"Hold the door! Hold the door!!"
Junior copywriter Polly Pilkington stumbled through the turnstiles and spilled half her morning joe as she raced to catch an already packed elevator. She squeezed in as the door closed and she could see all the sardines aboard were headed to the executive floor of the McGoggins, Fettlock & Snert advertising agency.
She checked her watch -- 8:58 a.m. -- and sighed with relief. The text she received an hour ago summoned her and a number of colleagues to an emergency meeting in the executive boardroom with senior partner Amanda McGoggins herself. It was going to be a crazy week with a number of deadlines and presentations already in the calendar. Now this. She'd have to call her hubs and tell him he was on his own, again.
Against the mirrored door she could see a few familiar faces from the Creatives department, including her cubicle mate, Frieda Fishkin, who was cowering in the corner. She caught her eye and smiled.
"Hey Frieda," she smiled. "How was your weekend?"
Frieda was stocky and dishevelled as well as sweating and miserable. "Fuck my life," she grumbled. "I was ordered to the boardroom. They're going to hand me my ass."
"They better use both hands!" a wag cracked from the back of the elevator.
"Relax Frieda, a lot of us got the memo," Polly assured her.
"Why was I invited? I never get asked to meetings," she moaned. "It's 9 a.m. on a Monday morning and that can only mean one thing -- we're getting laid off!"
And with that Frieda let rip a silent but deadly blend of fear, despair and methane gas and in seconds the women surrounding her were gasping for air.
"Frieda!" one wailed as the gassing continued.
"I'm nervous, I can't help it!"
"We're all gonna die!"
"Jesus! Aren't we supposed to get a ride in a cattle car first?!"
The doors mercifully opened at the top floor and 16 desperate women piled out, sobbing for oxygen and hurrying to make the 9 a.m. meeting in the boardroom down the hall. McGoggins' executive assistant Claudia Cartwright was waiting at the door, looking smart in her tweed suit with Cleopatra-coiffed hairdo. Once inside the women found a large tray of freshly baked buttery bagels waiting for them, a delightful smell to replace the scent of death they had only just escaped.
Frieda tried a number of chairs but was shooed away from one after another before a sympathetic Polly waved her over.
"It's okay Frieda, sit next to me," she said with a smile. "I'm married to a guy whose idea of yucks is pulling the sheets over my head in the middle of the night for a Dutch oven."
Her friend grabbed a bagel and sat down, stuffing her face while watching the door and waiting for the Grim Reaper.
Polly looked around the table and realized there wasn't a single male copywriter, salesman or executive in the room. Had she been invited to some secret sorority meeting? she wondered. Would there be a secret handshake or initiation rites?
At 9:01 senior partner Amanda McGoggins strode quickly into the room, flashing smiles and hellos in her wake as she moved to her oversized chair at the head of the table. Polly wondered if she should stand before recalling the woman wasn't the president, a judge or visiting head of state. Just the boss of bosses. She sighed and looked at the tray of disappearing bagels and wondered if she should take one. Unlike Frieda who needed the raw material to feed the fart factory, her appetite at times like this was limited. Instead, she opened her pad and looked at Amanda.
For a moment she didn't recognize the woman in the big chair. Sure, it had been a while since she'd gotten a good look at the 60-something executive, but it appeared she hadn't been spending all of her time in evening soirees, private jets or chowing down with titans of industry in their private dining rooms. Clearly Amanda was putting in reps at the gym and indulging in cosmetic surgery. Like, a lot of it. Her unlined, radiant face was that of a 30-year-old, her arms taut and strong. And those tits! You could yodel in that cleavage.
Amanda looked about the table and ensured she had their full attention. "Claudia, close the door and draw the blinds, please." Polly watched as the assistant quickly sealed the room.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice," the boss began, her voice husky and steady. "I know you're all very busy and I will try to be brief. But what I am about to tell you..." She paused for effect. "...changes everything. Whatever you are doing right now, whatever project you're working on, will have to wait. This takes top priority."
She nodded at Claudia who dimmed the lights and pushed a button to lower a viewing screen. "I've asked my assistant Claudia to prepare a presentation to outline the opportunity that awaits us. We'll have a discussion afterwards. Claudia?"
