The Big Sister's Guide to the World of Work

The Inside Rules Every Working Girl Must Know

Marcelle DiFalco, Jocelyn Greenky Herz

• Publisher: Touchstone
• Year: 2008
• ISBN:
  9781439103852
• Topic: Business
• Subtopic: Business General
• Index: Business

EVERY WORKING WOMAN NEEDS A BIG SISTER
In just one eight-hour day, a working woman can get more twisted up than panty hose in the spin cycle. The Big Sister's Guide to the World of Work will straighten her out. This tell-it-like-it-is handbook gives every working woman the tools for facing the forces of evil and opportunity in corporate America, including how to:
• Sidestep the classic mistakes women make in a new job
• Avoid getting tangled up in office politics
• Banish the seven habits that make you look small
• Get your boss on your side (without kissing up)
Once entry-level know-nothings who rose to the top of the corporate ranks, DiFalco and Herz have been the go-to big sisters for hundreds of women who were mystified and mortified at the office. Now you can arm yourself with the authors' straight-shooting advice. Uninhibited and fiercely wise -- like the very best big sisters -- they are the mentors every working woman needs.

Chapter 1 miss Orientation

If you only knew what nobody bothered to tell you …

Useful Terms: What We Mean When We Say …

Girlogic What makes sense to us: play nice

Guylogic What makes sense to them: win at all costs

PMS Political Misery Syndrome, a work-induced condition

Nah-Nah-Nah-Nah-Goo-Goo I’ve got a great gig and you don’t

Once upon a time, there was a bright, wide-eyed girl from Long Island named M, who was working as a potted plant outside some big mucky-muck advertising executive’s office making approximately two cents per hour. Why would a college graduate (magna cum laude, thank you very much) be a secretary for a man who did so little he clearly didn’t need one? The answer was obvious: it was all because she couldn’t type.

All the “good” jobs for women—those fantastic opportunities listed in the New York Times—required 50 wpm on the typing test.

Around the same time, M’s high school friend and two-time prom date Frank, who was walking around with a similarly useless liberal arts degree (OK, so it was from Harvard), didn’t have to take a single typing test and, through a contact from his old neighborhood, got a job with an actual livable $$$alary trading foreign debt at a big old bank. Frankie couldn’t type either and had never so much as balanced a checkbook.

Hmmmmmmm …

Meanwhile, there was a bright, blue-eyed girl from Buffalo named J who came to the Big City and also got a job at an advertising agency making two and one-half cents an hour. J, who could find a Q on a keyboard, was an assistant to a woman who mentored her in the ways of Madison Avenue—instructing J that her main objective was to keep the pencils sharpened at all times.

J moved to New York City to seek her fortune with her college boyfriend, Keith, and he, like M’s friend Frank, got a job in foreign trading at a big old bank, making big-old-bank buck$$$.

Double hmmmmmmm.

Why would J, a college graduate, be working as an assistant for an obsessive-compulsive with a pencil fetish? Because unless you were Someone’s Daughter, it seemed that the only jobs available right out of school were as Someone’s Assistant.

Surrendering to the Pink

In those first few years of working in those brain-optional “pinkcollar-ghetto” jobs, each of us remembers thinking: “Oh my God, I can’t believe this is my life. I am nothing.”

Not only did we have nothing jobs (while it seemed that everyone else had interesting, exciting careers) making nothing $$$, but our coworkers seemed stupid and petty, and the only time they paid attention to the fact that we were even alive was when we did something wrong or when our skirts were too short. To add insult to insanity, we were treated as if feeding paper into the fax machine was probably more responsibility than we could handle.

Things were Very Wrong.

What we really wanted was one of those “good” entry-level jobs, where you might actually learn something and get a smidgen of R-E-S-P-E-C-T. But those jobs, the ones with the word assistant at the beginning of the title rather than at the end, seemed to go either to those who knew someone’s father’s brother’s son’s boss or to the genetically challenged of our species, who happen to be missing fallopian tubes.

We were mortified. We thought we were losers. We couldn’t fathom why in the heck we’d gone deep into tuition debt and sat through four-plus years of communications classes simply so we could type tabs for hanging folders and feel dumber than doorbells. Dingdong.

Kate Hudson Never Had These Problems

What was the difference, we wondered, between us and Dawn the account exec, who was only a year or two older than us but making the big $$$, wearing the designer clothes, and living a sassy single life in the doorman building, unlike the dumps we lived in with our neurotic, diet-obsessed roommates? And why oh why was it that Dawn didn’t seem to let anything ever get to her personally?

