Move over, James Bond

I used to work for a rich lady.  I was her personal assistant, and I worked at her house doing whatever she needed me to do.  My brother will swear up and down that this was not a real job, because my days basically consisted of long hours sitting on the sofa reading whatever book I was currently in the middle of, punctuated by brief moments of dog walking, phone answering, and the occasional foray into the kitchen to whip up some raspberry vinaigrette dressing or a BLT or whatever my employer was craving at the moment.  Needless to say, it was a pretty sweet gig.  It was also the scene of the most physically awesome thing I have ever done.  And it happened on my first day of work.  Unfortunately it was not witnessed by my boss who was out sunning herself by the pool at the time, but only by a random contractor and his helper.  Intrigued?  Read on...

* Let me preface this by saying that the first job I ever had was at a china shop, and the only rule I remember is that when the telephone rang, we were to answer it in two rings or less.  Three rings is unprofessional.  I don't know who arbitrarily decided that, but for whatever reason it has stuck with me for eight years and to this day I still feel vaguely guilty when I can't get to a phone by that crucial third ring.  This will all make sense in a moment.  

So it's my first day of work, right?  Naturally I was a little nervous and eager to please, and I definitely didn't want to mess anything up.  It was a pretty slow day; the only thing on the schedule was these guys that were supposed to come to the house and hang up a chandelier in the kitchen. 

So okay.  The guys get to the house.  I let them in the front door and show them the kitchen and where she wants the chandelier, and they move the kitchen table out of the way, put down a drop cloth so they don't wreck the hard-wood floor, and start working to get this thing up.  (It's truly hideous by the way- very dark wrought iron in the shape of bats with their wings outstretched, all surrounding these frosted glass globes that have dark red paint dripping down the sides that looks like blood.)

During the installation of what I like to call the Halloween Special (clearly ordered from Dr. Frankenstein's Discount Dungeon and Torture Chamber Supply), I decided I had to pee.  So I went.  I was all finished and washing my hands when I heard the faint sound of the telephone ringing.  In the back of my mind, I heard the voice of my old boss at the china shop and I thought: three rings is unprofessional.  The bathroom is at the end of a long hallway, which is on the other side of the kitchen from the closest telephone.  And I'm already down by one ring.  I only have one left.  I realize that if I'm going to make it before the third one, I'm going to have to do some serious hauling.  

So I set off down the hallway like Flo Jo and reached the kitchen just as the sounds of the second ring were dying away.  I had some serious momentum going, but as I headed for the table where the phone was, I hit the drop cloth that the contractors put down.  Fleecy, floor-protecting drop cloth + shiny wood floor = Slippery.  My feet flew out from under me and I landed hard on my butt, but here's the awesome part.  My momentum in addition to the slippery floor gave me some serious glide, and as I shot past the table I managed to grab the phone, push the Talk button, and answer calmly and in a professional manner before the third ring as I continued to slide across the floor at breakneck speed and crash into the hutch cabinet at the other end of the room.

The chandelier guys (who at this point thought I was REALLY COOL) were like "Oh my Gosh!  Are you okay??" and I was like "Of course I'm okay.  I'm a professional.  I'm only doing my job."  I was actually in some serious pain, but I wasn't about to let them know that.  I would rather them see me as the super dedicated employee who would throw herself (literally) into the face of danger with a casual disregard for my own personal safety in the interest of my work.  And anyway, the awesomeness of what I had just done went a long way in relieving the pain.  Being a personal assistant can provide a lot more opportunities for heroics than most people think.  Integrity incarnate- that's me.