The first slide showed what appeared to be the kind of building you'd find in an industrial park. Claudia's clipped, high-pitched voice provided the coming commentary.
"This is the headquarters of our new client, Byrum Pharmaceuticals, which specializes in developing anti-aging creams and salves for post-menopausal women. Five years ago they began work of a new formulation to address a critical problem for this fast-growing demographic: the misery of vaginal dryness."
Polly almost snorted coffee out of her nose. What is it with women and moisture? She thought about the array of creams she already had in her bathroom cabinet to address the depletion of fluids from her rapidly desiccating body. It's a wonder they didn't conduct this meeting of women in a swimming pool with the sprinkler system primed and fire extinguishers prepared for the inevitable spontaneous combustion.
A second slide came up, showing a couple of models in lab coats and safety glasses looking deeply into an oversized test-tube. Polly doubted the two pretty airheads cast for the stock photo had even finished high school.
Claudia continued: "After a series of failures, Byrum scientists finally stumbled onto an amazing discovery, a serum that did more than effectively rehydrate vaginal tissue -- much more."
The room went dark as Claudia prepared the next slide. After a second the women were presented with an artistically lit image of a large, hairy erect penis. At once the dynamics of the meeting transformed from a serious discussion of a sales proposition to a bachelorette party.
"Well hellooooooo there!"
"Hubba!"
"I haven't seen a covered wagon that big since the Calgary Stampede!"
"Settle down ladies," Amanda cried. "Claudia, please keep it going!"
Undaunted, the assistant continued her patter. "Unexpected properties and side effects from experimentation are not unknown in the pharmaceutical industry. A generation ago Pfizer's clinical trials with a potential heart drug found male patients getting epic erections, leading to the accidental discovery of Viagra. The result: a little blue pill that revolutionized treatment of erectile dysfunction leading to hundreds of billions in sales."
Next slide: a picture of oddly youthful-looking middle-age and geriatric women running up a hill on a bright sunshiny day. They're exultant, smiling, some holding hands, some hugging and still others -- Polly had to squint at the screen -- off in the bushes kissing and groping. She looked around the table -- most of her colleagues were puzzled, yet rapt. Frieda leaned over and whispered in her ear: "You gonna eat that?" pointing at the remaining bagel on the tray.
"The researchers call their little pink pill Sapphocron 69 and it does much more than hydrate vaginal tissue," Claudia intoned with building excitement. "It rebuilds skin and muscle fibre throughout the body, firms and fills and restores beauty once thought lost to time. Test subjects report renewed vigor, focus and confidence with an unquenchable desire to set new courses for their lives. It is our belief that Byrum Pharmaceuticals' amazing discovery will exceed the success of Viagra. Not since the introduction of the birth control pill in 1959 has a product had the potential to improve the lives of millions, perhaps billions of women. We are on the ground floor."
The lights came up, the screen retracted to the ceiling. Everyone took a breath. Claudia then yielded the floor to The Boss.
"This is why I have assembled the finest female brains in this agency to come up with a campaign to introduce this revolutionary product to the world," Amanda added. "There's a reason this isn't a sausage fest." She looked meaningfully around the table at each woman before setting her eyes on Frieda. "Oh. Hi Frieda, good of you to join us," she mumbled before glaring at Claudia and mouthing "What the fuck?" for the invitational miscue.
Unfazed, Amanda got to her feet. "Women, we've been given the opportunity of a lifetime. We're launching Sapphocron 69. It's the ultimate paradigm shift, a game-changer, a world-shaker, a life-altering pill that's going to transform the way women...and, frankly, the way men live in this world."
Polly leaned forward and meekly put up her hand. She was almost flattered Amanda remembered her name. "Um, Amanda this...this...is amazing but...what do you mean when you say this is going to change the way men live in this world?"
The boss rocked her head back and laughed, and Polly thought this was usually the point in the movie when the supervillain monologues his or her evil plans for world domination, just before the superhero flies in the window to thwart them. And Amanda did not disappoint.
"Oh Polly, sweet young Polly," Amanda chuckled. "You're recently married, right? You put in, what 50, 60 maybe even 80 hours a week doing your very fine work here, am I right?"
Polly nodded, still flattered, and puzzled.
"But who has to make the meals, do the housework, pick up the drycleaning and handle the rest of the domestic drudgery?"
