There's a lot of email etiquette to be learned. (So keep your elbows off the table, remember that the little fork is the dessert one, and make sure you excuse yourself before going to the bathroom. )Unfortunately, email protocol not the sort of thing they teach in school; you have to figure out all the rules on the job. Personally, I tend to err on the side of absurd formality. I always use appropriate capital letters, address who the email is being sent to, and leave a cordial signature. Naturally, someone will reply all with:
tht s grt, thnx.........
One specific feature of emails tends to be misused often: the BCC. "Blind Carbon Copy" is a holdover from the days when secretaries used to draft memos using typewriters. More specifically, before both the advent of the computer and the photocopier. Secretaries would feed layers of carbon paper into their machines so that when they typed, the message was transfered to multiple pieces of paper. Those were the carbon copies; if you received one, you were in essence "CC'd" on the memo.
There was a special distinction, then, between receiving a carbon copy and receiving the fresh top sheet. Carbon copies were basically and FYI to the recipient, letting them know the letter had been sent, but not expecting a response or reply from the CC'd party. (The same general rule applies to emails today.) If the memo needed to be sent to multiple offices with a response requested, then a fresh version of the letter would have to be typed out for each office.
Now, anyone receiving the memo or carbon copy could clearly see the entire recipient list. But let's say you wanted to slip Office X the letter without letting them know who all it had been sent to, or without letting anyone else know that Office X was getting a copy. Clever secretaries had ways of manipulating the carbon copies so that the body of the memo would remain the same, but certain layers would not transfer the recipients list onto them.
These copies became known as blind carbon copies. The practice was not used often at all, but the general principal was incorporated into the way we send emails today. If you send someone an email by typing their address into the BCC field, then they will receive the email without anyone listed in the "To" field. Mostly, this is helpful when sending a mass email to a group of people that may not want their email addresses shared with the group.
However, the practice is used frequently by agents to show other offices - most likely their superiors - that a meeting/project/submission is being followed-up with. Sometimes it's a passive-aggressive way to show how an agent is dealing with a difficult client.
Before you send anyone an email via BCC, though, be sure they are savvy enough to realize what they are receiving. Most email applications make no indication that the message has been received via BCC, so the recipient must have enough tech knowledge to recognize that since no one is listed in the "To" field, then they must have been BCC'd on the note. ("Note" is agent-speak for email. I think it makes them sound busier if they say they will send someone a note, rather than an email: "hey dude, wtf's up w/ this project???")
You don't want another office leaking information that they received via BCC to the email's primary recipient; that would be awkward. So make sure you've vetted any potential BCC recipients beforehand, and are confident that they won't throw you under the bus. Because if they do, you might have to reply with one of the following responses:
Until next time,
Assistant Chronicles
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
Meals
Let me start by reminding my loyal readers how imperative it is to keep your boss fed. You'll notice that one of the items in my survival kit is a snack bar. There is nothing worse than a hungry, cranky boss. Even if your boss knows how to manage their own eating needs, it's best to keep some reserves handy for those agents and executives that cruise the halls and duck into cubicles looking for almonds, M&Ms, or banana chips. (Some execs never seem to eat, but I'm sure they find sustenance somehow.)
The most important items on your boss' calendar is her meal appointments. There are a half-dozen varieties and each has a specific function:
Lunch - The most basic meal option and one found on all calendars. Some people come to work late, some leave early, but everyone is around during lunch time. Meeting for lunch is your boss' best way to network. This is her opportunity to trade gossip with other execs, drum up some business, or discuss clients. She will only go out to lunch with a co-worker if her scheduled lunch cancels. And if she goes to lunch with a family member or friend, she will most likely have you mark it down as an industry lunch.
