Lost Angeleno

All About Eve, and That Kind of Chick.

I watched All About Eve last night—which I had seen most of on several occasions, but it’s one of those movies I’d somehow never sat down and watched all the way through before.  A fine fine film, and a good bitchfest (as my friend Mike pointed out.  I would link his blog here, but he doesn’t have one).

It got me thinking, though, about That Kind of Chick.  Women will immediately know what I mean when I start to describe That Kind of Chick, but guys won’t.

Eve Harrington is That Kind of Chick.  She seems innocent at first, even sweet and helpful.  But the wheels are always turning.  She’s got her eye on your job, your man, or anything else of yours that might be worth having.  Given the first opportunity, she will stab you in the back.

And all the men in your life will say, “Don’t be silly!  You’re just jealous!” JUST like the men in All About Eve did (except Addison DeWitt, of course).  Because That Kind of Chick can wrap men right around her little finger.  She blinds them.  They see nothing but her short skirts and her hair tossing back and forth.  But they’ll find out.  Ohh, they’ll find out.

I almost worked with That Kind of Chick.  That Kind of Chick almost was my assistant at my current job.  Her name was Jennifer, and she came to the interview dressed to the nines, even though I specified “casual” when I made the appointment with her.  Jennifer met first with me, and then briefly with my co-worker Kelly, then went in for the big interview with the Partners (I’ll call them Mr. A and Mr. B, for the sake of anonymity.  And because I don’t want to get canned).  Messrs. A & B loved Jennifer.  Both of them were ready to hire her on the spot.

Kelly and I got the exact same vibe off Jennifer—that “do not trust this woman” vibe.  That “this woman will be doing your job in six months” vibe.  While the final hiring decision rested with Mr. A and Mr. B, they sought our input, since we were the ones who would have to work with her.

We both hemmed and hawed about it a little, trying to keep it in vague terms—knowing that Mr. A and Mr. B were both men and weren’t likely to understand our objections.  We started out with stuff like, “I just don’t think she’ll fit in.”

“She seems really sharp to me,” Mr. A enthused.  “Very smart.”

“Honest,” said Mr. B.  “She’s a single mom; I think she’s very reliable.”

Kelly and I still resisted, and Mr. B started to push us for particulars.  Finally I said, “I get a vibe from her, I’m not sure I can explain it.  I just get the feeling that I can’t trust her.” Kelly nodded vigorously.  I hoped that would do the trick.  After all, she was to be my assistant.  If I felt I couldn’t trust her, what kind of working relationship could we have?

Alas, Mr. B was still on the Jennifer Train, and it was pulling out of the station fast.  “What’s that about?  Why can’t you trust her?  I don’t think you’re giving her much of a chance.”

So I plunged in.  “Look, you’re guys, and you probably won’t understand this.  But there are women out there who don’t get along well with other women.  They hit it off with the men because they can wrap them around their finger.  But they’re at the core very dishonest and just out for number one, and I really get the feeling that Jennifer is one of those women.”

Well, Mr. B didn’t like hearing that—that he had been hoodwinked by a siren.  “That’s crap.  That sounds like jealousy to me.”

I can’t tell you how much that pissed me off.

I tried to explain that it was NOT jealousy, that it was a legitimate observation about a certain type of woman who gets by in this world by getting men to hand things to her on a silver platter, usually at the expense of some other woman who’s trying to get the same things by working hard.  It fell on deaf ears.  Mr. A and Mr. B insisted that Kelly and I give Jennifer another chance—a “girls interview” (Mr. B’s words), just Jennifer and Kelly and me, over lunch.  A “getting to know you” kind of deal, where we would just chat (about nail polish and freshness, Mr. B probably assumed). (Incidentally, I’m painting Mr. B with a very broad brush here—he is not a sexist pig.  He’s a good guy.  He just had the blinders on.  And he does call us “girls” but it’s kind of charming when he does it.)

So Kelly and I had Jennifer to lunch.  And she dressed down this time, and ate about half her sandwich, and talked about her son (I think his name was Cody).  Afterward, Kelly and I had a little pow-wow, and agreed that Mr. A and Mr. B would hire whomever they wanted, and we needed someone to help out, and if we put our feet down and said “NO,” they probably wouldn’t hire her but they would bitch and moan and make our lives miserable.  So we said, “If you’re dead set on Jennifer, we still have reservations, but we’ll give it a try.”

Jennifer’s first day of work.  9:15 AM.  “Well, she’s punctual,” I said to Kelly, looking at Jennifer’s empty desk.

9:30 AM.  “Where’s Jennifer?” asked Mr. B.  “Not here yet,” I said.

Mr. A called on his cell phone, on the way to the office.  “How’s Jennifer working out?” he asked.  “I’ll let you know when she shows up,” I replied.

10 AM.  I called Jennifer’s home number, and left a message asking if everything was okay, and we hoped to see her at work today.  I tried not to be too bitchy, but I don’t know if I succeeded.

10:30 AM.  Mrs. A (who does our Human Resources stuff) called to say that Jennifer left her a message that she wasn’t going to be coming to work.  The bank where she was currently working offered her a promotion.

“She never even intended to work here,” Kelly said.  “She was just interviewing around to get a raise.” We both knew it was true.  Just like Eve Harrington went off to Hollywood.

I just wish we’d had an Addison DeWitt around the office to give Jennifer a good slap.

1. Oooooooh, you are so right.  I’ve known this type of woman all my life.  And men REFUSE to see them because they’re so bedazzled by their wily asses.

   Posted by Bet  on  08/09  at  04:22 AM

2. I like her already!

   Posted by Mike  on  08/09  at  05:32 AM

3. Please answer Aunt Merry’s email.

   Posted by Bet  on  08/09  at  04:12 PM
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