Validated

On my usual mad dash to school pick ups this afternoon, my phone rang and revealed an unknown Moline number. I normally would (should!) have avoided this call, especially in this season of political primaries. But for some reason (and illegally as I was driving in Dubuque), I answered.

"Hello, Dawn," came a posh, deep voice. "This is B." Factory manager. The head of the whole dang Dubuque factory. He proceeded to explain a request he had received from the Senior VP of the division (his boss) regarding a recent project I had been involved with. He explained what he needed while I broke all the school's rules about how to pull into pick ups and took notes frantically on the back of an envelope I found on the floor of my van. "Can you pull this together for me?" What to say? I'm about to pick up (count 'em) 4 kids. My laptop is securely locked up in my cubicle at work. It is Friday afternoon. Only one response came to mind. "I'm sorry, B. I've left the office for the day and this time is now for my children. You'll have to find someone else."

Yeah right. "Of course!" I chirped (perhaps I should have said how high?). So I pick up the kids, all hopped up about their recently completed "fitness fun day" and called Theresa to see if Lucy could stay the extra 20 minutes it would take for me to race back to work and grab my laptop. I turned on the movie for the kids in the van on the drive back to the factory, promised them ice cream if they would be quiet and stay in the vehicle while I dashed in to grab my computer (and said a quick prayer that security didn't show up in those 2 minutes to write me up for what was certainly some violation of company policy--3 unattended children on work property during business hours? That can't be legal).

The computer retrieval proceeded without incident, and I got to Theresa's to grab Lucy, only to realize as I arrived that I had no checkbook and not nearly enough cash to cover Lucy's week of care. Theresa, sweet as always, told me not to worry about it, but since I've done this to her about once a month since we switched over there and I knew they were about to head out on vacation, I assured her I could run home, get the checkbook, come back and pay her with no problem. Here's the thing. Those senior guys work around the clock anyway, right? As long as I had the stuff to them by, say, 5p, they probably won't even be looking at it until Saturday night or something, right?

Then I remembered my ice cream promise. On the trip home and back, Claire had fallen fast asleep in her booster seat, so I pulled in at McDonalds, ordered just 3 cones and a gigantor latte (you see where this is headed?) I scarfed down the top of the cone for Lucy, handed the others to the kids in the back seat, and we roared off again.

We got home, and Claire awoke and started howling about the ice cream she never got, and Lucy made a beeline for the street. Keep in mind I haven't even OPENED my computer yet, much less completed my assignment from the factory manager. By some miracle, I got everyone settled in my immaculate kitchen (Darlene came today) with suckers and ice cream and started to log on. By this point, I am literally dripping sweat and tapping my foot waiting for everything to fire up.

And the phone rings. "Hi, Dawn. Byron. Say, have you had a chance to...?" I glanced at the clock--crap, how has an hour and a half passed ALREADY? I immediately interrupted him with babbling about how "a few things came up" (paying the babysitter, ice cream conflict resolution) and how I would "have something to him in 15 minutes."

"No problem," he said kindly. "Randy (senior VP) just got back from Finland so he is a little punchy." How does that translate in corporate politico-speak? "You pissed off the senior VP and made me look bad you slow moron?"

So I pulled the information (truly, it was not complicated, but one does tend to triple check calculations and formatting when sending it to people so far up the ladder you can't even reach their butts to kiss them) and sent it.

I was just about to open a bottle of wine when the phone rang again. Same Moline number. And then the baby starts crying. This is the part I'm not proud of (as though the rest of this story has been so flattering). I literally ran--RAN!--away from my baby queen, cutting around the corner and then back and all the way down stairs while she toddled around looking for me. I answered in my most professional voice (i.e., not panting).

"Yes, Dawn. B here. I'm reading this on my blackberry, did you..." which I had done. Everything he asked. "Looks perfect," he said. "Thank you so much. Now, do you know from our most recent business analysis what level we assumed in market share? I think it was .. points, does that sound right?' Huh? I've seen those numbers. I have. But I neither calculate nor ever get asked them. I buy parts. I mean, there is more to my job than that, but pretty much I buy parts. And work on cost reduction. Market share is interesting to me and impacts our business financials certainly. But I am responsible for the other end of the financial equation. So I deal almost exclusively there. And, between you and me--I'm an English major. I'm a words person. Numbers don't really stick with me very well. I need a spreadsheet to count my kids. I fumbled an answer. Something to the effect of, "That sounds right, but I'd have to double check to tell you conclusively. If you want I can..."

"That's fine," he said, "I'll call E. Thank you so much. Have a wonderful weekend. Did you ever get to go home?"

"Um, yeah," I admitted (and now I'm hiding in my basement so you can't hear my children while they fling ice cream around the kitchen I just had cleaned this morning).

"Well good," he said. Truly, I think he was grateful and trying to be kind. But, again, I'm not great at senior leaderese, so he might have been implying he knew I was galavanting around town and not getting right down to his business.

So, what this long story is meant to illustrate is simply this: I shouldn't try to move up in the company any time soon. Remember my rantings in the "dazzled" post a few days ago? So, had I said yes to that opportunity and actually landed that job, B would have been my boss. I would have been the E he called on any part of the business financials he was about to send on to the senior vice president. I'm pretty sure I couldn't hide in my basement long enough to cover that.