The Crossdresser's Workplace Phrasebook.

Part 2

Quite what happened to prompt my surprising advancement within the agency to this new office I really don't know. However, in my new role as Moral Officer I quickly realised that the principal problem I was up against was that old hurdle that trips up so many otherwise fine corporate entities. Communication.

There was no doubt in my mind that communication was the problem. Well, Daryll's communication to be precise.

"Cherry willsprong, hupper hupper bam bam?"

I smiled, often the best response to an interrogative from Darryl. Sometimes, I have found in navigating the troubled waters of the corporate workplace, the best option is to walk a moderated centre path. Even when one has no clue whatever the conversation is about. This has the advantage of being neither excessively smart, but also not completely witless. In fact, this could be described as a measure of the optimum quality of intelligence for an employee in many companies.

In response to what I took to be a question from Darryl I nodded sagely, and replied, "I think you're probably right."

"Ergre smooth wuffle tonka truck."

More head nodding, combined with a little head shake and a smile. For good measure I added, "plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose,"

Darryl smiled generously and gave me a friendly punch on the shoulder. Just two guys exchanging pleasantries in the office break room. Except one of the guys was wearing a skirt, a professional looking blouse and was looking forward to getting pounded tonight by a visiting NHL player who happened to want to get together with me after work. I gave Darryl a smile and he gave me the 'Ok' sign with his thumb and forefinger as I left the break room.

Later that day I was coming back to the office after a long lunch with our recently acquired new client, the provincial water utility company. I'd had more than a few glasses of wine with their marketing team — no, really how hard can it be to be on the marketing team of the only water utility in the state? It's not like there was any competition. Regardless, after returning to the office as the hands of the clock edged toward four in the afternoon, I happened to find myself in the elevator with the company President. He looked at me and smiled warmly.

"I've been hearing good things, Fiona," he said.

"That sounds good, sir," I replied.

"Very good things," he murmured, as though this was one of the weightiest things to have crossed his desk in recent years.

The elevator stopped and a woman from one of the other offices entered.

"About you, Fiona," continued the President absently. "Very good."

At that point the elevator stopped between floors for a moment, hanging. The lights dimmed for a moment then flickered back into life.

The president looked at me as I pushed the buttons on the console hoping to prod the tired device into life. Our fellow passenger looked worried. What a fate. Trapped in an elevator with an aging misogynist and a trannie.

"You're on a fast track, Fiona. Upwards," said the President.

The elevator jerked once and continued its journey upward to our floor.

I smiled and stepped out of the elevator and hurried through to my office.

It was gratifying to think I'd got off to such a sterling start in my new position. While I hadn't actually done anything, my efforts were apparently appreciated.