Corporate Whore

Back at the office on Friday, my heart seemed to be beating faster than Lewis Hamilton on cocaine. I hadn’t been this nervous since I entered the very same office a number of years back, as a fresh faced graduate hoping to impress at the final interview.

There is an eerie calm about the office today (compounded by the fact that HR Beauty is on leave); the calm before the storm? I attempt to get some work done, but I check my inbox every 15 seconds. I’m awaiting the fateful e-mail from the partner or HR, informing me of the meeting room I need to be in, to discuss “my performance and conduct”.

At about 11am I get a call, it’s the partner … SHIT!

Partner: Hi Corporate Whore, you’re working on the [client's] project right? Did you get to meet The Metrosexual?
Corporate Whore: Yes, that’s correct. Yes I did, was introduced on Monday morning.
Partner: Nice guy isn’t he?

Is this a trick question? DON’T TOY WITH ME MAN!!

Partner: I spoke to him yesterday, he mentioned you. He said you were a quirky sort but was impressed with your demeanour. Good work Corporate Whore.

And with that, I hope this chapter is forever closed.

After speaking with the engagement manager he took me aside and said “So, ‘I’m a bit of a nancy boy eh? A new millennium poof?’ Those were your words were they not?”

After the initial shock of seeing him enter the room, my mind turned to a number of friends that had been trying to convince me to switch jobs. I would definitely be needing their assistance now; my employment was almost over.

With the very real prospect of having to search for a job tomorrow morning firmly in my mind, I replied, “Yes, they were. I won’t deny it. I was a bit of an idiot saying it whilst you were in earshot, but I’m the type of person who says what they feel. I’m rarely as frank as that, but I rarely see male directors of multi-million pound organisations wearing foundation and lip gloss at 6 in the morning”.

I was ready to turn around and catch the next train back to London, when he responded with “do you know that I’ve known [the partner] a partner your firm for almost 12 years?”. Before I could answer he continued, “I’ve known him over a decade and he has never been as truthful with me as you have been. I’d rather not be derided in public for my choice of attire, but I’d prefer people have the balls to say it to my face than talk behind my back. [The partner] is a scheming so and so, only thinking of the revenue we can bring him. You’ve got balls son, I like that.”

The Corporate Whore was speechless.

He finished with, “of all the men I know that have taken the piss out of other guys wearing foundation, those that speak the loudest often turn out to secretly enjoy the intimate company of other men”. He smiled and walked off.

The Corporate Whore is still speechless. Consulting is a very, very strange place.

A new week begins with a new project. I’m still nursing a hangover from the project sign-off gig on Friday night. It was truly a monumental night; six colleagues consuming £800+ worth of alcohol is bound to end in chaos. I would have an “Inebriated Quotes” posting, but I don’t remember much of the evening.

Anyway, Monday morning and I’m travelling to the client site. I take my seat, and as the train pulls off, I shut my eyes to get a power nap before the next stop. My nap lasts slightly longer than expected; I awake to the train pulling out of the next stop. As I fully awaken from my slumber, I turn to see a pair of eyes watching me intently. At first I thought I was looking into the eyes of a very masculine woman, I adjust my gaze and realise my initial thought was incorrect. I was actually looking at a transsexual. Now this is a very strange sight (no shit!) as the only people I expect to see on these early morning journeys are consultants, rail staff and miscellaneous students.

After a few moments I come to my senses. It’s a transsexual, no big deal. At least she’s dressed appropriately (blouse and I assume trousers). By now, I’m fully awake and about to dissect the brief I was given on Friday regarding the client we’re supposed to be helping in just over 3 hours.

As I settle down going over the 30+ page report I hear a voice, it’s very soft, but it’s masculine. I pictured Michael Jackson sounding like this if he had a pair of balls. Something isn’t right. There is only myself and the transsexual at my end of the carriage. I turn slightly to see if I’m mistaken and someone else had taken a seat without me noticing; this end of the carriage is empty.

It was at this point I realise that this wasn’t a transsexual, but what appeared to be a metrosexual. This realisation was almost as shocking as realising a I was being watched by a cross dresser. I’ve read plenty about metrosexual men; I even thought a few colleagues might be metrosexual as they wear facial masks and spend more time in front of a mirror than they do in front of their laptops.

However, what I was looking at was a new breed. He was wearing what appeared to be eye make up (ladies forgive me, I don’t know the name of your products as they don’t concern me), foundation (well, I know this much) and lip gloss. FUCKING LIP GLOSS?!

I couldn’t contain my laughter. I called a friend of mine who I know would be on a similar train journey to a different part of the country. I should have known better and held my tongue. The thought did cross my mind, but I reasoned that the chances of me crossing paths with this guy would be near 0. I made sure he heard as I mocked him for his ensemble. This lasted for at least fifteen minutes. A constant barrage of mockery.

I chuckled silently as I stepped into the lobby of the client office. When the rest of the team arrived, the engagement manager warned us that the director who we would be dealing with was a “wanker” but a good friend of a partner at our firm, so we had to what we do best and turn bullshit into gold bricks.

At approximately 9.30am, the director walked into the meeting room we were stationed. My heart missed about 5 beats. The director was the masculine woman/transsexual/metrosexual man on the train. FCUK!