My Secretary

"You can fire your secretary, divorce your spouse, abandon your children. But they remain your co-authors forever."—Ellen Goodman

It was going to be the second time I would be speaking before the American Chamber of Commerce in the Philippines. While I am usually invited to speak about Women in Media or Media Responsibility or Secrets to Success or, more recently, Global Warming (would you believe) it seems that, to the American businessmen, I am a credible resource speaker on secretaries. Yes, secretaries. This was the second time I was invited to be guest of honor for "Honor Your Secretary Day" in mid-February. I opened telling the group I was still wondering why I kept getting invited to speak about secretaries and that I was getting increasingly paranoid my own secretary, Juliet, has been telling on me. And that word’s gotten out and was there for a confrontation by a mob.

As we with secretaries all know, our relationship with our assistants can go every which way. It can be extremely satisfying — those moments they save us from someone we don’t want to see or speak with; or when they remind us we have to make it to an appointment that would have, otherwise, spelled catastrophe; or when they take care of the kid’s school project when we couldn’t.

It can be tortuous, too. Like when she forgets what she’s supposed to remember and you end up reminding her about what she’s supposed to remind you; when she botches a deal because she forgot to get you to that crucial appointment; or, worse, when she gets you fired because she accidentally told you on your boss about something you shouldn’t have done — or, at least, something your boss should never have found out.

Since my secretary Juliet’s second child, I have been increasingly tortured. All that anaesthesia from childbirth, they keep saying, causes some selective memory lapse every so often.

That makes me a virtual freak of nature genius for remembering for two people on a daily basis even if I’d gone under the knife more than two times. I’ve been telling her she should pay me a salary for consistently reminding her to remind me about everything. Marcus Cicero was probably right — "in the master there is a servant — and in the servant, a master." We don’t know it yet but we are, actually, mostly slaves to our employees.

One day I found out Juliet told the bank I "wasn’t ready to make a payment for the monthly amortization." I almost lost my house. I haven’t figured out what went down there. I also haven’t solved the puzzle that is when she succumbs to the temptation to mind-read me and second guesses "what-Korina-would-do-if." Or when she figures out for me what appointments I should skip or make good, and I’m the last to know.

"Juliet, you have to tell me these things, you just have to. It’s just how it’s done. Anywhere in the world so, there really is no escape...", I would say again and again. I’m sure she has that line recorded in her head and I should just push some button and it plays — again. It kills me to keep wondering. So I just blame it on the anaesthesia.

An American statesman said, "the most important aspect of the relationship between the President and the Secretary of State is that they both understand who is President." Oh well, you know and I know we rely on them so much sometimes our minds overlap and they are possessed by what they believe are our spirits. And I say to her, "whatever spirit possessed you — it isn’t mine..."

I tell you — Juliet kills me. But I do love her. She is kindhearted, efficient to the best of her abilities, loyal — and she cares. The American Chamber of Commerce bosses all agreed with me it’s what makes them so love their own Filipina secretaries. They extend work hours, have a malambing way about saying things, understand the sensitivities of quite a few matters. I confirmed in the ACCP celebration that the root word, in fact, of "secretary" is "secret." And Filipinos? Oh we love secrets. And while many of us also love to spread those secrets around, you can count on the Filipina secretary to hold on to yours — except for a handful I’ve come across, like Vicki Belo’s. Can you imagine how long the secretaries from Malacañang pray at night knowing what they do?

But Juliet? I have no regrets. She has been with me for six years and, having been a Murphy Brown of sorts before her, I am happily surprised we’ve come this far. I remember "Beth" who was referred to me and I said, "well the only way we’ll find out is if you come over and start..." She was okay. Except that she borrowed money from me on the first week at work as if her dear life depended on it...I thought, "could she be dealing drugs?"

The next one. "Clara" was sweet. She just couldn’t function as well and as fast as I hoped she could. I figured it must have been those tight black fishnet stockings, the really, really tight short dresses, the four-inch heels and all that hair in her face that got in the way. "Clara, you really have to do something about the fashion. If not for work with me just please do it to prolong your life a bit, I mean, don’t you have kids to think about?"

The next one. "Shari" was a tall, young dark beauty. Brainy. Efficient. Her fashion sense was pro. On her second day she asked to speak with me. "Ma’am, I think I’ll like it here. But I have to tell you, I’m gay." Silence. I remember saying, "Oh, that’s okay. Just don’t start hitting on me it’ll spoil everything." Shari goes, "Oh, you’re not my type so it’ll be fine." It’s what I remember Shari for to this day. She left to perform in theatre after a few months. And then, Juliet.

Juliet is the one who, in one call, single-handedly held me up and worked all her tentacles to arrange for the hospital bills, transfers, funeral services and burial of both my parents when I lost them both a few months apart. She also did the same for a boyfriend when he lost his mother and I was abroad. When fighting with the boyfriend, she bridges. When I can’t, she is my brothers’ sister, my nieces’ aunt, my subordinates’ confidante. She is my corporate PR and, at times, advises me how to maneuver. On Chinese New Year she delivered sweet cakes to 115 people in one day. And at 2 p.m., in the middle of the day, and it’s all catching up on me and there’s no one else to give me that hug — there she is telling me it’s going to be okay.

The secretary is the gatekeeper at work and in our personal lives. But the boss always has the unwritten obligation to see, too, that beyond the secretary’s desk outside the office is a human being, too. They wonder in the middle of the day how her youngest is doing with the nanny, or why her husband came home too late the night before. She wonders how she’ll be in five or 10 years and she worries. She has fears and concerns on top of wondering how and when she’ll ever be good enough for her boss who constantly reminds her of Murphy Brown. I extracted myself one day from my selfish worries. I took off the hat of a cold corporate robot and put on that of a human being. Juliet’s young family had to break apart because the husband had to work abroad to earn a better living. I asked her when her husband was coming home and her eyes welled up with tears.

The relationship with a secretary is none different from all other relationships that need mutual respect and encouragement. At the American Chamber, they kidded about the politically correct and evolved way to call a secretary — that is, an assistant? Or an executive assistant? An office partner? I say, a secretary is family.

In closing I addressed about 500 or more secretaries and their bosses on the ACCP’s Honor Your Secretary Day, "Today, most especially, we honor our secretaries for most of the time saving the day, in the bigger picture saving our jobs and essentially saving our lives. It’s good to give them the break. But, today, let’s commit to give them the credit."

(E-mail me at korina_abs@yahoo.com)