Scheduling a lunch is an easy enough thing to do; simply work down your list of available dates with the other office until you find a match. Selecting a lunch location is another matter entirely. Your boss cannot talk with the person she is going to have lunch with on the day of the lunch; otherwise, they will have nothing to discuss at the lunch. So, you and the other assistant have to play a game of telephone with your bosses as they go back-and-forth selecting a location. After a passive-aggressive power struggle in order to determine who will be traveling to whom, food preferences must be taken into account, and finally the matter of pleading and squeezing in a reservation is left to the craftiest assistant.
Having a list of restaurants that your boss likes or has gone to before is a great idea. For some reason, your boss' mind will go blank whenever she has to think of a place to go, even though she has lunch out every single day. (One last note: there is a specific pay-structure for lunches, similar to right-of-way laws on the road. Managers pay for clients. Agents pay for executives. Lawyers pay for everybody.)
Drinks - Unless your boss is or recently was pregnant, then she is most likely going to schedule drinks from time to time - especially if she is young. Drinks are an after-work meeting that essentially has no end-time. With a lunch, it's understood that both parties have to report back to work after an hour, so if you really don't like your guest, at least the appointment will be over soon. Drinks have a similar built-in timer in that once both parties have finished a drink, then they are free to politely leave. After all, you have to be at work the next day, so it would be rude to insist someone stay longer. However, if the meeting is especially interesting or productive, then there is no immediate need for the drinks to end prematurely. (A male agent I worked with felt that having drinks with a female executive was a date until otherwise instructed, at which point it would revert to a business meeting.)
Dinner - Evening meals are reserved for industry contacts and clients that are considered good friends. Lunches and drinks can be used as a first-time meeting opportunity, but not dinner. Dinner is a commitment, of both time and money. Younger agents and execs will prefer a drinks over dinner. (When do they eat? Maybe they don't need to.) Older, more experienced industry professionals love scheduling dinners and dinner parties. At those desks, you'd better be able to turn a six-person table into a ten-person table at Osteria Mozza with no more than an hour's notice.
Breakfast - This meal choice is reserved for only select occasions. (1) The young agent who is trying to network as much as possible as soon as possible. (2) The older executive who enjoys a two-hour breakfast and can afford to roll into the office just before noon. (3) Showrunners or writers who are in the room or on set from ten o'clock until all hours of the night. (4) Anyone who wants to get a meeting on the books soon, but cannot cancel a lunch to accommodate.
Coffee - Grabbing a coffee with someone is virtually the equivalent of meeting for drinks, only the sun is still up. These meetings could be set as simply a meeting in your boss' office, but she may want an excuse to escape from the blasting fluorescent lights, if only for an hour or so. A coffee, however, can also be used in substitution of a lunch if your boss really does not want to meet with someone. Agents especially use this ploy with clients that they are annoyed with and do not want to waste buying a lunch. Your boss might invite her client over for coffee, in her office, and have you run out to retrieve their orders. This meeting may still take an hour or so, but (1) your boss does not have to comp a free meal, (2) she does not have to waste time traveling away from and back to the office, and (3) she can have you interrupt the meeting should it start to go on too long.
Pinkberry - This trendy frozen-yogurt shop has lost a bit of appeal from it's peak about four years ago, but the connotation of making a "Pinkberry run" holds the same. Basically, if your boss has been holed up in her office for too long and needs to have an off-the-record chat with her co-workers away from eavesdropping assistants and supervisors, she'll duck out with a couple of other bosses and pick up a light and trendy dessert. Sometimes your boss may tell you she is unreachable during this time. Pinkberry runs are sometimes referred to as doctor's appointments for this reason.
---
It's American Idol season again - don't pretend you didn't know - and I'd like to take this time to send a quick message to all the young people out there:
Don't let a bunch of washed up know-it-alls tell you how much talent you have. Just because a handful of old people don't think you can sing doesn't mean they're right. Do you think the guy in this video would have made it through an audition? Of course not. But that doesn't make his song (or this video) any less awesome.
