Way back in 1962, when I was just 23 years old, I worked as a secretary at a big New York advertising agency. Think Mad Men, only this wasn't TV.
My mother thought it was a good idea for me to move away from our farm town because she figured I'd meet a rich, well-mannered husband. Little did she know, the savages I'd have to put up with over there were even worse than the ones back home.
"Those city boys will be so cultured!" she'd fawn, but that couldn't have been further from the truth.
What I quickly learned was that those "city boys" were actually just like the red-blooded farmers I'd grown up with: Crass, rude and sexist, only these ones were also wealthy and arrogant. No matter where you go you can find boarish men who treat women like trash, and my shiny office on Madison Ave was a fucking pigsty.
From the moment I walked in I knew the job wasn't going to be easy. And no, I don't mean the labor, because of course they only gave me "women's work". I mean the people. More specifically, the men in upper management.
The entire executive team was made up of silver-spooned Yalies who used their connections and "charm" to skip their way up the corporate ladder. Now the leaders of one of the top ad firms, they were untouchable, at least by me, a lowly secretary.
Since it was my first day, I hadn't yet gotten used to the barrage of "compliments" that would later be hurled at me daily. And so, when I got to the desk out front of my new boss's office, I was shocked to hear someone call out from afar, "well damn! Who's that pretty thing!"
My whole body went red as I realized I was the "pretty thing". I'd already gotten accustomed to catcalls on the streets of Manhattan but didn't expect to hear them in an office!
When I looked up I saw a big man in a fancy suit gawking at me. He was in the middle of a conversation with a group of male colleagues but told them he'd be right back, then started swaggering towards me. I shivered awkwardly while waiting for who appeared to be a higher up, and remained docile while he pawed my small hand.
"Mmmm, hello there, pretty girl," he said thickly, putting zero effort into masking his desire.
"Ummm.... Hi...." I replied, looking up at him.
The man was enormous--not fat, just big--and I learned later that most of the execs were on the Yale football team. That fit the profile because all the players I'd ever met were brash and boisterous, not to mention more than a little pervy.
"This must be your first day," he greeted, not to me but to my breasts, which were well-covered under my sweater, by the way. But that's never mattered to men, has it? In fact, one of my friends once told me he loves "big tits under a tight sweater," and that's the day I realized there is no winning.
"Y-yes it is...."
I always hated being under a man's penetrative gaze, knowing they're fantasizing about undressing and fucking me, and couldn't help but stutter.
"Don't be nervous," the man soothed, then stepped forward to put his arm around my lower back.
I squirmed and tried to move away but he held me in place.
"I'm Benjamin Baxter, but you can call me Mr. Baxter or Sir. And who might you be, pretty girl?"
"I-I-I'm... M-my name's Susanne," I sputtered even more frightfully than before upon realizing this was THE Mr. Baxter, as in "Baxter, Ferris & Knight," my newest employer!
"Ah, Susie. A cute name for a cute girl!"
He lifted his hand off my waist and brought it back down with a firm spank right on my perky butt! I couldn't believe it and gasped loudly.
"Alright, Susie Q, I'll see you around. Got some big business to attend to. I'll leave you with a tip since it's your first day: your boss is expecting coffee on his desk when he walks in at 9:15. Be a good girl and go make him a cup, and since I helped you out why don't you make me one too! My office is on the second floor, you can drop it off there."
"O-okay..."
"Great!" He smacked my butt again before walking away, leaving me utterly paralyzed. When he returned to his friends I heard him say, "damn, wish she was my secretary!" and they all hooted in agreement.
The crowd looked over at me after a few whispers and I made eye contact with Mr. Baxter. He smiled broadly then shooed me along like I was his puppy dog. Remembering I relied on this man's approval for my paycheck, I begrudgingly went to the kitchen to make his coffee. While it brewed, one of the other girls came in and stood next to me.
"Sorry about them...." she started with a sympathetic smile. "But you know how those boys can be."
I was a bit surprised she just brushed off their behavior and thought I would've gotten more camaraderie from my fellow woman. I also found it funny how she called them boys even though they were much older than us and in charge of our careers. To her credit though, their antics were fresh off the schoolyard.
"Are they always like that...?" I asked cautiously, not wanting to seem unfit for the job.
"They're all bad," she cackled with a heavy Brooklyn accent. "But Baxter's the worst! Seriously though, it's not like it's better anywhere else, and at least Baxter's handsome. My last boss was an ugly bastard. Stuck his hand down my bra and when I slapped him I got fired!"
"Oh... Umm... I'm so sorry."
"Oh it's alright. I like it here more anyways. Better pay and benefits for my kid. If you want my advice, just keep your head down and remember who signs your paycheck. You'll be okay."
It was pretty crushing to know the other women had accepted the harassment, but what else could they do? We all had bills to pay, mouths to feed, and we were so damned replaceable. This was evidenced by the carousel of ingenues who came in with a smile and left a month later with a newfound hatred of men. But I was in no position to quit, having barely secured this job after dozens of failed interviews. I now realized it's likely I was picked solely on my looks, but with rent due I had to stick it out.
I felt no more at ease after speaking with my coworker and was afraid of spilling the coffee as I shuddered upstairs to Mr. Baxter's office. He was on the phone when I got in and directed me to stand next to him.
"We're gonna get you the biggest fuckin' billboard in Times Square," he was promising a potential buyer, then pointed at his desk for me to place the mug.
I was about to walk away but he lifted his hand, gesturing me to stay put. Still holding my boss's beverage, I stood there waiting for over five minutes as he bantered far more about golf and bars than he brokered deals. He turned his chair to me and leaned back, leering as I cowered like an awkward baby deer. I didn't know where to look, too nervous to make eye contact, but also feeling so pathetic when peering down.
Eventually I'd scanned every surface of the office, including Mr. Baxter himself. He wore the shiniest black shoes I'd ever seen, reflective enough to see my own slim legs and slender calves in. His pinstripe suit looked more expensive than my entire wardrobe, with his silk tie alone likely costing a months' rent. His equally flashy watch was attached to big hands that had clearly played sports, as had his sturdy body, although at 42 it had seen better days. Now at eye level as he sat, I could more clearly make out his bearded face and conceded that yes, he was rather handsome.
"You like what you see?" he asked suddenly. Apparently I hadn't noticed he'd hung up the phone.
"Oh, sorry! I was just waiting to see what you needed me for...."
"Oh nothing, I just wanted something pretty to look at during my call. And pretty you are, sweetheart, I'll have to keep you in here more often!"
I inhaled sharply, experiencing a degree of humiliation prior unknown. It was so profoundly demeaning to be viewed as a literal object, I couldn't believe it!
"By the way, you should get your boss another cup. That one's probably cold by now."
"Y-yes, sir..........." I stuttered shamefully, then scurried out before he could see me cry.
While shedding a few tears in the bathroom, I thought about all the people back home who had doubted me. They said the city would eat me alive, that I'd come running home single and broke. My dad thought I should've already been married with a kid and hated when I left, but he'd never believed in me anyway. This was my one chance to prove them all wrong and I couldn't let some shitty men ruin it.
While fixing my mascara in the mirror, another woman offered me her advice.