Thanks to an improving economy, our office has remained so consistently busy that we decided it was time to hire an administrative assistant. An ad was placed and we eventually hired Sandra, a pleasant woman in her early 40s who wore a strand of pearls and kept her blonde hair in an efficient ponytail. She assured me she was punctual and able to multi-task. “I wore lots of hats at my last job,” she said.
“Welcome to the Team, I told her. I looked at her application and wondered if she was a “Sandra” or a “Sondra.” “And what shall we call you?” I asked.
“Please call me ‘Sandra,’” she said.
Sandra was efficient and eager to please. She was a little shy but things went very well that first week. On Friday I asked if she liked her new job, and she said she did. “Great,” I said. “We’ll see you Monday, Sandra.”
“Call me Sandy,” she said. “All my friends do.”
Sandy came in Monday with a breezy informal attitude, wearing her hair loose around her shoulders. She was not especially punctual that second week but she made jokes in the break room and was clearly making herself at home. On Thursday our office manager told me in passing, ”Did Dee tell you she will be in late tomorrow? She has a doctor’s appointment.”
“Who’s Dee?” I asked.
The Office Manager shot me her “My Boss Is An Idiot” look. “Duh.” she said. “You know, the new girl you just hired? Dee?”
“I thought her name was Sandy,” I told her.
Dee had dirty hair, wore shorts and flip-flops to work and was sloppy in her work habits. She called our customers “Sweetie” and took way too many cigarette breaks. “I didn’t even know Dee smoked,” I fumed to our office manager. “Dee smokes?” she said.
The next Monday I handed Dee a large stack of paperwork to be filed. She looked at me indignantly and said, “I don’t like filing.” I did not especially care, but I forced myself to laugh casually and said that the reason the stack was so large was because no one had been keeping up with the filing while we were short-staffed. “You’ll be done in no time,” I told her. “Thanks, Dee.”
She glared at me. “Please call me Mrs. Cavanaugh,” she snapped.
Mrs. Cavanaugh, dressed like a Puritan schoolmarm, with her hair coiled in a tight bun; she stayed until Thursday. On Friday morning while we were having a staff meeting she breezed in at 9:30 wearing a tube top and stilettos. “Good morning, Mrs. Cavanaugh,” I said carefully as the Office Manager stared, mouth open. Mrs. Cavanaugh gave a reckless laugh, tossing her mane of golden hair behind her. “Please,” she said, wagging her finger at us coquettishly, “call me Dee-Dee.” And we all nodded, speechless.
By the fourth week, the woman who we were now privately calling “Sybil” was shedding personalities with alarming frequency. It was not unusual for Sandy to report to work, morph into Mrs. Cavanaugh by lunchtime and turn into Dee-Dee by afternoon.
We all had our favorites. The Operations Manager preferred Sandra because of her efficiency but I liked Mrs. Cavanaugh because she did not speak unless spoken to. The Office Manager preferred Sandy because she was a quick learner. We all hated Dee-Dee.
By her fifth week, which coincidentally was also her last, we had resorted to anonymously calling the office from our cell phones to see who answered. “It’s Mrs. Cavanaugh today,” I would email the staff. “Not anymore,” someone would respond, “Dee just got here.”
By Friday Dee was testy and stressed and we were all tiptoeing around the office when Sandra came to see me. “I’m going to have to resign,” Sandy told me apologetically while I resisted the urge to cartwheel down the hallway. “It’s just too busy here,” Mrs. Cavanaugh said, and DeeDee nodded, chiming in, “I can’t wear so many hats.”