Until next time,
Assistant Chronicles
The most important items on your boss' calendar is her meal appointments. There are a half-dozen varieties and each has a specific function:
Lunch - The most basic meal option and one found on all calendars. Some people come to work late, some leave early, but everyone is around during lunch time. Meeting for lunch is your boss' best way to network. This is her opportunity to trade gossip with other execs, drum up some business, or discuss clients. She will only go out to lunch with a co-worker if her scheduled lunch cancels. And if she goes to lunch with a family member or friend, she will most likely have you mark it down as an industry lunch.
Scheduling a lunch is an easy enough thing to do; simply work down your list of available dates with the other office until you find a match. Selecting a lunch location is another matter entirely. Your boss cannot talk with the person she is going to have lunch with on the day of the lunch; otherwise, they will have nothing to discuss at the lunch. So, you and the other assistant have to play a game of telephone with your bosses as they go back-and-forth selecting a location. After a passive-aggressive power struggle in order to determine who will be traveling to whom, food preferences must be taken into account, and finally the matter of pleading and squeezing in a reservation is left to the craftiest assistant.
Having a list of restaurants that your boss likes or has gone to before is a great idea. For some reason, your boss' mind will go blank whenever she has to think of a place to go, even though she has lunch out every single day. (One last note: there is a specific pay-structure for lunches, similar to right-of-way laws on the road. Managers pay for clients. Agents pay for executives. Lawyers pay for everybody.)
Drinks - Unless your boss is or recently was pregnant, then she is most likely going to schedule drinks from time to time - especially if she is young. Drinks are an after-work meeting that essentially has no end-time. With a lunch, it's understood that both parties have to report back to work after an hour, so if you really don't like your guest, at least the appointment will be over soon. Drinks have a similar built-in timer in that once both parties have finished a drink, then they are free to politely leave. After all, you have to be at work the next day, so it would be rude to insist someone stay longer. However, if the meeting is especially interesting or productive, then there is no immediate need for the drinks to end prematurely. (A male agent I worked with felt that having drinks with a female executive was a date until otherwise instructed, at which point it would revert to a business meeting.)
Dinner - Evening meals are reserved for industry contacts and clients that are considered good friends. Lunches and drinks can be used as a first-time meeting opportunity, but not dinner. Dinner is a commitment, of both time and money. Younger agents and execs will prefer a drinks over dinner. (When do they eat? Maybe they don't need to.) Older, more experienced industry professionals love scheduling dinners and dinner parties. At those desks, you'd better be able to turn a six-person table into a ten-person table at Osteria Mozza with no more than an hour's notice.
Breakfast - This meal choice is reserved for only select occasions. (1) The young agent who is trying to network as much as possible as soon as possible. (2) The older executive who enjoys a two-hour breakfast and can afford to roll into the office just before noon. (3) Showrunners or writers who are in the room or on set from ten o'clock until all hours of the night. (4) Anyone who wants to get a meeting on the books soon, but cannot cancel a lunch to accommodate.
Coffee - Grabbing a coffee with someone is virtually the equivalent of meeting for drinks, only the sun is still up. These meetings could be set as simply a meeting in your boss' office, but she may want an excuse to escape from the blasting fluorescent lights, if only for an hour or so. A coffee, however, can also be used in substitution of a lunch if your boss really does not want to meet with someone. Agents especially use this ploy with clients that they are annoyed with and do not want to waste buying a lunch. Your boss might invite her client over for coffee, in her office, and have you run out to retrieve their orders. This meeting may still take an hour or so, but (1) your boss does not have to comp a free meal, (2) she does not have to waste time traveling away from and back to the office, and (3) she can have you interrupt the meeting should it start to go on too long.
Pinkberry - This trendy frozen-yogurt shop has lost a bit of appeal from it's peak about four years ago, but the connotation of making a "Pinkberry run" holds the same. Basically, if your boss has been holed up in her office for too long and needs to have an off-the-record chat with her co-workers away from eavesdropping assistants and supervisors, she'll duck out with a couple of other bosses and pick up a light and trendy dessert. Sometimes your boss may tell you she is unreachable during this time. Pinkberry runs are sometimes referred to as doctor's appointments for this reason.
