Page 14 of Unbossly Manners

Analise Pillon sat at the workstation behind me, and I slid the steaming mug toward her. No one was assigned desks or offices with the exception of Derrick, Isaac, and Jackson.

At least, that was the official company policy, but Analise had claimed a worktable in the back of the office and made it her own. Her station was adorned with colorful trays, small succulents, a framed picture of Cardi B, and inspirational quotes like “The question isn’t who is going to let me; it’s who is going to stop me” and “She never cared for the crown. She preferred the sword”.

Analise took the coffee and drank it in two sips. “I need you to take care of some slurs I found on the Style Your Life Insta account.”

Analise was the Director of Social Media. Though my job title was Social Media Coordinator and my official job description was curating and creating social media content, in reality, I sifted through the comments and messages from the thirteen podcast accounts on the various social media platforms. If anything caught my attention—clever, bad, or offensive—I flagged it.

“The hosts used nude as a color in their last podcast, and it’s caused a minor outrage,” Analise said. “I mean, I get it. It reflects the racist white establishment, but the comments are worse than the original post. I’ve updated it with an apology and edited the original text. But the trolls are still at it.”

The term was problematic to say the least, racist at most. It was exactly what I’d said to Jackson the night before about Band-Aids.

I was one-fourth Italian—my paternal grandmother immigrated from a small village near Tuscany—but I looked like my mother whose family immigrated from Scotland; fine chestnut hair and pale-skinned. The only parts I got of my father’s side were my large, wide-set hazel eyes, the wave in my hair, and my height.

If either of us had a right to be pissed about the term nude, it should be Analise. Analise’s ethnicity was half-Mexican and half-Native American. From what I’d witnessed, she took the small racial injustices she encountered in stride. She saved her rage for the big stuff and it was a sight to see.

“It’s funny... er, I just…” I rubbed the back of my neck.

“What?” Analise asked. “You need to be more assertive with your ideas, Peyton.”

I blew air out through my lips. She was right; hence, my Wonder Woman pose every day.

“I was thinking about this yesterday when I put on a Band-Aid.” My interest peaked after I’d looked up the history of bandages this morning on the bus. “There’s a company that makes bandages for all skin tones. It’s called Tru-Tone,” I said. “Maybe…”

My heart pounded, worried Analise would shoot down my next idea.

“Peyton, just say it.”

“One of our podcasts could have the founders on as a guest to talk about it. To smooth things over about the nude reference. And because it's important.”

Analise glanced up. “Love it. Send me the info on the company and you can pitch it at the next round table.”

I blanched. This would be the first time I pitched anything. I wanted more responsibility but I was scared of being shot down.

After Analise left for the Monday morning executives meeting, I sent her details on Tru-Tone and then opened Style Your Life’s Insta account. I scrolled through and deleted the offensive comments, and wrote a few rote responses to the ones that weren’t offensive, but ignorant in their messaging.

A message dinged in the bottom right corner of my computer. It was from Brody on WorkHub. The image of him and Isaac from last night infiltrated my mind.

Meet me in the Thinktank.

The conference room. Aptly named so it would encourage teamwork and brainstorming. But it was just a basic conference room with a big table and glass walls.

I’m busy.

It wasn’t a request.

My skin bristled with heat. Why was he being all demanding?

Don’t pull that shit with me. I’m busy. We can talk later.

Are you going to tell anyone?

Are you in trouble? HR can help.

No! Just don’t say anything until we talk.

I glared at the screen, hating that he was putting me in this position.

I have to work.

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