working. The question clearly took her aback and hurt her feelings. “With all due respect, Ms. Emerson,” she replied, her Brooklyn accent heavy, “the way you dress I don’t figure you have to work either. So I guess I work for the same reason you do: I love my job.” The position was hers right then, and it was the only time in all my years on Wall Street that I have ever apologized to anyone.
Now, on my birthday, Marie took one look at me and followed me into my suite.
“Whatsa matter, boss?” she asked, without saying hello.
I began pointlessly shifting papers about on my desk, trying to appear busy so as to avoid the conversation. “Who says anything is the matter?”
“Is it a man?” she asked.
“What’s a man? I’ve never heard of one of those.”
“You know: a despicable creature that smells bad most of the time.”
“I thought that was a dog,” I said.
“No, dogs smell bad all of the time but they aren’t the least bit despicable.”
I smiled at her. “Marie, I’m enjoying this Neil Simon conversation, I really am, but I have a crazy day so I’m afraid I’m going to need you to exit stage left.”
She turned to her left, then back to me with a slightly confused expression. Her innocence always makes me smile. Marie is the perfect example of how life is all about your expectations. Her life is better than she had any right to imagine, thus she is the most honestly happy person I know. I, meanwhile, was raised with endless expectations, my life is a limitless menu of options, and thus I am the most honestly dissatisfied person I know. Sometimes dual master degrees from Harvard can bite you in the ass.
“All right,” I said, softening my tone. “It’s my birthday today.”
Her eyes opened like full moons. “Wow! Happy birthd—”
“Please.” I cut her off, reaching out my arm. “I don’t feel like talking about it all day.”
“I get it,” she said, whispering. “Happy birthday, boss.”
“Thank you.”
“Any big plans? What are you doing to celebrate?”
“You’re looking at it.”
“No, no,” she said, shaking her pretty head. “That’s not good enough.”
“I appreciate the thought.”
“NO!”
That took me aback, I’ll admit.
“You’ve been so nice to me,” Marie continued, more calmly. “I am not letting you spend your birthday just working and going home. You and me are doing something tonight, anything you want, my treat.”
This conversation was making me sad. And embarrassed. “That’s very sweet of you to offer,” I said, “but you really don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to,” she said. “I want to.”
I’m not sure exactly why I was fighting this. There was part of me that definitely favored the idea; it seemed it would have to be more fun to go anywhere with anyone than to go home on my fortieth birthday and watch American Idol, which I would have to watch because there was nothing left on my TiVO. Perhaps the most pathetic thing I can think of to tell you about my life is that I have nothing left on my TiVO. Everyone I know is always talking about how far behind they are on all their shows. I, on the other hand, am fully caught up. I have watched everything on television that I ever wanted to.
“What would you have in mind?” I asked, trying not to betray my interest.
“You name it,” she said. “You name the club, you name the restaurant, you name the bar, you name the Broadway show, you name the movie. Whatever it is you name, that’s what we’ll do.”
“Well, I’ve seen everything decent on Broadway, and there are no good movies playing, and I’m not really the type to go to a bar or a club, ” I said, wrinkling my nose at the word as though I didn’t like the taste of it. “I can’t imagine going to a club .”
“So it’s dinner,” she said. “Anywhere you want.”
I thought about it for a minute until suddenly her eyes got huge and round again. If she were a cartoon, a lightbulb
Now, on my birthday, Marie took one look at me and followed me into my suite.
“Whatsa matter, boss?” she asked, without saying hello.
I began pointlessly shifting papers about on my desk, trying to appear busy so as to avoid the conversation. “Who says anything is the matter?”
“Is it a man?” she asked.
“What’s a man? I’ve never heard of one of those.”
“You know: a despicable creature that smells bad most of the time.”
“I thought that was a dog,” I said.
“No, dogs smell bad all of the time but they aren’t the least bit despicable.”
I smiled at her. “Marie, I’m enjoying this Neil Simon conversation, I really am, but I have a crazy day so I’m afraid I’m going to need you to exit stage left.”
She turned to her left, then back to me with a slightly confused expression. Her innocence always makes me smile. Marie is the perfect example of how life is all about your expectations. Her life is better than she had any right to imagine, thus she is the most honestly happy person I know. I, meanwhile, was raised with endless expectations, my life is a limitless menu of options, and thus I am the most honestly dissatisfied person I know. Sometimes dual master degrees from Harvard can bite you in the ass.
“All right,” I said, softening my tone. “It’s my birthday today.”
Her eyes opened like full moons. “Wow! Happy birthd—”
“Please.” I cut her off, reaching out my arm. “I don’t feel like talking about it all day.”
“I get it,” she said, whispering. “Happy birthday, boss.”
“Thank you.”
“Any big plans? What are you doing to celebrate?”
“You’re looking at it.”
“No, no,” she said, shaking her pretty head. “That’s not good enough.”
“I appreciate the thought.”
“NO!”
That took me aback, I’ll admit.
“You’ve been so nice to me,” Marie continued, more calmly. “I am not letting you spend your birthday just working and going home. You and me are doing something tonight, anything you want, my treat.”
This conversation was making me sad. And embarrassed. “That’s very sweet of you to offer,” I said, “but you really don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to,” she said. “I want to.”
I’m not sure exactly why I was fighting this. There was part of me that definitely favored the idea; it seemed it would have to be more fun to go anywhere with anyone than to go home on my fortieth birthday and watch American Idol, which I would have to watch because there was nothing left on my TiVO. Perhaps the most pathetic thing I can think of to tell you about my life is that I have nothing left on my TiVO. Everyone I know is always talking about how far behind they are on all their shows. I, on the other hand, am fully caught up. I have watched everything on television that I ever wanted to.
“What would you have in mind?” I asked, trying not to betray my interest.
“You name it,” she said. “You name the club, you name the restaurant, you name the bar, you name the Broadway show, you name the movie. Whatever it is you name, that’s what we’ll do.”
“Well, I’ve seen everything decent on Broadway, and there are no good movies playing, and I’m not really the type to go to a bar or a club, ” I said, wrinkling my nose at the word as though I didn’t like the taste of it. “I can’t imagine going to a club .”
“So it’s dinner,” she said. “Anywhere you want.”
I thought about it for a minute until suddenly her eyes got huge and round again. If she were a cartoon, a lightbulb
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