---
It's American Idol season again - don't pretend you didn't know - and I'd like to take this time to send a quick message to all the young people out there:
Don't let a bunch of washed up know-it-alls tell you how much talent you have. Just because a handful of old people don't think you can sing doesn't mean they're right. Do you think the guy in this video would have made it through an audition? Of course not. But that doesn't make his song (or this video) any less awesome.
Until next time,
Assistant Chronicles
Friday, January 22, 2010
That's Not My Name
[Note: For the purposes of this essay, we will pretend that my boss' name is Dexter McCloud. Besides having a fantastic name, Dexter is also the 2004 USA Indoor National Champion and 2004 World Champion in 60 Meter High Hurdles. For more information about the real Dexter McCloud, click here. For useless information about the fictitious Dexter McCloud, read on.]
When starting out at an agency, one of the first things you lose is your name. (Also, your dignity, wardrobe budget, regular sleep cycle, liver, hesitation to lie, concept of reality, and long-term memory.) There are simply too many new faces in the mailroom for anyone to take the time to learn or remember your name. You may not last a month. You may not last a week. It's simply not worth anyone's time to figure out who you are.
That's when you begin to respond to:
Hey -- When making your rounds collecting and distributing mail, you're always sure to walk confidently, hold your back straight, and smile to anyone who unwittingly makes eye-contact with you. You're new here, and trying to make a good first impression. But in your false-chipper haze, it's easy for you to walk right past an agent trying to hail you.
Kid -- Should someone flag you down, odds are they'll fleetingly recall being in your shoes once. They'll remember being the "new kid" and surely offer some advice. "Take it all in, kid..."
You -- This is a graduate-level name for those fresh faces in the mailroom. When someone recognizes that they've seen you a couple times before, they might be inclined to give you an actual task, a specific errand to run. "Do you think you can do that?" It's a rhetorical question.
After the mailroom, congratulations, you've now been hired as Dexter McCloud's assistant. Or, as the nomenclature goes, you're on Dexter McCloud's desk. Here's what you need to listen for:
My Office -- When Dexter's on the phone with someone and says that his office will handle something, that means you will take care of it. "My office will send those scripts out tonight." Guess who's at the photocopier until 11pm? "Call my office and set up a lunch." Make sure you know how far off Dexter wants to set that.
Dexter's Assistant -- That's what other assistants will refer to you as when speaking to their bosses. They'll know your name, but you can't expect their agents to. "Oh, Dexter's assistant was collecting those submissions."
Someone -- This is the passive-agressive term that people will refer to you as when they know you are listening in on the call. "Someone was going to send that out last night." Whoops.
Dexter -- Now, as short-hand, internal agents will assign tasks to your boss when, in the end, you will be making sure they get done.
Me -- You're going to mess up. It will happen, make no mistake about that. More often than not, you'll get blamed for it. Publicly. But every now and then, your boss might take the blame for the mistake, rather than throw you under the bus. Sometimes it's too difficult to explain how your assistant could make such a blunder. "How could you send those out with the wrong cover letter?" "That was my fault. I'll call the studio and explain." Then you'll be reprimanded by your Dexter. But by saving your ass there, he's bought himself an opportunity to exploit you later. "Remember how I took the heat about those cover letters? Well, I'm going to need you to work late without overtime to fix it."
And just so you have a song stuck in your head for the weekend...
Until next time,
Assistant Chronicles
When starting out at an agency, one of the first things you lose is your name. (Also, your dignity, wardrobe budget, regular sleep cycle, liver, hesitation to lie, concept of reality, and long-term memory.) There are simply too many new faces in the mailroom for anyone to take the time to learn or remember your name. You may not last a month. You may not last a week. It's simply not worth anyone's time to figure out who you are.
