Standing Taller

“Hey sweetheart. Put a pot of coffee on, will you?” Mr. Erikson told me the second I walked in the door to the meeting room.

“I’m sorry, what?” I asked, positive that I couldn’t have heard him right.

“I’m hitting that afternoon lull. Would you do me a favor and make me some coffee?”

In an instant, it felt like every nerve in my body was on fire and begging for my attention. I wondered if the outside of me was shaking as much as the inside of me was.

“Well, I actually have to get this presentation set up. But good news! The coffee pot hasn’t changed anytime recently in the 23 years that you’ve been here,” I said with a cheerful smile on my face that was more fake than an influencer’s public “apology.”

I couldn’t believe that I just said that.

This was my boss. This is a great job. Did I really just risk it instead of sucking it up and dealing with his sexism?

“Ah, but you make it so much better. Besides, we actually don’t need your project anymore. Kyle came up with another idea that I think can help improve our margins in half a year.”

And just like that, all of my buzzing nerves came to a screeching halt. For a moment, I wondered if there was actually a remote somewhere out there that someone had pressed to pause this moment. Once I felt my heart start to beat in my chest again, that became the only thing I could hear. That, and the sound of me throwing my entire life off track.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. No, I will not make your coffee because you are a grown-up 56-year-old man who doesn’t deserve to be in your position if, after 23 years of working in the same place, you can’t figure out how to make coffee yourself. But do you really want to know what I do to make your coffee taste good? I spit in it. Every. Single. Time. Every time that you send me out of a meeting, ones that I have every reason to be a part of, to go make coffee, I add cream, sugar, and a giant wad of my saliva. And as for the presentation, I worked for two whole months on this. I did extensive research and pulled four all-nighters. And what do I get? I get it thrown in the trash and replaced with Kyle’s half-assed idea that he probably came up with while plastered at a frat kegger even though he is THIRTY YEARS OLD. This isn’t the 1950s when even if it wasn’t ok, you could get away with it. It’s 2021 boys. I should not be the only female at high-ranking meetings for this company and I should not have to make your dang coffee. I quit. I’m out. And trust me, you’ll regret making me walk out.”

With my final words, I took my briefcase and slammed the glass door behind me so hard that I feared that if I turned around, I would see a giant crack in it.

Don’t think, just do. Don’t think, just do.

That played around and around in my head as I packed up my office and stormed out of the building.

It wasn’t until I got home that it hit me what I had done. I plopped my box down onto the kitchen counter and looked out at the living room. The living room of an apartment that I will need to pay rent for. On my sofa laid my cat, not even giving me a second glance. A cat that I will still need to feed and take to the vet.

Oh God. Ohhhh no. Did I make a huge mistake? I made a huge mistake. This was a very very very bad idea and I am an idiot for having done it.

But then I look at the carefully constructed notes that I had prepared for my presentation and my confidence was coming back. For six years I had worked at that company and out of all the meetings I attended, in only about 10% of them was I not asked to make coffee. I had whole notebooks of pitched ideas- ideas that were immediately shot down sometimes before I even started talking.

Fine. That’s alright. Who needs a stable career path anyway? Not me, that’s who.

I smiled a little at myself, but before I realized what was happening, tears flooded my eyes like a tsunami rolling in out of nowhere. I didn’t have a chance as my knees lost their strength and I sat on the floor of my kitchen, clutching my notes to my chest. For the next 15 minutes my brain was fuzzy as it was overcome with the anger, frustration, and sadness that I had crammed down for the last 6 years. I thought back to being in college with dreams of working at a wholesome environmental company and getting to help save the planet. Now, I just wished to save my dignity.

Just as I finally started to gain my composure again, there came a knock from my door. Quickly wiping off my tears with the bottom of my shirt and taking a steadying breath, I opened the door to my elderly downstairs neighbor’s worried face.

“Hi Mrs. Cranston. What’s up?”

“Well I was just coming to check up on you. I heard a thump and you’re never home at this time so I got worried.”

While it was unnecessary, the gesture still warmed my heart. Mrs. Cranston had always been good at checking up on me and had done so ever since I moved into the building 8 years ago.

“Thank you, but I’m fine,” I concluded after telling her about my day and the last 6 years.

She said nothing but offered me a hug that I gratefully took. When she pulled away, she looked me right in the eyes and said, “Serena, when I was still in the workforce, I got called ‘sweetheart,’ ‘honey,’ ‘baby,’ and just about every other name in the book and I hated every one of them. Sure I was a secretary and not a big boss like you, but it still stung. They never treated me with any kind of respect. So on behalf of my younger self, hell yeah! Stick it to ‘em!”

