The crying game
As the one with the seemingly most flexible day schedule ever, I am often the one my friends call for emergency coffee. Coffee past nine, well past office hours, usually means the topic of conversation or confession is non-work related, while a surprise “Kape tayo” in the middle of the afternoon signals either unbearable boredom at the office or that something catastrophic is about to happen, if it hasn’t already.
Two days ago, while happily procrastinating on work and “taking a break” with yet another episode of Brothers and Sisters (the familiar family dysfunction is still charming), my friend G called and asked me to coffee in ten minutes. I was tempted to lie and say I was super swamped, but an actual call from Giada (not her real name; why the anonymity? Read on), who is one of the few people I know who actually do not text back for peso-saving reasons, meant something important was up.
Giada, it’s important to note, is the contemporary thirtysomething version of an Eighties relic: the young, high-powered and ambitious female corporate shark. In this regard I’m not sure why we are friends (any sharp corporate suit would look like a costume on me), but evidently sharing many drinks in college goes a long, long way. Needless to say, Giada belongs to the Hillary Clinton school of unblinking determination, with perhaps just as much to prove — among the childhood memories that shaped her adult DNA was growing up with many brothers and constantly being assigned to do “the girly stuff”, which include kitchen chores, while the guys learned how to drive. Giada is not the only one I know who takes cues from the American icon, who, for all her faults, is still widely perceived and admired as someone who refuses to be held down by a glass ceiling — someone who might actually break the ultimate glass ceiling and become leader of the free world this 2008.
FEARS OF TEARS
I soon discovered that, true to her trendy personality, G had just pulled a Hillary Clinton, who had just appeared on TV fighting back tears after trailing her main rivals in the very early stages of the game. Several pundits across various American online news sites observe that, whether calculated or not, the tears “humanized”
There may have been less at stake at G’s office — certainly she wasn’t making a bid to run a country — but by her own account, she might as well have been attempting to take the reins over the fate of the free world. After losing sleep, weight and a possible boyfriend while working on an important project, G finally made a presentation to her boss, whom she says has made little effort in concealing his doubts over her abilities and his disdain for her taste in clothes. She was barely 10 minutes into her speech in front of seven other managers, when, as she had rightly suspected, he shot it down.
As her boss slowly, calmly and methodically pulverized everything she had built on paper, she tried to keep still — a slight tilt of the head would have pushed the tears over the edge. The more she wanted to argue, the more the unspoken words formed an uncomfortable lump in her throat. The more she tried to fight back tears, the more they threatened to spring forth from her eyes. The more she feared the prospect of crying, the more she felt sorry for herself for being on the verge of tears. And she knew, by the way everyone else looked at her, that her ears were on fire.
When tears started rolling down her cheeks and tears began blurring her vision, the boss cut the meeting short, and glass-paneled room became embarrassingly quiet as people shuffled out the door. It was as though someone had just thrown a cold bucket of water over Giada and fiery ears.
BIG GIRLS DON’T CRY, THEY SNIFFLE
While some people might dismiss it as a small, unfortunate incident, nothing that would obliterate a 12-year career, for Giada it was a day of infamy, one that called for a giant Frappuccino and two Banoffee pies. Giada and I are among those who were raised with the belief that women who expect fair treatment in the workplace must check their hormones at the door along with the wet umbrella. I’ve read articles upon articles on workplace ethos that assert that while crying might get a girl somewhere in a relationship, it’s not exactly a highly strategic stunt at work and should be managed at all costs. Crying at work is seen as a sign of weakness and vulnerability in a place that leaves perhaps a one square-inch room for both.
In a 2005 called “Big Girls Don’t Cry” (New York Times) by Stephanie Rosenbloom, Martha Stewart is quoted as having advised a female contestant in her edition of The Apprentice, “Cry and you are out of here. Women in business don’t cry, my dear.” And it appears, Rosenbloom writes, that although women have stopped dressing like their male counterparts in their bid for corporate success, the last taboo stands: no crying.
By Giada’s assertion, Hillary inspired a generation of women to do just do it at work. If she gets to the Oval Office, and takes over its gargantuan headaches, no one will look kindly on displays of emotion. But will her one display of tears, that some allege had a somewhat positive effect on the public, send ripples to this side of the world and inspire a new attitude towards weeping at work? I’ve cried at work once and I shrink to the size of a pebble and latch on to the shoe of someone walking out the office, never to return. At the very least, will women become more forgiving of themselves now that the toughest chick ever has succumbed to crying and survived? So far?
Reinforcements were called, and several more cups of coffee (Giada) and a stomach acid attack later (me), some friends came over to assure her that, with less to prove in the workplace, women are now allowed tears on occasion without fear of losing face. Sources were cited: “Listen to this,” one friend said, and proceeded to read a clip from the post-gazette.com aloud, “ ‘When we get very upset, our body goes into overdrive and begins producing massive amounts of chemicals and hormones. These hormones flood your system and, when there is an excess, one way to release them is through tears.’ See? If you don’t release it, it will transform into cancer cells.” The last bit is her own rather doomsday pitch for Giada to feel better.
Another friend saw no reason to be falling apart over having fallen apart in the office. “
“But I don’t want to be known as the girl who cried and thus got a break!” countered Giada.
“Er, actually, no.”
Turns out, Giada had been so engrossed in her work that she was completely oblivious to current events. When I told her of