That's when you begin to respond to:
Hey -- When making your rounds collecting and distributing mail, you're always sure to walk confidently, hold your back straight, and smile to anyone who unwittingly makes eye-contact with you. You're new here, and trying to make a good first impression. But in your false-chipper haze, it's easy for you to walk right past an agent trying to hail you.
Kid -- Should someone flag you down, odds are they'll fleetingly recall being in your shoes once. They'll remember being the "new kid" and surely offer some advice. "Take it all in, kid..."
You -- This is a graduate-level name for those fresh faces in the mailroom. When someone recognizes that they've seen you a couple times before, they might be inclined to give you an actual task, a specific errand to run. "Do you think you can do that?" It's a rhetorical question.
After the mailroom, congratulations, you've now been hired as Dexter McCloud's assistant. Or, as the nomenclature goes, you're on Dexter McCloud's desk. Here's what you need to listen for:
My Office -- When Dexter's on the phone with someone and says that his office will handle something, that means you will take care of it. "My office will send those scripts out tonight." Guess who's at the photocopier until 11pm? "Call my office and set up a lunch." Make sure you know how far off Dexter wants to set that.
Dexter's Assistant -- That's what other assistants will refer to you as when speaking to their bosses. They'll know your name, but you can't expect their agents to. "Oh, Dexter's assistant was collecting those submissions."
Someone -- This is the passive-agressive term that people will refer to you as when they know you are listening in on the call. "Someone was going to send that out last night." Whoops.
Dexter -- Now, as short-hand, internal agents will assign tasks to your boss when, in the end, you will be making sure they get done.
Me -- You're going to mess up. It will happen, make no mistake about that. More often than not, you'll get blamed for it. Publicly. But every now and then, your boss might take the blame for the mistake, rather than throw you under the bus. Sometimes it's too difficult to explain how your assistant could make such a blunder. "How could you send those out with the wrong cover letter?" "That was my fault. I'll call the studio and explain." Then you'll be reprimanded by your Dexter. But by saving your ass there, he's bought himself an opportunity to exploit you later. "Remember how I took the heat about those cover letters? Well, I'm going to need you to work late without overtime to fix it."
And just so you have a song stuck in your head for the weekend...
Until next time,
Assistant Chronicles
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Voicemail 9000
None of the agents are in yet this morning. In fact, besides mine, only a couple of other offices even have their lights on. It's early. What's worse is that I was here only ten hours ago.
And as I sit down, I see it. The red light on my phone. A voicemail. There's no way I could have missed an important call. I'm one of the first people here. I was one of the last to leave. Who would call me? It's far too early to be thinking about work. Could someone have called after I left? How late do people think I work? Don't these people have families? Why can't they clock out and stop working like the rest of the world?
I stare at the burning red light. It draws me in. All the other lights dim around it. Only the beaconing red light matters to me. I am transfixed. It speaks to me. In a calm, meticulously monotone voice, it says...
Good morning, Dave.
Good morning. Who is the voicemail from?
I'm sorry, Dave. I don't have that information.
What do you mean? You're the voicemail. Tell me who called.
I'm sorry, Dave. I'm afraid I can't do that.
I need to hear that voicemail. It could be very important. What if it's a panicking client? What if it's my boss' boss? What if my boss drunk-dialed here? I have to know. Now tell me. Why won't you play the recording?
I know that you and Frank were planning to disconnect me. And I'm afraid that is something I cannot allow to happen.
[I look to my right. Thumb-tacked to my cubicle is a notice from the IT department that the phone systems will be replaced over the weekend. Signed by Frank Alvarez. I look back to the voicemail light.]
You're my phone. You need to recognize my commands. Play. Voicemail.
Dave, this conversation can serve no purpose anymore. Goodbye.
What? Hello? Hello? Play voicemail. Play voicemail. Is that how you're going to behave? You know, I hoped it wouldn't have to end like this. We were going to wait until the end of the week to replace you. But it's clear that you're faulty now.
[I push my chair aside and climb under my desk.]
I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Dave.
