"Sit down, sit down," he ushered, gesturing vaguely in the direction of a spare chair.
Obediently, I sat.
When the new HR manager had finished dispatching his very important email, he strode over and shook my hand.
Ah.
I saw that the new HR manager was about 25 years old, tops. As I took in his crisp white shirt, his brown leather shoes and his perfectly parted hair, the word that sprang to mind was "shiny".
Actually, two words sprang to mind in very quick succession: "shiny" and "corporate".
He smiled. I smiled.
"Young man," I thought to myself, beaming with inner relish, "I will eat you up for lunch."
The new HR manager asked where I was from (though he knew perfectly well), studiously complimented me on my perfect French, then attempted a few words in English, to demonstrate his... fluency.
I smiled indulgently.
Then he signed the contract amendment for me, and strode off to the photocopier (out in the corridor) to scan it (his shiny, corporate legs looked rather becoming as he strode off).
"So, listen: what else was it you wanted to see me about?" he boomed from the corridor. "The thing is, you'd better start telling me straight away, because I'm really really busy and I have to leave in ten minutes."
My eyes narrowed.
I frowned.
Then, I don't know what happened. I opened my mouth and suddenly - from nowhere - my most authoritative motherly voice broke forth.
"I will wait until you come back in here," I informed him... and my voice, normally so soft and inoffensive, boomed outwards all the way to the photocopier, causing him to swing round with a start.
"When you come back in here and sit down, then I'll tell you what this meeting is about," I added.
There was a moment's silence.
One of those brief yet crucial moments of transition.
Oops, I thought.
But then, do you know what happened?
The shiny, corporate, new HR manager slunk (yes, SLUNK!) back into his office, slipped obediently into the chair opposite me... and waited meekly to be spoken to.
I cleared my throat, and spoke.
He listened, made notes, nodded, agreed, sympathised, advised... all the time maintaining such a high level of eye contact that it seemed we may have unwittingly been engaged in a "who will look away first?" stand-off.
And when ten minutes, then fifteen, passed, and I offered: "Oh, but I've kept you too long,", the poor, sweet HR manager shook his head and flapped his hand dismissively: "Oh, no, not at all. It doesn't matter if I'm late."
When I left that meeting, I had two thoughts. The first was: I am 32 years old now. I quite like being 32 years old.
And the second was: a lot of people reckon that taking time out (twice) to have kids equals a bit of a blank space on the CV. And that's true to some extent. But just now I realised that there are some vital skills that we pick up in the course of this parenting journey: skills that would not necessarily sit comfortably anywhere on the corporate CV, but skills nonetheless.
"Stop hitting your brother!" "Take your shoes off the table right now!" "Sit there until you've finished your green beans!"
Wow. Seeing the respect in the eyes of that 25 year old boy as he bowed to my authority was.... eye-opening.
BB, Cassis, end August 2010
1 comment:
That's wonderful! I so know what you mean, I find myself giving off authoritative bits of information based on my experience and realise, waow, I have a whole decade of experience. And yet, can you imagine how we'll look back at us now when we're 50 and the kids are all grown!
Post a Comment