We all need a good, firm pat on the back sometime. Well, support staff, here’s yours.
Your day begins with the constant, blaring ring of the phone. Brrring! Brrring! “I’m on my way,” you want to yell to the caller, but it’s no use. Brrrrrrrring! …As if to wreck your very last nerve. And with a move that rivals the African gazelle, you simultaneously make your final leap, outstretch your arm to its farthest extension, and lift the receiver to your ear. That’s when you hear it – that most annoying sound – of nothing. Maybe the caller realized they’ve dialed the wrong number, or perhaps, they’ve just lost interest. In any event, it’s at this point you’re waiting for someone to jump from behind the counter and yell, “Smile! You’re on Candid Camera! ” (Or in the case with the newer generation, “Ha! You just got punked!”) But no, there is no heckler. As support staff, you immediately recognize that this is your professional life, not necessarily on your terms.
Anyone else would kindly pack their things, drive back home and start all over again. But not you. You remain undaunted. “Why?” others may ask. Because you’re the queen, and as irksome as it might sometimes get – it’s good to be queen.
Even while you’re still catching your breath from your early morning sprint to the phone, you sense that this is going to be a challenging but successful workday. “Successful?” some might ask. Absolutely. Because the queen has arrived – and that’s you. Yes, the world outside of these walls may be filled with the hustling and bustling of its inadequacies, but on your turf, you simply thrive. This alternate world is like a ship setting sail through torrential waters. Still, with you at the helm, it gets to port safely intact.
Make no mistake, though. Being queen isn’t an easy task. Let’s face it: it’s often a thankless job. At times it’s downright painful. But somebody’s got to be queen, and it may as well be you! Yes, in the world filled with college grads, undergraduates and masters’ recipients, the title of “queen” can be seen as a mere condescending label. But being queen is no minor feat. The queen is the matriarch of all she purveys, the surrogate mother of every young lady who’s dating a cad, the nurse to the bumbling idiot who slices his/her hand while cutting a sheet of paper, the counselor to anyone who needs a hearing ear. And as if life wasn’t tough enough, she keeps the ‘king’ on his toes, is gracious to all visitors (whether they’re jobless, homeless or the president of a Fortune 500 company), and greets every delivery person, mail carrier and vendor by name. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were at a bar called Cheers.
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