Despite my still rattled nerves, I laughed at the 80-something-year-old’s spunk. I can imagine that she spit in a lot of coffees back in her day.

“Well thank you for the support Mrs. Cranston, but I’m still out of a job and I probably won’t get a recommendation from them within this lifetime.”

“So? You said you have a lot of great ideas that they completely dismissed. Take them elsewhere or better yet, make your own company. Show them what they’re missing and once they’re begging on their knees to take you back, stand even taller to show them who’s boss.”

I really should have recorded all of Mrs. Cranston’s motivational speaks because she could have given one heck of a TED Talk. Suddenly, without feeling an ounce of guilt, I decided that she was right. I did have a lot of ideas. I could definitely make my own company!

              So… making my own company was a whole lot harder than they make it seem like in the movies. I didn’t get any kind of cute uplifting musical montage where I’m pitching ideas to investors who immediately get on board, signing all my paperwork in a matter of months, and cutting a big red ribbon on the front of my building within the timespan of a Kelly Clarkson song. Instead, it took me three years to finally cut the big red ribbon.

              I almost lost my apartment at least three times and had to take on a job as a telemarketer just to make ends meet. But the whole time, I never once gave up on starting my own company. Sure, there were days where I screamed my lungs out into my pillow and debated asking for my old job back, but I couldn't help imagining how disappointed Mrs. Cranston’s face would be if I told her that I went back to my job where I was constantly disrespected.

              So, I stuck it out. I put in the work, made the connections, got the investments, and finally signed off on the building lease. Now that the building had been renovated and the staff had been hired, all that was left to do was cut the big red ribbon.

              The night before the ceremony, I was enjoying a relaxing evening in with my cat and a glass of champagne when my phone rang.

              When I saw who the caller was, I scrunched my eyebrows together.

What could they want at 11 o’clock on a Sunday night?

Against my better judgment, I swiped ‘Answer’ on my phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi! Miss. Phillips? This is Jed Erikson from Environmental Inc.”

“Hello, Jed. I remember you. What do you need?”

I could practically hear his face flush.

“Actually, your help. See, our company has been losing profits for the last four years-“

“I’m aware.”

I know it was mean. I couldn’t help it.

He cleared his throat. “And well, we would like to propose a merger.”

“Excuse me?”

“A merger- you know where two companies or –“

“Yes, I am aware of what a merger is. Why should I possibly agree to work with you after the way you treated not only me but all of the women in the office?”

“Because we’ve changed. We now have more women on our executive board and I’ve started making my own coffee.”

“Wow Jed. While I’m really excited that you’ve finally learned this very, very basic skill, you sound like a desperate ex. And I don’t take back desperate exes.”

There was a moment of silence on the line as I waited for his argument.

“Because there are a lot of jobs on the line. This company is this close to shutting down and that would put hundreds of people out of a job. Think about my kids, my wife.”

“You know, I do think about them a lot. I’ve always wondered your wife hasn’t packed up the kids and ditched your sorry self yet.” I took a deep breath to reel myself back in. “However, those were my coworkers for years and most of them don’t deserve to be out of a job just because you guys chose a thirty-year-old frat bro’s idea over a woman’s well-researched one- and yes. I do know that that is the reason why the company is failing. I also do think that you have some resources that could be useful to a few of my up-and-coming projects and for those reasons and those reasons only, yes. I will agree to a merger. But, it is only under the conditions that you merge into my company and we will make all personnel decisions- amongst a few other details that we’ll iron out in the contract. Deal?”

“Yes! Deal! Thank you so much Miss. Phillips! And, from the bottom of my heart, I am very sorry for the way that I treated you. You really deserved so much more respect than I, or any of us, gave you.”

I could just imagine three-year-younger me and Mrs. Cranston cheering at the beautiful melody of an apology.

“Well thank you for that. I appreciate it. And just so you know, my company will not tolerate that level of sexism so when you say you’ve changed, you better have.”

“Of course, of course! Thank you again! And… congratulations!”

I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my mouth.

So this is what it feels like to stand taller when they’re begging on their knees. Not a bad feeling.

“Thank you, Jed. Good night.”

The next day, I stood in front of a huge crowd with a comically large pair of scissors, grinning until my cheeks ached. As I looked out over the crowd, a bittersweet sadness swept over me. A year ago, Mrs. Cranston’s cancer came back with full force and it wasn’t six months later before I was standing in front of a very different crowd giving a very different speech. Now, kicking off the start of my very own company, I just wished she could have been here to watch me.

Just as I thought that I felt the weight of my locket- her locket- on my chest. I smiled even brighter as I imagined her standing on the side of the stage, a proud look on her face.

“And now ladies and gentlemen, I would like to formally announce the opening of the Cranston Conservation Company!”