Story told before. I’ve got others from the same company re. the same code, but this was the final straw and the camel got quite disintegrated.
I was working in Philadelphia, in the home office of a chemical company (now a subsidiary of another one), located on Independence Mall. Not a bad little hole, hm? As a consequence of 9/11, pedestrians aren’t allowed to leave via the garage any more; everybody must use either “the bank” (so called because it used to be one) or the main entrance.
One morning, 8am, meeting with a level 10, Michelle (the company had 12 levels, 12 being the highest) and with my teammates Dee and Joe. We get there a bit ahead of time, open email, and there is a high priority one from a VP.
… apparently His Lordship is offended by the sight of people in shorts using their lunch break to go jogging, you see. They are wearing sneakers even! And, and, and… some are women! In shorts! And capris are completely unprofessional! See attached dress code, which we had all seen before, dated c. 1950 and disregarded.
Joe directly hid under the table (yes he did. He is a bit of a clown. We wouldn’t have hit him. Promise). Michelle, Dee and I proceeded to rip the dress code, the magpie who wrote it, the VP, the clothing stores which sold nothing but capris et all to shreds. Eventually, we calmed down but were still fuming when Joe cautiously creeped back out from under the table so we could start the meeting…
… and then I thought out loud “thing is, I don’t even have any dresses or skirts here… well, actually I do have one… and it does comply with the policy, it is the right length… but I would never have thought of that dress as being professional ”
Michelle and Dee said “oh?”
“Well, yeah, it’s a sundress I think they’re called that I got on the boardwalk in Atlantic City? It’s right below the knee, like the policy says.”
Michelle: “now that you mention it, I do have a dress I use to putter around the garden which… hmmmm!”
OK. So we had the meeting, which Joe survived intact and which even achieved its original objectives, and then we spread. Dee to another meeting, Michelle back to her office, Joe and I back to ours. And on the way and around every water cooler, and anywhere you looked, the main reason women weren’t brandishing tomahawks and claymores was that they didn’t have any. And they saw us coming, all calm and cool-looking, and said “where have you been? Haven’t you seen that email?” “Well, yes, but you see…”
Have I mentioned Home Office was about 75% women?
OK. So, next day. I’m wearing my sundress. Michelle is wearing her gardening dress (it had these huge sunflowers). A lot of women are wearing cocktail dresses, including the CEO’s Executive Secretary (you know, God’s Dragon? Whose usual attire was power suits, and who had the body for them, but in solidarity she was wearing this gorgeous black and gold number), anyway, a multitude of bridesmaids (and sorry but those dresses are horrible), and the crowning glory, three brides.
The men spent the whole day looking something between “my kingdom for a camera”, “do I hide now?” and “if I start laughing I won’t be able to stop”. We complimented each other a lot, love your earrings, did you do your hair yourself…
And the next day, the world went back to normal. Capris, and jeans, and yes, the occasional power suit.