I work for a national political organization as an executive assistant, although my preferred job title is cat herder in-chief. My day-to-day job consists of scheduling three policy analysts and an associate director, minute- and note-taking, transcription of meeting tapes, and trying to train two bubble-headed administrative assistants (I use the term loosely) who were thrust upon us by HR. Just for fun, I also have the job of organizing national meetings for five different committees (a total of 100 people in all) - travel, accommodation, meeting kits, travel advances, sourcing and contracting meeting venues and meals, shipping of documents and other meeting materials, and being the on-the-ground contact/gofer and general dogsbody at the meetings.
Mostly, I like my job a lot. The people are interesting, I get to travel a lot, I have more air miles and hotel loyalty points than I know what to do with, and I have a chance to help write history. And they pay me reasonably well.
However, there are days when they cannot pay me enough. We have the organization’s major annual meeting coming up next week. All five committees are supposed to be there. They have known they were supposed to be there since January. I have been sending weekly e-mails reminding, urgently reminding, last call reminders, begging, pleading and all but threatening them to get in touch with me so I can organize flights, hotels, etc. etc. They all ignored me until this Monday past; since then, I have been bombarded with travel itineraries, hotel demands, and special requests (no, you cannot stopover in Toronto to visit your friend/grandmother/lost cat). The travel agent and I have been going nuts trying to find flights from, in many cases, remote Northern communities, to a mid-size city in the Maritimes. Flights are either sold out or have no seats left other than executive class. I have managed to fit them all into the block of hotel rooms I had booked well in advance. After begging, pleading and bribes of chocolate, the Finance department consented to cutting their travel cheques. The princess junior policy analyst doesn’t like her hotel and wants another one. No. You are vegan and can’t eat the vegetarian option on the catering order because you can’t be sure it hasn’t been tainted by meat? Deal or bring your own lunch. Missed your return flight? I’m on the road home - I am supposed to fix your irresponsibility how? I. am. not. your. mother.
Now the cancellations are starting to come in. At least they have told me they are not coming and to cancel. Fine - I need the hotel space and I can cancel your flight without penalty.
Next week, I’ll get the no-shows. Slept too late to catch the flight. Didn’t feel like coming. No longer interested in being on the committee. Can’t be arsed to give me a phone call and tell me you are not coming. Thankyouverymuch - you have just cost the organization the airfare, one night’s hotel rate and we lost quorum on the committee so no decisions could be made and the whole meeting turned into show and tell.
Next time I book your travel, it will be middle seat, rear of the plane, with a whiny two-year old on one side and a garrulous, sweaty person on the other. Your hotel room will be by the elevators, the ice machine, and on the floor with the swimming pool and the junior hockey teams in town for a tournament. I have ways of getting even.
I have promised myself a very large martini when this is all over.