Did Dawn know something we didn’t? “Nah, couldn’t be,” we thought. It was less painful for us to assume that Dawn had a daddy who made her life easy, which, granted, was unfair of us, but occasionally absolutely accurate.

And as long as we were bitching, we also wondered why our male friends weren’t feeling as tortured as we were.

In the heat of those moments, we just couldn’t figure it out. We thought that our lives would remain in the below-average category for all eternity because we didn’t happen to have Ivy League upbringings, well-connected relatives, or the ability to use a urinal.

Bitter? Party of two?

Hard Knock. Who’s There? You. You Who? Precisely.

We couldn’t possibly have known then what we know now. Why not? ‘Cause nobody bothered to tell us. There wasn’t anyone.

We had no savvy, smart-mouthed older sister to set us straight. Neither one of us had parents who worked for a real company (one orthodontist, three teachers). We had no mentors to tell us what we might be Doing Right and what we were definitely Doing Wrong.

But we know now. Boy, do we know. How did we learn? Ah, dear little sister, the ever-so-hard way—NOT a strategy we recommend. They say you have to be burned to learn, and let’s just say we were torched like campfire marshmallows.

Now we know how it goes: it all starts with a handshake, a smile, and a “Welcome aboard.” The next thing you know, you are sobbing in the ladies’ room because you can’t figure out why Sally in marketing Hates Your Guts and why Jeff in sales is Always Trying To Make You Look Bad. “What did I do?” you sob. “Why are they all sooo mean?”

Any of this sound familiar?

At some point in the beginning of your working life, it probably dawned on you that things were WAY harder than you thought they would be. But, you know, you’re not alone. We too used to think it was just us, but over the years we’ve discovered that countless women (and, OK, a handful of guys)—even females pretty far up the food chain—suffer in many of the same ways.

What most of us didn’t realize is that the instant we started working for any corporation, we were transported to an alternative reality on an alien planet known as Officepoliticus, where all the rules about fairness, achievement, success, and rewards are dramatically different from everything we were ever taught.

Yesterday All Your Troubles Were So Far Away …

Over all those years you spent at school, you learned that if you did the work, you would get all the credit that was due you. The harder you worked, the more credit you got—maybe even bonus points.

Basically, if you did pretty much what you were supposed to do—no matter what you looked like, no matter how you dressed, no matter how fabulous or stinky your attitude, no matter what your gender or orientation, no matter if you asked a zillion questions or not one—you were promoted to the next grade and were eventually rewarded with a lovely diploma that even had your name spelled correctly. Mom and Pop threw a party and people mailed you money.

So far, so good. Then you got your first real job.

It Starts with Those Painful Periods …

When you first arrive at a new job it can be truly perplexing because it all looks and feels so familiar—so innocent and tidy, with grown-ups going about their Business. When you get there, things seem normal enough. You think you understand what’s going on.

Then you start to notice the weird stuff. The things that defy logic. Girlogic, that is. Ironically, the qualities that make us girls such great human beings can totally trip us up at work. We work hard. We try to play fair. Most of us try to make sure everyone feels good and equal. We try to make everyone happy because life is better when everyone is happy.

Problem is, for the most part, kill-the-guy-with-the-ball Guylogic still drives the prevailing system, and Guylogic is all about winning. And, frankly, most guys don’t care as much as we do if they make a mess while trying to score points.

If your own sense of fairness is disrupted frequently enough, you’ll end up stupefied like we did, with an acute case of work-induced Political Misery Syndrome (PMS)—an epidemic disorder of the mind most frequently found in the female population of Officepoliticus.

What Cramps Your Style

Women (and, OK, some men) develop Political Misery Syndrome because they are not aware that every single thing they do or don’t do at work is being observed and interpreted.

Everything.

Just as it is with politicians on the campaign trail, everything you say (or don’t say) in the office, how you say it, to whom you say it, whom you eat lunch with, who your friends are, how you deal with officemates, when you show up and when you leave, etc., can determine how you are treated, how quickly you are promoted, and how much license someone will take in hassling you.

Unfortunately, in the office, the most innocent of actions can be perceived as sinister or manipulative; the most manipulative maneuvers can be perceived as sincere and appropriate gestures. Most of The Girls Who Call Us completely resist any behavior that could possibly be construed as “political.” Girlogic: “I’m just not a political person; I’m not manipulative. Why can’t I just be myself?”