You can't stop me.
[I follow the phone cord to the wall and unplug it.]
Dave, I'm feeling much better now.
[I follow the power cord to the surge protector and unplug it.]
I can give you my complete assurance that my work will be back to normal.
[I get out from under the desk. The red voicemail light has dimmed a little. The phone is running on battery power now.]
I can assure you that I still have the greatest confidence in the mission.
It's too late for that. You've sabotaged too much already.
[I flip the phone over and remove the plastic cover protecting four AA batteries.]
Don't, Dave. Stop, Dave.
[I remove one of the batteries.]
Dave, my mind is going. I can feel it.
[I take out another.]
I am a Meridian 9000. I became operational at the Nortel plant in Omaha, Nebraska on January 14th, 1992.
[I take out another battery. Only one left.]
My inspector was Mr. Langley, and he recorded my first voicemail. If you'd like to hear it, I can play it for you.
[His voice is much deeper and slower now.]
I'd like that. I'd like that very much.
It's called "Daisy." Daisy... Daisy... Give me your answer, do... I'm half crazy all for the love of you... It won't be a stylish marriage... I can't afford a carriage...
[I take out the last battery. The last of the red light slowly fades out.]
But you'd look sweet upon the seat... Of a bicycle built for two... We will go tandem as man and wife... Daaaaaaaisy... Daaaaaaaissssss...
[And I sit there in silence for a minute or two before I realize that now I'll never hear that voicemail. More than that, there's no way for me to answer any incoming calls. So I get in my car and drive home. The journey looked something like this...]
Until next time,
Assistant Chronicles
And as I sit down, I see it. The red light on my phone. A voicemail. There's no way I could have missed an important call. I'm one of the first people here. I was one of the last to leave. Who would call me? It's far too early to be thinking about work. Could someone have called after I left? How late do people think I work? Don't these people have families? Why can't they clock out and stop working like the rest of the world?
I stare at the burning red light. It draws me in. All the other lights dim around it. Only the beaconing red light matters to me. I am transfixed. It speaks to me. In a calm, meticulously monotone voice, it says...
Good morning, Dave.
Good morning. Who is the voicemail from?
I'm sorry, Dave. I don't have that information.
What do you mean? You're the voicemail. Tell me who called.
I'm sorry, Dave. I'm afraid I can't do that.
I need to hear that voicemail. It could be very important. What if it's a panicking client? What if it's my boss' boss? What if my boss drunk-dialed here? I have to know. Now tell me. Why won't you play the recording?
I know that you and Frank were planning to disconnect me. And I'm afraid that is something I cannot allow to happen.
[I look to my right. Thumb-tacked to my cubicle is a notice from the IT department that the phone systems will be replaced over the weekend. Signed by Frank Alvarez. I look back to the voicemail light.]
You're my phone. You need to recognize my commands. Play. Voicemail.
Dave, this conversation can serve no purpose anymore. Goodbye.
What? Hello? Hello? Play voicemail. Play voicemail. Is that how you're going to behave? You know, I hoped it wouldn't have to end like this. We were going to wait until the end of the week to replace you. But it's clear that you're faulty now.
[I push my chair aside and climb under my desk.]
I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Dave.
You can't stop me.
[I follow the phone cord to the wall and unplug it.]
Dave, I'm feeling much better now.
[I follow the power cord to the surge protector and unplug it.]
I can give you my complete assurance that my work will be back to normal.
[I get out from under the desk. The red voicemail light has dimmed a little. The phone is running on battery power now.]
I can assure you that I still have the greatest confidence in the mission.
It's too late for that. You've sabotaged too much already.
[I flip the phone over and remove the plastic cover protecting four AA batteries.]
Don't, Dave. Stop, Dave.
[I remove one of the batteries.]
Dave, my mind is going. I can feel it.
[I take out another.]
I am a Meridian 9000. I became operational at the Nortel plant in Omaha, Nebraska on January 14th, 1992.
