The Project Manager
Michael Interrante
The Project Manager is gazing, dispassionately (and perhaps unknowingly), into the eyes of the Assistant Merchant. The eCommerce Manager, who usually looks much more pristine during these meetings, is very clearly drooling on himself. The Senior Designer is gesturing to the Copywriter with his eyebrows in a way that’s not at all conveying the type of meaning he thinks it is, and The Copywriter, who couldn’t be less concerned with the Senior Designer’s eyebrows, is currently inserting her index finger into the back corner of her mouth— she’s either attempting to dislodge food residue or she’s simply forgotten the basic etiquette rules of the conference room. The Assistant to the eCommerce Manager, whose time to speak has since expired, is sitting idly, relieved that he will no longer have to utter another mention of this week’s sale figures. The C.C.O., whose current expression seems parked somewhere between disgruntled and amused, jostles back and forth in his chair, dispensing these little squeaks with his movements that sound extremely similar to farts. Perhaps the C.C.O. is aware of this fact and takes some small pleasure in creating innocent little farting noises—or maybe he’s actually just relieving himself—but now and then the C.C.O. cracks a smile and seems inexplicably proud. In the middle of the table, there is a large bowl of freshly procured candy. It is the intention of everyone in the meeting to obtain at least one piece of candy before the meeting is over. The candies are each individually wrapped with a thick foil. The sound of this wrapper coming undone can create a level of noise that exceeds 65 dBA, the same loudness of a normal speaking voice. This is the only deterrence that prevents each of the 8 team members in the conference room from engaging with the candy bowl. The last person to consume a piece of candy was the Freelance Designer, who, when reaching for the candy before the meeting had started, expressed how remorseful she was over her actions. The reason why was because she was afraid of rendering her morning workout routine invalid, which, unbeknownst to everyone, doesn’t. exist.
The large television screen at the front of the conference room is displaying a marketing email that was sent to over 30,000 customers over the weekend. These customers are a part of a list known as Repeat Purchasers, but unbeknownst to the eCommerce Manager, who created the list, all the customers on the Repeat Purchasers List are the same as the customers on the One-Time Buyer List. This is because the eCommerce Manager failed to discern the difference between the duplicate list button and the create new list button on Marble™, the backend software used to deploy and monitor marketing emails. It is a scandal that has the potential to rock the marketing team to its core; shatter all systems of their belief and sew chaos towards all branches of leadership. It is also a scandal that will never be revealed since the patience required to uproot such a mistake is not possessed by anyone in the company capable of doing anything about it.
The Digital Marketing Intern, whose job it was to talk about this particular email when it came to this particular screen, has forgotten what it was she was supposed to say. She is looking through her notes, frantically, hoping that her colleagues could fill the idle time with small talk.
The Freelance Designer, against all rational thought, reaches for another piece of candy. Attention is appropriately diverted and paid towards the Freelancer’s hand as it hovers over the candy bowl, pauses, and then retracts. The Freelancer remarks over how close she came to eating a second candy. Some team members laugh out of politeness. The rest stare unnervingly.
This naturally occurring break in the proceedings allows The Project Manager time to look over her agenda for the meeting. It is in this moment that she realizes a subject, a very important subject, has been glossed over. At first, she stumbles, accuses herself of being incompetent; incapable of performing her basic duties. This is quickly rectified as she reminds herself that she is both underpaid and under-appreciated in her position.
It is then that the Project Manager realizes just what has truly occurred. She has been endowed with one of the godliest of powers that one could ever hope to have within these walls. She, at any point, could mention how this very important topic had been glossed over, and in doing so, she could extend the length of this meeting by one or more additional hours.
The Project Manager looks to her left, beholds the site of The C.C.O. with his fake farting, and then peers over to her right, where The Copywriter is still engaged in whatever it is she’s doing with her finger. The eCommerce Manager is glancing down at their phone, smiling widely at something the Senior Designer sent them; something quite lewd and inappropriate for work.
The Digital Marketing Intern is on her laptop, looking for the files that she claims were misplaced, but were actually deleted.
The Project Manager looks deep inside herself for resolve. Her teammates are undeserving, she knows this, but the power, the control, the pleasure of extending this meeting, of launching it straight past the morning and into prime lunch hours, seems too enticing to ignore. It is a decision that must be made, not out of logic, but out of insanity; out of devotion towards chaos and mischief. It is for glory, for pride, for demonstrating to her coworkers that she can hold and control power. For it is not the C.C.O with his fake flatulence and odd smiles, nor the Senior Designer with his unruly eyebrows—and certainly not the Freelancer with her lack of impulse control. It is she, the Project Manager who holds court; who pulls the most strings. She controls the meeting.
She controls the people.
The Project Manager, who has now adopted a stoic façade of ambivalence; of god-like cruelty and malice, opens her mouth to speak.
The Senior Designer drops his eyebrows low.
The C.C.O. stops fidgeting.
The Freelancer reaches for that second piece of candy.
They’re all looking at her with suspended expressions, each of them tempted to speak, to stir the air around them until the feeling of dread dispenses from their bodies. The Project Manager begins her declaration.
She speaks her mind, delivers her remark.
Her words are uttered, not spoken.
They’re casually lifted, not strained over.
They are dispensed with ease, without a nervous laugh or obvious cruelty. The faces around her remain unchanged, but subtle hints of degradation are there for her to relish.
The C.C.O. is sitting upright and stern.
The Senior Designer is clenching his brow.
The Intern sheds an invisible tear. She had plans to meet her friend in the park for lunch, but she knows now that she’ll have to reschedule.
The Project Manager gleams under the florescent lights of the conference room. It feels even better than she thought.