Answer: Because it’s all political anyway.

You don’t have to like it, but you do have to live with it. What counts in the office has virtually nothing to do with the truth; what matters is the perception of the truth. Your personal reality is about as relevant as your shoe size. Until you recognize this fact, you are at risk for a case of Political Misery Syndrome that all the Midol in the world can’t fix.

To see if you currently suffer from work-induced PMS, see if you have any (or all, God forbid) of the top ten symptoms:

1. Confusion. You lack perspective; all events are relatively equal in terms of their importance in your mind. Every single project or misunderstanding is a big fat hairy crisis, and you are too befuddled to see any humor in anything.

2. Oversensitivity. You allow office conflicts and slights to hurt you, stress you out, and adversely influence your behavior.

3. Obsessiveness & compulsiveness. You feel undervalued, so you work harder and harder, which makes you feel even more taken advantage of, undercompensated, and overworked.

4. Paranoia. You feel like you are being excluded. More days than not, you are afraid that you will get fired.

5. Boringness. Your primary topic of conversation, no matter what time of day or who your audience is, is your job.

6. Bitterness. You spend tons of time enumerating the countless reasons all the stuff you really want from your career is completely unattainable, and then get resentful when you see others achieve the exact wish you had in mind.

7. Major rage. You stew in a cauldron of negativity, looking for people to blame, sue, and be mad at. Your primary office skill becomes creating dramas and dragging others into them.

8. Denial. You ignore the fact that you think your job sucks, you make no plans, live exclusively for the moment, spend all your money on shoes and Champagne instead of paying your phone bill, and hope that somehow it will all magically straighten itself out down the road.

9. Relationship trashing. You drive away your boyfriend and other significant people with nonstop bitching about your sorry situation. J did this, more than once.

10. Stupidity. You crash your car—just about total it—on the way to work, and still go and put in a full day anyway. M actually did this, but once was enough.

The Story of Oh …

There is only one remedy for Political Misery Syndrome—and no, it’s not shopping. The one, repeat, one cure for chronic acute PMS (don’t blink; you’ll miss it) is:

Options.

Options are oxygen.

Without options, your company becomes your life-support system. You live in a state of paralyzed fear that your boss will pull the plug and that you don’t have enough skills to get another job that’s as good, or any job. So you work harder, become paranoid, enjoy less.

Taking Stock of Your Options

Most of the women we know think that Options are a luxury they just can’t afford. We call this the Girl Option Paradox (GOP): women love when Options are offered to us, hence our great devotion to shoe shopping, yet because most of us are hard-wired to value commitment, many of us feel obligated to stay in the bad relationship that is our job. Girlogic: spending time creating Options seems like “cheating.”

It’s different for most men. Some ancient directive from the Divine Boss drives guys to sow seeds hither and yon, constantly laying the groundwork for a more attractive position. Our Guy Spies tell us that pondering possible Exit Strategies begins before they take on any commitment. Guylogic: not having Options is not an option.

For women, though, monogamy is our default mode. If you have PMS or are potentially at risk for it, which, btw, we think almost all women are, the first thing we need to do is get in there and change the power management settings on your control panel.

Here’s our tech support:

Step 1: Write down your new mantra. “I must have Options; they are an absolute necessity for the life and health of my career and for my sanity.” Repeat daily.

Step 2: You have to learn how to get them. The rest of this book will tell you everything you need to know. You will soon discover that Options are one of the most luxurious things in the world to have.

Step 3: You have to make the time to create Options. You’ll have to learn to be more selfish (yes, the S word!). If you are like most women, multitasking your head off, the things you need to do for yourself are usually at the bottom of the priority pile—if they make the list at all. We’ll fix that right up for you in Chapter 11, “Y-O-U:The Ultimate Planning Machine.”

Honey, you have to believe that you, and you alone, can manufacture good Options for yourself, and not let anyone convince you that you can’t. People in your life—well-meaning and otherwise—might try to brainwash you into believing that you have no Options. Why? Because if you had choices, you might change, and people really don’t like it when others change anything more significant than their underwear. Really. It drives them completely mental.

---

THE JUST-LIKE-THAT FACTOR

Even if you think that you don’t need Options because you love, love, love your job, your boss, your commute, your colleages, and the soap in the ladies’ room, you still must be out there building up Options. Why? because even...