Corporate Wife

Last week I attended the annual meeting of Gary's company in NYC. I am so not a corporate wife--in fact, this is only the second meeting I've attended in the 20 years he's been with the company. But he received his 20 year service award, AND it was in NYC--hotel, travel, and most meals paid for, with a bus tour of Manhattan to boot--who could refuse?
Now many of you may have noted that NYC had a major snowstorm last week, which of course arrived on the day we were to drive to NY. This is nothing new; every year there is a snowstorm during the annual meeting, and the meeting has been held in Chicago for the past few years, so Gary is always trying to catch a flight in or out of NY before the airports shut down. This year was no different, and we drove 12 miles an hour from home to the hotel in Brooklyn. I am convinced we could have driven to Chicago faster than we got to NY. Ironically, Chicago was free of snow this year. (God has such a twisted sense of humor.)
You might ask why the company continues to schedule annual meetings in the dead of winter when half the employees can't get there until the meeting is almost over. Here is the answer: because it has to be before (or after, I forget which) the big annual meeting in Omaha, which is also in the dead of winter. Coming from the social work world, I am continually amazed by the imagination of engineers. This time of year, I receive flyers for mental health conferences in Key West or Phoenix, or on a cruise in the Caribbean. These conferences have intriguing titles, like 'Madness and Creativity.' Gary receives flyers for conferences in Cleveland (in the coldest month of the year, mind you) entitled 'Sludge.' Yet these same engineers build soaring bridges in the trickiest places under the most trying conditions. Go figure. (On the other hand, maybe 'sludge' in Cleveland is really a bootcamp for weeding out the weak...sort of a Darwinian challenge for engineers.)
Oops. Back to the annual meeting and corporate wifery. I actually had to participate in only 2 dinners and the bus tour. I am sure that I do Gary's career no good when I go to these things. I alternate between bored silly and Barney, depending on the event. I smiled so much on the bus tour that I had a headache for two days. (Smiling I can do. Wifely chitchat and playing 'who's husband is more important' is harder. ) After touring Manhattan for 3 hours, I had my hand clapped over my mouth (to prevent any sort of corporate Tourette's which would have resulted in Gary losing his job). I hope no one noticed that I pushed everyone out of the way to be the first one off the bus. This would be my bored silly mode. The Barney mode is a little more subtle--well, okay, maybe not subtle. Not dignified, either. Or friendly. More like manic. In this mode, I am likely to approach other employee couples with a huge smile (as I age, the Van Kennen lips get ever more prominent, which can sometimes make a smile a tad more leering than I intend), thrust out my hand, and say something very subtle (subtle being my specialty, you've noticed) like "Hi. I'm Kathy Page. Who (the hell) are you?" I just think the hell part, though. I think. Sometimes it's hard to remember when I've been in the wifely mode for extended periods of time. Sometimes I am smoother than this, though, when I don't have the energy to shape my lips into a smile--I just lean over to peer at people's chests (the nametag, the nametag!) so that I can get the name without actually having to talk. I usually remember to clap my hand over my own nametag when I do this, so that people can't report me to hotel security.
The dinners are a little more difficult. I spent half an hour finding a dress to wear, and then 3 weeks finding undergarments that could squish the maximum amount of fat into the smallest space without forcing it (the fat) up into my head or down into my ankles (which would cause me to balloon into gargantuan proportions on either end), or causing my intestines to implode. This is actually a tricky balance, but one I am quite practiced at. I actually looked pretty damn good, although being an engineer, Gary failed to notice. (I bet he could have calculated my body fat percentage within a small margin, if I had asked, though.) Looking spiffy, we proceeded to the dinner, where I was once again forced into chit chat with people who talk math for fun. I smiled and nodded a lot, and then smiled some more. (Here, in all honesty, I must admit that I occasionally forget myself in such gatherings, and begin to ask social work questions, like: "Have you always had this drinking problem?" Or "My goodness, your mother failed you in many ways, didn't she?" Until I notice Gary giving me the eye. Then I start smiling and nodding again. Sometimes a kindly engineer notices my glazed look as they discuss an engineering concept and will try to explain. After about half an hour or explaining math to a social worker, they generally give up, though.)
On the last day of the conference, Gary voted to ditch the dinner and we went out for pizza. I am proud of him. Maybe in another 25 years he'll be a social worker! (Because if he keeps letting me go to these conferences, he'll probably be forced find a new job...or institutionalize me. Don't tell him about the institutionalize part, though. I prefer he not know that's an option.)