Meeting Makeover

Clad in my gray drawstring pants, I faxed, worked, went on break and sat in my cubicle cave with no worries.

Not sure I remember who, probably Sonia, looked at me and asked if I remembered the meeting. Obviously the answer was no. Today we were visited by management and I wore flip flops. I run back to my desk and start person by person, asking who has clothes to change with.

Do you have clothes in your car, are you going home for lunch? I interviewed everyone.

My attire is the gray drawstrings, a roxy shirt, brown flip flops and a bun. Disaster from top to bottom.

No one is available to dress me, but they point out that a definite improvement is necessary.

Haydee, the local avon rep hands me a clip for my hair, then others donate mascara (i never use it but they strongly suggest it), Nikke the powder, lip gloss, and shoes.

I looked at Nikke from top to bottom, she had my body style, my size, and was wearing my color, gray and black. I set up a change to switch shoes and shirts between meetings. We were scheduled for the same time, all I had to do was get approval to go to the earlier meeting and then I could play Clark Kent in a cubicle instead of a telephone booth, this is a call center, same difference.

She hesitantly agrees, we both have tank tops under our shirts, so there was no chance of blinding any staff members. They would be blinded by the Cullen skin tone, as neither of us have seen much sun.

Perfect.

I try to convince my superior to switch my spot and he just tells me I look fine to wear a sweater. There is no i in team , I needed this dammit, I grab a white knitted sweater and walk around like an elderly librarian showing off my new garb. They all shake their heads, this just won't do. I am handed a navy blue sweater and pass the test.

Knowing that I will not be able to change the flip flops I must remember to stay in the back and not show off my feet, the bohemian orange toe nails practically glowing in the dark.

Half hour before the meeting I run to the bathroom with my camouflage gear and begin the transformation. My hair is let down and I wet it over and over again, it's like wetting a bristle pad, the water doesn't seem to soak in. My shirt is now wet and the sweater is more needed now than before. The mascara is a challenge, after clumping it on, I try to fix it and now have prominent bags under my eyes, not exactly what I was going for. I pull out the powder and realize that I am not the most pale of the bunch. The contrast is remarkable. I try over and over again, switching from the eyes to the powder. When the time is up I look into the mirror. My eyes widen in shock. This is the look I tried so hard for on Halloween, when I dressed up as a dead person. (this was a last minute fix, I hosted a Halloween party and all of the invited showed up before I had time to buy a costume)

Hands down I am now a shoe in for a cast member on Beetlejuice's Graveyard Revue. A musical at Universal with dancing monsters unearthed from the grave.

My hair resembling that of a wet cat. Or dog running around trying to dry itself by rubbing all over the floor.

I run back to my desk with my team and return the donations. I have left them all speechless. It's still an improvement, which should tell you alot. We walk together to the conference room when our time is up. I walk into the room and lean against the wall, hoping to mold myself into it and disappear.

When the meeting starts, a gentleman up front stands and offers me his seat, right in front of the manager. There is no table, there are just seats scrambled in a semi-circle. I decline, he insists (I was the last one standing) I decline again and state "I've been sitting all day, I prefer to stand." The manager turns toward me and tells me to sit. I sit.

Way to plan out my cover-up, the only thing I could think of is to sit with one foot under my large bottom, at least covering up one. The other foot is firmly held as back as I can under the office chair. It takes about 5 seconds for this grueling exercise to develop a foot cramp, right at the arch of my foot. I cringe and smile.

The meeting that was all of 20 minutes seemed to last an hour.

I will never use flip flops again. But this was already told to me by my superior. Shameful day at work for me. I did everything I could to try to ostracize myself and did nothing more than get put on a platform in front of the whole team.

My hair was still dripping wet when I came back to my desk.

The meeting went well, but I don't know that I actually paid much attention with the foot cramp kicking in. As my peers walked by, I got a couple of snickers, most were in on my charade and all found it astonishing how I ended up at the front of the group. And so the dark cloud has won another battle.