It was precisely 8:30 a.m. Monday morning when I held the front door of my single-story office building open for Alexis Barron.
She strutted in, hands free, and with a confidence I had never witnessed before. Meekly, I followed behind the young black woman carrying all her things, and breathing her perfumed tail winds as we reached the front desk.
The office was now fully redecorated in the most flagrant and flaunting african-styled design. Yes, the design was both classy and business oriented with excessive detail and highlights. But, it was clear that she had changed the feeling and theme to reflect her personal style and proud black heritage.
Thoughts of the expense this had to take continued to enter my mind as I continued scanning the front offices and desks.
The style was almost the same that the black teenager showed me on her computer that previous weekend. There weren't many things that resembled my business office from last Friday, and I simply reamined standing behind Alexis amazed by the changes.
All three of the glass-doored executive offices had been redecorated, as well. Even the two that had not been occupied for years. I had been using only one of them for myself these past two years. Now, all three of these offices against the back wall appeared decorated in this distinct and pronounced african design.
The 18-year-old black woman stood at the front desk with her hands on her hips, apparently admiting the changes. The receptionist, Meghan, barely glimpsed upward to see who had entered the main office before her eyes quickly lowered back to her desk.
I noticed that all 7 of the white women staff members had their eyes lowered to their desks and were working diligently. All seven now had the white skirts and wider red leather belts young Alexis had ordered from Sarah's shop.
These were the sames ones she directed the 65-year-old white woman to deliver to the office by 8 o'clock this morning. The changes to the staff's outfits appeared to satisfy the black woman, and they matched mine nearly exact.
As Alexis Barron remained standing at the front desk with an unspoken authority, the entire office grew more tense. The faint sound of R&B music flowed from the speakers on the ceiling. I continued standing behind her clutching her portfolio, purse and lap top. Nervously, I stared at the transformation with my face still stinging from her slap. The humiliation I felt caused a mild dizziness that I struggled to control.
"Meghan!" Alexis snapped.
The 41-year-old irish woman snapped her head up quickly, in compliance.
"Yes, Miss Barron?" she asked, suddenly quivering as she looked into the black girl's eyes.
Meghan merely glanced over towards me as she sat there waiting for Alexis' words. Her eyes met mine for a split second, but I could feel them locked onto me as she suddenly realized my appearance. Her shock in seeing me caused a breif, yet noticeable pause.
"Meghan, I'm speaking to you!" Alexis ripped.
The firmer tone from the beautiful black teenager caused the older white receptionist to respond, in a near panic.
"Y-Yes, Miss Barron. I'm sorry, Miss Barron." Meghan replied.
"Get the staff together for a meeting in 10 minutes. The conference room." she ordered.
"Yes, Miss Barron. I-I will do that, Miss Barron. Ten m-minutes, Miss Barron." Meghan repeated, obediently.
As the 18-year-old black woman sauntered through the main office and back to the private glass offices against the back wall, things felt so different. Her exaggerated and slower strides caused me shorten mine as I obediently followed behind her like I was her lackey. The entire staff seemed to fight the urge to look up as they kept their eyes focused upon their work.
Alexis strolled through the office looking over their desks like she was a grade school teacher strutting around the classroom during a test. The 7 other older white women kept their eyes down and their heads bowed to their work. Only then, when the young black woman and I reached the back offices, did they began peering back over their shoulders in curiosity.
The glass door to the office that once carried my name was gone. It had been taped over and nothing was visible in it's place at this time. My heart began to beat faster as we stepped inside.
The private office was now redecorated in the same african design as the main office. The exceptions were the larger desk and the excessively enhanced and far more prominent detail. My office was now just like the photos young Alexis had shown me on her lap top computer. It looked much classier and richer in person, and it seemed to almost breathe a new life.
"Set my things down. I'll be right back." Alexis ordered.
"Y-Yes, M-Ma'am." I replied, the cloud of humiliation surrounding me like a fog after a rainy day.
From my glass doored office, I watched as young Alexis Barron made her way down the hallway, and to the ladies room. I was standing there feeling so ashamed by the entire event. The moment was all too surreal for me. I felt as nervous and humbled as ever by what I was observing in my own office as I timidly looked around.
As I set her things down on the desk top I viewed the changes to my glass doored office a little more closely. Just like in the photos, the redwood desk looked expensive and ritzy, only nicer than I remembered.
The secretarial side desk chair was pristinely anchored to the side of the main executive's desk where I had sat for years. A lower, much smaller desk top was attached before the side desk chair in a rudimentary fashion. It was not much moe than a small surface for someone who would be sitting off to the side of the executive to write upon.
This smaller side desk chair and writing area truly resembled one of those older school girl's desks, only it was exquisitely modified to match the executive desk.
I struggled to understand the reason why this side desk chair and desk set had the seat portion positioned about 4 inches lower than the executive's chair. At the time it seemed rather impractical to me.
The executive's desk had the ankle or foot rest Alexis mentioned on the left corner closest in. It was a small, padded ankle rest molded onto the corner desk top and directly angled to the side desk chair where a visitor or secretary would be sitting.
The design of this so-called ankle rest seemed a little curious and unusual to me.
The change was subtle, yet one could easily see the ankle rest was designed for the person sitting at the executive's chair to prop their feet upon to rest during long business days. In the past, I had tried propping my longer legs up onto the corner of the hard desk during phone calls. But, it had become uncomfortable after a short while. This apparent foot and ankle rest seemed to cleverly rectify this problem.
The more curious part to me was that it seemed to be angled "too close" to the side desk chair, in a ridiculously exaggerated manner. I remember thinking that the position of it would make it virtually impractical to use when the executive had a visitor sitting off to their left side.
Nevertheless, I bypassed this thought for the moment and continued scanning the landscape of the office with an increasingly nervous feeling.
As young Alexis Barron remained in the ladies room, I looked at her things laying on the desk top. I began wondering what could be in them.
