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City GirlTurning the corner of the street on my way to work at 7am, on the insistence of my boss for a red-eye meeting, I bumped into her ­stepping out from the front passenger seat of her chauffeured Porsche 911.

Now, I thought the idea of a company car was to enable the executive passenger to sit in the back and work as they’re whisked to whatever high-powered meeting is next on their hectic schedule. 

I pondered how my boss had managed to secure a completely inappropriate ­vehicle as her company car while she emerged from the low-level seat.

Because of her ungainly manner, she ­inadvertently flashed me a glimpse of her Velcro-like landing strip. “What fabulous timing. Here, give me a hand with these,” she gushed, handing me an enormous stack of folders.

Shoving my tuna roll breakfast, that had suddenly lost its appeal, into my bag, I took them,  thinking she would grab them back once she’d hauled herself from the car. I stood and waited, with my chin barely reaching the top of the pile, as I juggled to try and keep my handbag and laptop case about my person. But my boss made off ­towards our office, swinging her 1980s, gold-chained mini Chanel handbag, with the gaiety of a Parisian skipping down the Champs Elysees.

Shuffling along behind her, with a sudden rush of sympathy for the minions employed by celebrity divas, I headed towards the lift. “Oh no!” she bellowed, with such force I thought she’d spotted a suicide bomber.

“The lift is for fat people. That’s why I’m so thin,” she guffawed with a self-satisfied shake of her colour-treated mane, giving me an up-and-down look of contempt.

After I’d wheezed my way up five flights of stairs, with her talking the entire way and me responding for fear of being deemed rude (it’s also bonus build-up time), I slammed the folders on her desk. Without a word of thanks she shooed me away with a quick waved hand.

As I walked off, wondering how I might get away with squeezing the life out of her, she yelled: “Meeting’s at 10am now.”

However, I did glean a smidgen of satisfaction from the fact I might not be as fit as her, but at least I’m not cursed with ­premature grey in certain places.

Friday 19th October, 2007 posted by City Girl
Guest_Ollie says: Oh not good. Cheered me up knowing that even the best suffer from grey hairs.
Tuesday 23 October 2007 12:33

Guest_Mel says: City Girl, I love hearing about your boss, and I had to laugh as I had a similar experience when my boss lumbered me with a whole tray of drinks. I then had to carry the tray and my bag upstairs while she just chatted away obvlivious.
Monday 22 October 2007 11:27



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