Man's World, Shmans World

So I work in an industry which is about 85% male. If you exclude the staff/non-sales component, it's about 95% male, and if you then narrow it down to my specific product type, it's about 99.3% male (give or take a basis-point or two). I'm talking about commercial real estate, and industrial real estate as it relates to me.

I work in theee absolute hottest industrial submarket in the country, home to the largest distribution centers of the biggest companies in the world. Case in point, our market accounted for 52% of the nation's entire net absorption last year. That's right, half of the country's activity was here. Considering there are 350+ ports in the great U.S., that's downright obnoxious.

If you haven't fallen asleep yet, I only say this so you can understand how competitive it is. There are obviously huge barriers to entry, with only 6 teams dominating 90% of the prime market share. I, Summer, am the junior partner on one of the teams. Oh, and when I say junior, I mean peon, of course. My two senior partners are (shockingly) men, and I'm the only junior broker in the market without a penis (provided there are no secrets I'm not privy to), but I'm definitely not the most girly. For some reason I was born with an outrageous need to compete- professionally or in sports only, no attention issues here. Admittedly, I'm nutso when it comes to trying to keep up with the boys. "/

Additionally, part of being the peon is being razzed by the senior guys in the industry, so I try to avoid reasons to make my target bigger if you know what I'm sayin'. They just loooove to remind me that I'm "just a 25 year old girl."

But anyway, because I'm the peon, I get to go to each of these monster buildings when there is a tour, and open it up, turn on the lights, and open some (freakin' 22) of the dock-high doors. You know, the roll up ones with the chains? See for pic below...


Ok, that's taken care of, now fast forward to this afternoon. I arrive at the half mile long building, ready to close up, and I remember that I have ugg boots in my trunk. I look down at my 4" heels and decide it would be a good idea to just throw those on real quick despite the fact that I'm wearing a suit. While looking in my trunk, I see my snow jacket, and think "yesss, I won't get dirty if I put that on!" But there's absolutely no way I'm looking like that much of an ass; it's 80 degrees in southern California!

So I enter the building in the snow jacket, uggs, and slacks. Shoot I paid 70 bucks for that shirt, and I wasn't about to have it all industrialized 'n stuff. All goes well with the closing of the doors, with the exception of this ONE door. The door that satan created. It was the door that represented everything evil, like murderers, and robbers, and Paris Hilton. I opened the damn door this morning, what is wrong with it now! I yank the chain (in a literal sense) and the door will not budge. This thing is not coming back down. I see the jokes flash before my eyes. "hey Summer, you know, this business just isn't for girls sometimes," and many more to the same affect. I decide I will not be defeated.

So here I am, racking my brain for ideas as to how I can get this thing to close. You can understand my desperation, I mean, there's humiliation on the brink! I glance the 10 feet up to the top of the door, and have the harsh realization that I'm four and a half feet too short to reach anything. I come to the conclusion that I'm just not tugging hard enough, and decide to use ALL of my might. I wrap one boot in the chain, and hoist all one-hundred-twenty-three pounds of me on to it, so I'm dangling at this point. Here I am, swinging back and forth from a roll-up door chain in an industrial building, in 80 degree weather, while wearing a snow jacket, slacks, and ugg boots. One of my proudest moments, naturally.

Nothing happens. This thing is jammed. You know, at least in the movies there's some random, ultra-convenient chair lying around. but noooo. I have the worst luck.

I must admit, my crazed, competitive side got the best of me, and I lost touch with reality there for a second. While tapping into my inner Macgyver, I conceptualized in an instant how to make a slingshot using only my underwear and mascara tube. Realizing that I didn't want to add "commando" to the list of my already atrocious wardrobe choice, I gave up. I made the call to the general contractor, who immediately sent out a repairman.

Repair man arrives. "Hey honey, you need me to shut a door for ya?" I immediately tell him how beyond broken it is. After all, my ego's at stake. So he goes and does the whole "man thing" with the door, and I just wait around and pray that something is really wrong with it.

20 more wasted-minutes-of-my-life later, I'm on my way out of the building, and in my peripherals, I see a head poke out from behind one of the walls. I screamed. Pretty loud. It was the door repair guy. "oh, haha, sorry...I just didn't think you'd be in here," I said. I was really hoping he wouldn't ask me why the hell I wouldn't expect someone whom I let in, to be in there. He was kind. Just gave me the good news I had been waiting for and went on his way.

The door was completely bent and lodged! AND they had advised against repairing it before. *beaming*

What a sick, sick thing to be happy about, huh?

Oh, and a lot of people would've screamed, by the way. Doesn't mean just because I'm a girl, I screamed.

Conclusion: Man's world, schman's world. What was seemingly a horrible day, turned out to be juuuust fine. :)