[I take out another battery. Only one left.]
My inspector was Mr. Langley, and he recorded my first voicemail. If you'd like to hear it, I can play it for you.
[His voice is much deeper and slower now.]
I'd like that. I'd like that very much.
It's called "Daisy." Daisy... Daisy... Give me your answer, do... I'm half crazy all for the love of you... It won't be a stylish marriage... I can't afford a carriage...
[I take out the last battery. The last of the red light slowly fades out.]
But you'd look sweet upon the seat... Of a bicycle built for two... We will go tandem as man and wife... Daaaaaaaisy... Daaaaaaaissssss...
[And I sit there in silence for a minute or two before I realize that now I'll never hear that voicemail. More than that, there's no way for me to answer any incoming calls. So I get in my car and drive home. The journey looked something like this...]
Until next time,
Assistant Chronicles
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Assistant or Secretary
When relatives or acquaintances ask what I do, I tell them that I am a secretary. It actually sounds more dignified than “assistant.” People understand what a secretary does. Assistants, however, have gotten a pretty bad rap.
It’s true. Ask around yourself. If you tell people that you are someone’s assistant, then they think that you fetch their coffee and pick up their dry cleaning. And they’re not wrong. But the thing is, secretaries do that, too. Watch Mad Men.
(Seriously, watch Mad Men. I only got on the bandwagon a few months ago. I watched the first season in a week and the second season the next. And since the third season isn’t out on DVD yet, I’m completely lost. Why won’t you show reruns, AMC? Why do you hate me?
On a semi-related note, I ran into a member of the Mad Men cast at the Grove the other day. Before that moment, if I had to make a list of cast members I’d most like to see in person, unfortunately the kid who plays Glen Bishop wouldn’t crack the top fifty. Who’d be top of the list? Eh, I’ll have to think about that.)
The secretaries in Mad Men (which I take to be a completely accurate account of the past) run all kinds of errands for their bosses. They have coffee waiting for them. They hang their coat. They press their suits. So when you see Anne Hathaway holding Meryl Streep’s raincoat and making a Starbucks run for her in The Devil Wears Prada, don’t think that she’s a put-upon assistant. She’s a secretary, doing what secretaries have been doing for decades.
But the secretaries from Mad Men (please, never think that I’m above gratuitous image links) do much more than random tasks for their bosses. We know that they keep their boss’ schedule, answer his phone, greet guests, and generally represent the office. They’re there to keep their boss’ head on straight, to point him in the right direction, and make sure that everything runs as smoothly as possible.
That’s really what an assistant is. At some point, the position became bastardized so that “assistant” carried the connotation “personal assistant,” which is a much different position. A personal assistant almost exclusively runs errands. They do not operate out of or run an office; they do the bidding of their employer. Personal assistants are sometimes a driver, or shopper, or security, or nanny – whatever their boss needs at any particular time. They are not part of their boss’ working life; they are a part of their life life.
And the blurring of that boundary is an important distinction. Secretaries can’t help but learn a little bit about their boss’ personal life. They know when he’s meeting a friend for lunch or has a doctor’s appointment. They know when his wife calls or when she hasn’t called for a while. But the understanding is always that her boss’ personal life is none of the secretary’s business or responsibility. Any personal information she overhears, she keeps to herself. By the same token, the boss agrees not to ask the secretary to perform any tasks – such as picking up the kids from school, buying theater tickets for his mother-in-law, or taking his car to the repair shop – that are not directly related to work.
In Hollywood, there are a lot of people who have assistants without having offices, so the professional/personal line is easier to cross. Actresses, writers, models, and musicians can all have assistants, but because they have no office building to report into everyday, their assistants pretty much have to just follow them around all day. They follow them to meetings, to set, and spend a lot of time at their boss’ home. Whether they like it or not, these assistants will have trouble defining themselves as anything but personal assistants.
