A Typical Day at the Office

It is a typical day, and there I pose; my formally detached posture pushing up, up, up against the entire 42-story building, balancing it as lightly as possible on the tips of my shoulders. Bound by the international reputation of the company and itchy nylons within closed-toed shoes. A photographer has just arrived from Germany to capture portraits of the most photogenic edible selections from our fresh, light Northern California cuisine, while the manager places floral centerpieces on tables set for an engagement party that a Gourmet Magazine executive is throwing in exactly 20 minutes.

I capture fan-like glimpses of Gwyneth Paltrow sauntering through the lobby with famed baby Apple in her hands, simultaneously trying desperately to focus on the conversation I am having with a prominent New York Times reporter who has finally decided to write about the hotel. All the while, in the back of my mind, I am playing out the scenario for my death, which I am sure my chef is plotting as she runs back and forth with artful dishes for the photographer to capture on film. Strands of hair arguing with themselves beneath her white hat, she glares halfway across the room, as I seemingly enjoy the $24 dollar glass of wine in front of me.

Perception is a funny thing. While it is an art to maintain a certain image of a brand or persona, the perception of others has the potential to be a powerfully destructive force. I have wanted to speak with this reporter from the New York Times for the past six months. However, at this very moment, nobody in the circus-like atmosphere surrounding me understands that I have excruciatingly good tickets to a Coldplay concert that is beginning in precisely 40 minutes, and that in-between feigning focus on the conversation at hand, all I can think about is the traffic I will face on the freeway during my frantic escape to the Shoreline Amphitheater.

Escape is the last option right now, as our editorial conversation is immediately interrupted by the abrupt appearance of the city’s top gallerist and his guest. I now am springing to welcome and must immediately settle them in front of the piano, quelling confusion with a quick cocktail offer. You see, that is what the PR maven does. While introducing them to the server with a wink and “please take good care of these special people,” I quietly smile with the realization that the suit I am wearing will soon be replaced with a pair of jeans and t-shirt, my tired toes free to enjoy the starry night on the peninsula so very far away from here, surrounded by bright lights, the roar of the crowd, and Gwyneth's crooning husband, singing to me.