First chapter of "What, Me Retire?"
*Continued from previous post
(Covid-19 has forced many people to retire and, as expressed in their social media posts, home 24/7 is such a lonely place. Perhaps by sharing my own retirement story, they can find humor in their change of pace, and may even discover that retirement is a blessing in disguise.)
Scene 3: Mr Roche returns
All I was left doing was reading the newspapers (including obituaries), and appeasing irate clients over some young ones' work that never passed through me. If you're keeping score, I still had not lost Ms. Title. I was still Executive Vice President, Creative, who still had the plush office (a huge corner room with a view; the only one with a bathtub in the whole building).
In my constant talk with God, I asked for patience to respect the new style of management. He granted me that to overflowing.
One day I made the mistake of entering the boardroom, where our IT person was preparing slides for a major client meeting the next day, about which I was not officially told. On the big screen was the account's organizational chart. Inside the top box, where my name should be, was another name, Mutch, a young hotshot from another agency.
“Grace!” the IT person exclaimed. “Are you retiring?”
Startled, I replied, “Guess!” and hurried out.
In major presentations for this account, the top gun from New York, Mr. Roche, flew in to Manila. The night before this, our company usually hosted a welcome cocktail party.
Back in my desk, Tin Man's secretary rang, “Grace, the boss wants your file of Mr. Roche's account.”
I came upon Tin Man on the phone, “Welcome back! See you at the cocktails tonight-”
Mr. Roche, I thought. I grew up being challenged by this formidable New Yorker, whose account I'd handled from day one. When he entered a room, the walls trembled and everybody inside them. But not me. Back in my youth in the US, I survived living with a daunting American aunt who was the world's toughest talker, with a voice to match.
Tin Man glanced in my direction and fiddled with the phone cord, “Grace? Grace Chong? Of course, she'll be there tonight. Yes, bye!”
Turning to me, Tin Man said, “Oh, Grace, is that Mr. Roche's account file? By the way, ride with me to the cocktail party for him tonight.”
Cocktail parties were a part of my job so I responded with my now second favorite word (next to “Guess”), “Sure.”
I prepared for a heart-to-heart (rather, heart-to-metal) talk with Tin Man in the confines of his car, but he napped. Ms.Guts, come back!
At the cocktails, Mr. Roche came straight to me, bellowing, “Grace!” He lifted me up and swung me around like papa bear would to baby bear. Jaws dropped; one clanged. When my feet touched the ground, he asked, “So, will I see you tomorrow?”
A metallic voice beside me replied, “Of course!”
Before I left the party, Tin Man took me aside, “Be at the presentation tomorrow.”
“B-but . . . ” I stammered.
“Nine o'clock!” he said, walking to his car.
Guess! I thought. “Sure,” I murmured. Ms. Spunk, you're leaving, too?
The meeting opened with Mr. Roche challenging the agency anew. “Give me excellent work all, the, time!” he roared. “And now, show me my creative team.” On the screen flashed the organizational chart being worked on by our IT person the day before. Inside the top box was . . . ready for this? My name.
“Good!” Mr. Roche rumbled. “Same old group!”
That chart was ignored soon after Mr. Roche flew back to New York. Mutch headed the team anyway, and I was out of the box, and I let it ride! Ms. Passion, where art thou?
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