The young black woman strolled down the hallway from the conference room and towards what would now become "her" office. She walked with authoritative strides. For a minute I remained behind, standing alone in the small conference room rethinking the events that led up to this moment. The embarrassment Alexis had subjected me to this morning, and in the presence of my own staff, was emotionally catastrophic for me.
Everything looked and felt different to me.
What was once a simple case of an unruly employee with a seemingly poor work ethic had become so much more. The feeling I had during these past few days was foreign for me. The manner in which this young black woman intimidated me was becoming more humiliating to both me and my staff all the time. Still, we were unable to stop it.
The announcement assigning Alexis Barron as the acting president created an overwhelming ambiance of defeat in the office. Surely, my staff of seven older white women had to know that young Alexis had dominated me and taken control of my life to a much fuller extent. They simply had to know it was much more than what they were witnessing here this morning.
Defeatedly, I began my walk through the main office and to the ladies room to "freshen up" as the young black woman ordered me to. Briefly, I wondered why she had directed me to do this before preparing her coffee and then meeting her back in my former office. Perhaps, I looked out of sorts to her, or maybe she felt that I needed to wash the humiliation off my face before starting my first work day?
At the moment, I was unsure of the reason for her demand.
My eyes dropped to the floor and my shoulders slumped as I timidly passed by the others enroute to the rest room down the hall. They were sitting on the new backless chairs that Alexis had purchased for them, and it appeared almost as if they were in some modified form of a kneeling position.
Not one of them looked up to me as I walked by. The silence was almost deafening. My head hung in shame as I minced my way through the main office ever so slowly. The restrictive heels caused my pace to weaken with every step as I noticed the other white women wearing the exact same 5 inch high white leather heels. We were all dressed the same now in the white heels, white skirt and blouse, and that red kitten's collar around our necks, which was now the logo for our company.
As I turned the corner to the smaller 9 foot hallway leading to the rest rooms, I was immediately struck by the changes to the plaques on the doors before me.
"Oh my Gawd?!" I thought.
Previously, there had been two wash rooms with a simple Men's and Ladies placard assigning each of the rooms accordingly. Now, there were two entirely different placards. Apparently, they had just been unveiled as I noticed two larger "out of service" signs laying on the floor and discarded to the side of each wash room.
Although we did not have any male employees, our small company had always kept the legal standard of having both a men's and ladies washroom. The men's room was for potential visitors and guests, or the occasional meeting with a potential male client. It was rarely utilized and at least four times smaller than the size of our ladies washroom.
Now, both rooms had been changed.
In awe, I looked at the placards now assigning the only two washrooms in my business office. The much larger ladies' room was designated as "Executive," which was written in a gold bond print over an expensive looking ebony placard. Beneath the "Executive" sign were three gold-toned name slots designed to hold the ebony-carved name plates with the same gold lettering. The bottom two slots were empty while the one at the very top simply read "Alexis Barron."
The substantially smaller wash room that was once designated as the men's room had the same ebony placard with gold bond print. It was designated as "subordinate," and a total of 15 smaller name slots positioned in three rows of 5 beneath it.
Eight of these fifteen name slots were filled in with the names of all of us white women, which was my staff of seven and then myself. The remaining seven name slots were empty.
I almost could not believe what I was looking at. This astonishing display nearly caused my heart to stop. My mind could not comprehend that someone could actually do something so bold and arrogant as to designate the wash rooms in such a rude and obnoxious manner.
But, there is was in an embarrassing display.
I was frozen there for a moment just staring at the new signs on the wash room doors. My eyes were widened in disbelief and shock, and I could feel the total disrespect she had for us coarsing through my veins. Another minute had gone by and I felt myself still standing there questioning this arrogant action. For some reason, I nervously reached for the door knob of the executive wash room. I imagine that curiosity was only part of the reason I attempted this.
But, that door was locked.
I stepped back and just stood there looking at the signs on the doors again. For another moment I hesitated before I finally gave in and lowered my eyes, as I defeatedly stepped into the wash room designated for subordinate.
As I turned on the faucet to run the cool water my mind felt as if it were retreating. I felt so insulted by all the changes young Alexis Barron had made. Another moment passed when I finally brought my eyes up to the small mirror above the small, white sink and looked at my reflection. For the first time since we arrived, I could see myself.
Disgracefully, I viewed the almost ripe and reddened nose on my face caused by the grinding of her pantied pussy the night before. It seemed to turn an even brighter shade of red since that morning. My lips remained just as swollen and puffy. Now, a fully detailed reddened imprint of her small hand and fingers burned into the side of my left cheek from her wicked slap.
I was startled by the obvious image of her hand print on my face. It didn't seem real. But, as I touched my pale cheek the stinging pain brought me back to the embarrassing reality that I knew I was in.
Desperately, I began to wash my face with the cool water. It was a futile attempt to rid my face of that mark. The cool water wasn't helping as much as I had hoped. After several attempts, I simply gave up and patted my face dry with one of the small white towels. Nearly in tears and my hands trembling, I brushed my long blonde hair over and over again. The fear of taking too long enveloped me as I continued to avoid looking at my own image.
Finally, I stepped out of the wash room and headed for the break room to fetch the cup of coffee the young black woman had ordered. It was as if I was in another world. The office I had spent so much time in me these past two years felt like it was in another country. It was still quiet and tension filled the air as I filled a cup with coffee in the newly designed kitchenette and added a single teaspoon of cream. Obediently, I carried the warm cup filled with coffee to what was once my office. Abruptly, I stopped as I reached the glass door and gazed upon the new lettering.
The darker tape covering my previously decaled name on the door had been peeled back and removed. The scraps of this tape layed on the carpeted floor below. In a larger, bolder and brighter gold print with black trim was her name, title and the company name my late husband had chosen in small lettering. But, now there was a "doing business as" reference beneath it letters twice the size. It read:
