Personal Essay
A Seat at the Table — Pentagon Style
Author’s Note: This week at the Port Townsend Writers Conference, I’m studying with Melissa Febos, a brilliant essayist and fabulous teacher. What follows is a writing exercise from her class yesterday—to establish the protagonist and her desire(s), a goal or something to pursue, tension or conflict, and a satisfying resolution — all in under 400 words. This is SO much fun!
One of the few professional women in the Pentagon, she had earned her seat at the table, having had a successful career in the Navy, one that had led to her new position in the DoD. But the Pentagon was not a woman-friendly place, and she had known that from the start. Nevertheless, armed with a Ph.D. and the equivalent civilian rank of a full colonel, she intended to take zero shit from anyone in executing her responsibilities. To skillfully carry out the policies of the SecDef and earn the respect of her peers were her only goals.
A long, polished hardwood table dominated the conference room in the E-ring of the Pentagon, one upholstered armchair at the head for the senior officer, hard wooden chairs for everyone else of lesser rank. Men in crisp uniforms and dark suits gathered, jockeying for a position close to the center of power, checking out each other’s stripes and stars to determine their positions in the pecking order. Her mind’s eye imagined each man unzipping his fly, displaying his manhood for all to see and to measure themselves against. Pecker order, she mused.
A premeditated two minutes late, she entered the conference room, in a black leather bomber jacket and white silk blouse, all eyes on this mere female who carried a single plain manila folder in her left hand. Oh, wait. No coffee and donuts? Maybe she’s here to take notes.
When she reached for the status chair to the right of the commanding officer, his aide whispered to her that perhaps she should consider taking a seat along the wall, not at the table (with the men).
Inwardly grinning, she would have given her left ovary to have been wearing her favorite t-shirt, the one that says, “Go ahead. Underestimate me. That’ll be fun!”
With a bright “Good morning, Boys!” she called the meeting to order, introduced herself, and without having to unzip anything, took charge.
And while we’re on the subject, this:
