#12 Gorgeous

Throughout our lives, words change. It can be in the streets, dictionaries, or our homes, but it does. When I was a kid, I was not the prettiest of the girls-- my mother said that many times-- so I liked it when grown-ups told me I had a pretty face or cute freckles. It made me feel good, maybe because it was a way to come back to my mother and prove her wrong or just because I liked the sound of those words in other people's mouths: pretty, cute, beautiful, gorgeous...

Then, I grew up. I went to university and surrounded myself with men—teachers and students—and I did my best to blend in, to be one of them. Of course, the problem of blending is that no one tells their mates how cute they are, so, for years, in my closest environment, the most relevant comment I had was that I was the perfect wingman. That was cool, but not the same.

So, I grew up with a mother who used to tell me I was brighter than pretty, university friends who saw me as "one more guy," and a slightly damaged self-esteem when I entered the job market. Everyone has something: I was determined to show how much I could do despite the environment and how people saw me. I always thought that was a positive trait.

When I started working, I knew nothing. Well, that's at least how I felt. I did not think university had prepared me to do what I had to do. I worked in a development department, prototyping and testing machines and giving hints to other engineers about ways to improve them or "just" make them work. It was a really cool job: I learned how to use tools and logical thinking, react quickly, and decide when something is good or not. The last one might have been the most important of them all.

One day, my project lead called me to his table to ask me something. He had a double booking in a couple of days: a meeting with management to discuss project costs and a technical review to finalize the project's risk assessment. Although I was still an intern, he asked me to take care of the technical meeting, which would gather the representatives from the different departments involved. I saw that as a precious opportunity, and for a couple of days, I reviewed every single item on the "To Do List" to avoid surprises. That was the meeting we needed to close that item on the checklist that would allow my manager to move to the next phase of the project and release a part of the budget, so it was vital to get it done.

On the meeting day, I arrived early at the booked room before anyone else arrived. I waited patiently, received them with a polite smile, and told everyone that I would be chairing that session due to the project lead's other appointment. Most of them cheered and smiled at me. Someone commented that it was impressive that he had asked an intern (me) to do that, and everyone seemed supportive—everyone but the man by my side.

"This is unreasonable," he said, "we shouldn't be here without the project lead."

I looked at him and calmly explained that even though it was unfortunate, it should not stop us from doing our jobs. I had prepared and reviewed the details with him. We only had to go through a well-organized checklist.

"You are only an intern. We are busy professionals here," he said.

I looked around the table. The men seemed uncomfortable, not because of me but because of the comments they were listening to. After all, I was an intern—yes—but I had worked with them for months, and they knew I liked to get things done.

"Let her be; it is not her fault!" someone said, "the earlier we start this, the earlier we can finish and go for a coffee."

My neighbor chucked and nodded, and I started to speak business, running the list of points to discuss and asking the responsible people to defend their positions to take action. It was going well, and then...

"Who's this pretty girl?" whispered the man beside me.

I looked at him, surprised, and froze when I saw his hand advancing to my leg. My ID tag was hanging from my belt. He looked at my photo, moved his hand, touched my leg, and grabbed my ID. It took me by surprise, but I did not move because I was in a meeting I needed to finish.

"She's gorgeous..." he said, "what is she doing here?" he continued.

I moved the chair backward and put distance between us. He let the ID go, his hands below the table, and everyone looked at me.

"Are you ok?" someone asked. "You look pale."

I felt like all my blood had left my body, but I knew I had work to do, so I smiled and replied that I was cold because of the air conditioning.

I heard him chucking, and I did not reply.

I heard him mumbling and kept looking at the presentation on the screen.

"This is nonsense," he said, "we should not be here without the responsible person."

From there onwards, it was hell. My explanations did not matter, and the rest of the audience told him he was behaving like a child. Still, everyone knew we needed complete agreement from all the representatives, and he was not going to do it, so someone said:

"We'll do this another day."

One by one, the men left the room. He, my neighbor, was the last one. He looked at me and said:

"He better come the next day."

I stayed alone in that room for five minutes, wondering how to explain that to my superior. I had only one task, and I hadn't been able to do what I had been asked for. I gathered my papers, and my project lead arrived when I was about to leave. He had managed to finish early for his previous appointment and was surprised we had finished ours as well.

"So... we have it? Is it done?"

"No, I'm sorry," I replied.

"What happened? Everything was ready!"

"There was someone who did not agree to have the meeting without you."

"Nonsense! Who would.."

Then, I told him everything—from the arrival to the gorgeous to the empty room—and my manager left my side, furious.

"He'll hear me," he said, and I returned to my table and computer to do some work—anything that would make me feel better.

I was analyzing some numbers when my manager called me to his table. I was nervous but confident that he would understand that what had happened was not my fault. He knew I was prepared, he knew I had done the job, and he knew I could...

"He told me you lied," he said.

I looked at him. I thought I had not understood his words correctly so I asked him to repeat:

"Sorry, he said what?"

"He said you were nervous and unprepared. He said he tried to infuse some confidence in you but that you were emotional, and it was necessary to finish the meeting early."

"Me... what? Emotional?" And then, the worst happened. I left a tear escape. A big, solitary tear that crossed my cheek. We stared at each other, and I did not move until he said:

"I will be there next time. Don't worry."

I felt small. I felt like nothing. I returned to my desk and blamed myself for not being able to stand up for myself. "Gorgeous" was never the same for me.

But this is not a sad story. It was unfortunate, but I learned from it. I learned from that man, my manager, the other colleagues in that room, and many others I had throughout the years. Words and people changed, and later, I became a project lead myself: a gorgeous and confident engineer with that petty man working by my side...