This post was first published in Cosmopolitan Australia magazine.
By JAMILA RIZVI
Why is it that I can’t recall the many ordinary or successful days in my working life but the most truly terrifying and deeply embarrassing meeting of my career is etched into my memory like a prehistoric fossil?
Here’s how it went down.
I was 25 and acting in a position far more senior than my own because a long recruitment process was underway and someone needed to cover.
Not gonna lie: I was thrilled to bits with my newfound power.
I was fearlessly making the tough decisions a leader needs to make (read: bought a new suit from Saba), I was managing my staff with a kind but firm hand (read: bribing them with chocolate) and I was the master of solving problems (read: played a lot of Sudoku on my phone).
But then came the part of the job I was less confident about: The fortnightly Big Scary Meetings.
I decided the only way I was going to get through, was to set a goal.
I will say something at least once and it will not be dumb, I promised myself.
That’s right young Jamila. Reach for the stars.
When I walked into the room, intimidated by the big wooden desk and the limited lighting, I marvelled at the ease at which all these people who were Big Scary Meeting regulars conducted themselves.
Top Comments
Being deaf, I often mishear things, so it was to be expected that at some point I'd stuff up in an interview. I went for a job which involved filing post-fire documents and one of the interviewers asked me the question 'What do you know about fires?' I rambled on about my experience at uni working on the ecology of fire and after a few minutes the interviewer replied "that's interesting, but what do you know about filing.'! Oops! On the plus side I got the job anyway!
As a shy 18 year old in my first hospitality job, I of course had developed a crush on my gorgeous, older boss. Dress code was black, so I'd bought a pair of sexy tight black hipster pants (yes, it was the late 90s...)
End of the first Saturday night shift, he suggests we open a bottle of wine while closing up the cafe. He's counting the till, I'm sweeping the floors. The crotch of my pants splits wide open, exposing my lacy g-string.
I spend the rest of the evening sweeping - and mopping - with my ankles crossed, like a little kid desperate for the loo.
Ever the gentleman, he didn't say anything - except to the girl he worked with on morning shift!