It was a bright day, a tad nippy, but the sun was shining and all seemed right in the world. I wore my pageboy cap because the morning chill of a fast approaching storm made the simple task of washing my hair seem too unimaginable.
My boss was set to attend the symphony gala that evening with the executive publisher, Margie (don't let the cutesie name fool you, she conducted my third in person interview and was hands down the most intimidating interviewer I've ever come across). I was dispatched to Neiman Marcus to pick up the dress my employer purchased earlier in the day and was having steamed in preparation for the night's events.
It was nearing the end of the day, 5-ish to be exact, and I was anticipating the crisp taste of an ice cold Heineken and shitty tv. Neiman's is just around the corner from my office and I decided to cut in through the cafe door rather than walk around the block to where the main entrance is. In between the cafe's tables and bustling display counters sits about 10 or so marble steps that lead up to the main floor of the department store. I had just about reached the top step when I saw Margie rounding the corner. She smiles at me and asks, in a very friendly fashion, what I'm doing there. I tell her I'm picking up the lady's ensemble and she jokes "she's not ready yet? We're supposed to leave at 5:30!" We half laugh, say "I'll see you later" and begin to go our separate ways.
Little did we know we would soon be heading in the same direction. Either the heel of her shoe became entangled in the hem of her pant leg, or her ankle momentarily gave out, only God knows for sure, but what is certain is that we were about to be forever bonded in this thing called "life." As her body started to shift too far forward a look of panic and confusion washed over her face. A look that I interpreted as "I will be fired on the spot if I cannot save the CEO from impending doom." I braced myself by grabbing a tight hold of the bannister and reached my other hand out in a desperate bid to catch the falling powerhouse, but there simply wasn't enough time to take a solid stance with the four inch wedges I foolishly selected to accessorize my outfit.
The sheer force of her propulsion ripped me right out of my failed stronghold...what followed next was a blur of white, partnered with a snowball effect of asses over elbows culminating in a hard collision wih the marble base of the treacherous staircase. The patrons dining around us gasped in unison and a waiter rushed Margie to get a status report on her condition. Margie was still holding onto my left hand and immediately looked at me and began apologizing profusely for taking me down with her. I told her she was being ridiculous.
After a moment to collect my thoughts and make sure I didn't dislocate anything, I picked up the blackberry I sent on a flight mission (that thing has hit hard ground from great heights so many times, I almost want to pull an Uncle Buck with the porcelain plate and see if it's truly indestructible), pulled up the lascivous blouse that had migrated to below bra level, and helped Margie back to her feet. We exchanged a few more "are you okay?, I'm fine, but are you sure you're okay's" and went on our merry ways. I successfully made it up the stairs in one piece, grabbed the item I was assigned to collect but opted to depart the store from another angle so as not to come face to face with the 15 or so patrons and employees who caught the late afternoon show...
Other than a mean bruise on my forearm right below my elbow which I keep leaning on by accident, an invisible one on my derriere, a decent sized one on the front of one thigh, and rug burn type thingy on my shin, oh and the fractured ego, I'm in pretty good shape. I think I might have a fall back career (pun intended) as a stunt woman.
And that is why that day shall forever be remembered as the day the executive publisher and the personal assistant were brought down to the same level, and helped each other get back up.
Cue the golf claps...
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