulk, not because it's any earthly use or will enhance my pro- motion prospects but because it is a gen- uinely difficult question.

I would have said that my status was of the middling sort but when I thought who else I would put in that category I realised it must be higher. But what would the oth- ers say about me? And did being female mean that my status is less than my posi- tion merits because I'm deemed to have achieved it on grounds of sex, or is my sta- tus actually higher than my position because it is recognised that I achieved it despite my sex?

Pay and perks — all the ascertainables — are only part of it. Proximity to the power centre is important but there are other, less easily defined, aspects. Whom to ask when asking may indicate uncertainty? Would I be rewarded for modesty or pun- ished for hubris? Would getting it right be good or bad? What anyway of a company that asks such questions? It's impossible and intriguing.

I chickened out and asked Debbie what she would put if she had to.

'Secretary.'

'That's your job, not your status.'

'That's the point. They all want you to call yourself Executive Assistant and all that rubbish. It took me ages to acquire my secretarial skills and I'm proud of them.'

Rightly, despite her shaky mornings. I considered Debbie. I can't deny her a cer- tain bedraggled glamour, even on her bad mornings, and, musing on the increase in male callers since her arrival and one or two complimentary remarks surprisingly floated in my direction, it struck me that in Debbie I may have a serious status symbol. She came to me on her own request on internal transfer, having previously worked for a handsome high-powered man who ran a large department. What did this say about my status? I asked why she had left him.

'Thinks he's God's gift.'

'A pest?'

'No, nothing like that.'

What she really wants is to marry Gloucestershire and people the county with children, but not yet. Her previous boss would have been perfect. I felt there must be more to come so one morning, when the night before had taken more than its usual toll and she entered like a catatonic ghost, I put her coffee in her hands. 'Why did you really leave him? You had a real power job there.'

She sipped and opened her eyes. `Roedean. He couldn't get over it. Kept telling everybody he had a secretary who went to Roedean. So embarrassing.'

How British we all are. I guessed where that man might estimate his status, and marked myself one up from there.