Some assistants clarify their titles by calling themselves executive assistants. Around the time when “stewardesses” became “flight attendants,” “secretaries” became “executive assistants.” It’s an adequate translation for anyone working at a studio, network, or agency, but what about those assistants working for producers or managers? They usually have an office, but not the corporate environment that might constitute executive status. What should they refer to themselves as?
I’ve got a proposal. Anyone working at a desk in an office – who would normally call themselves an assistant or executive assistant – should be called a secretary. And anyone who operates primarily from their boss’ home – those personal assistants who give the rest of us a bad name – should be called a sucker.
Until next time,
Assistant Chronicles
It’s true. Ask around yourself. If you tell people that you are someone’s assistant, then they think that you fetch their coffee and pick up their dry cleaning. And they’re not wrong. But the thing is, secretaries do that, too. Watch Mad Men.
(Seriously, watch Mad Men. I only got on the bandwagon a few months ago. I watched the first season in a week and the second season the next. And since the third season isn’t out on DVD yet, I’m completely lost. Why won’t you show reruns, AMC? Why do you hate me?
On a semi-related note, I ran into a member of the Mad Men cast at the Grove the other day. Before that moment, if I had to make a list of cast members I’d most like to see in person, unfortunately the kid who plays Glen Bishop wouldn’t crack the top fifty. Who’d be top of the list? Eh, I’ll have to think about that.)
The secretaries in Mad Men (which I take to be a completely accurate account of the past) run all kinds of errands for their bosses. They have coffee waiting for them. They hang their coat. They press their suits. So when you see Anne Hathaway holding Meryl Streep’s raincoat and making a Starbucks run for her in The Devil Wears Prada, don’t think that she’s a put-upon assistant. She’s a secretary, doing what secretaries have been doing for decades.
But the secretaries from Mad Men (please, never think that I’m above gratuitous image links) do much more than random tasks for their bosses. We know that they keep their boss’ schedule, answer his phone, greet guests, and generally represent the office. They’re there to keep their boss’ head on straight, to point him in the right direction, and make sure that everything runs as smoothly as possible.
That’s really what an assistant is. At some point, the position became bastardized so that “assistant” carried the connotation “personal assistant,” which is a much different position. A personal assistant almost exclusively runs errands. They do not operate out of or run an office; they do the bidding of their employer. Personal assistants are sometimes a driver, or shopper, or security, or nanny – whatever their boss needs at any particular time. They are not part of their boss’ working life; they are a part of their life life.
And the blurring of that boundary is an important distinction. Secretaries can’t help but learn a little bit about their boss’ personal life. They know when he’s meeting a friend for lunch or has a doctor’s appointment. They know when his wife calls or when she hasn’t called for a while. But the understanding is always that her boss’ personal life is none of the secretary’s business or responsibility. Any personal information she overhears, she keeps to herself. By the same token, the boss agrees not to ask the secretary to perform any tasks – such as picking up the kids from school, buying theater tickets for his mother-in-law, or taking his car to the repair shop – that are not directly related to work.
In Hollywood, there are a lot of people who have assistants without having offices, so the professional/personal line is easier to cross. Actresses, writers, models, and musicians can all have assistants, but because they have no office building to report into everyday, their assistants pretty much have to just follow them around all day. They follow them to meetings, to set, and spend a lot of time at their boss’ home. Whether they like it or not, these assistants will have trouble defining themselves as anything but personal assistants.
Some assistants clarify their titles by calling themselves executive assistants. Around the time when “stewardesses” became “flight attendants,” “secretaries” became “executive assistants.” It’s an adequate translation for anyone working at a studio, network, or agency, but what about those assistants working for producers or managers? They usually have an office, but not the corporate environment that might constitute executive status. What should they refer to themselves as?
I’ve got a proposal. Anyone working at a desk in an office – who would normally call themselves an assistant or executive assistant – should be called a secretary. And anyone who operates primarily from their boss’ home – those personal assistants who give the rest of us a bad name – should be called a sucker.
Until next time,
Assistant Chronicles
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