Mess by Molly

“Hello,” she buzzes, conspiratorially sliding into the metal seat next to me.   “I’m Monique.  I’m here representing a trade association, but I’m on your company’s payroll.”  

We’re in French-speaking Geneva nestled between the snow-capped Alps and Lac Leman, delegates at a United Nations (UN) technology meeting.

“Phew,” I exhale from behind my individual microphone, removing my plastic over-the-ear simultaneous translating device, “Can you please explain my marching orders for this meeting?”  I beg, my imposter syndrome on full display.  

Older men from the global diplomatic community filter into the sunlit room of the UN building wearing blazers over delicate sweaters.  Beside them walk monied corporate lobbyists from the telecom monopolies that have been in power for decades.  Outside the windows, the chilly November breeze rustles hundreds of national flags.

We’re representing my company’s wireless technology interests which staunchly oppose those of the Europeans.   At 25, an intern and fresh out of grad school, I’m desperate to be offered a full-time position.

“Get ready for a wild ride,” Monique forewarns, “these guys are going to try and destroy us in this meeting.  But don’t worry.  It will be fun.  Just follow my lead.  We are going to make them so mad,” she grins.  She doesn’t seem scared or intimidated like I am. She’s excited for the game.   

I am concerned.  Fear of confrontation has been ingrained in me since childhood when my mom occasionally initiated fights with employees at commercial establishments, who whether they knew it or not, perpetuated the patriarchy by discriminating against us when they let men cut in line, overcharged us or refused to extend credit to my employed mom.  These altercations didn’t go well for anyone involved except the National Organization of Women (NOW) to whom my mom promptly phoned with a complaint when we returned home.  NOW riled her up asking, “Doesn’t that just make you so mad?” Mom would yell “YEAH,” feeling better about embarrassing my younger sister and me in front of a usually unsuspecting cashier.

Monique has milk chocolate chin-length bobbed hair, short bangs, sparkling brown mirthful eyes, and an athletic body.  She wears unique jewelry with a relaxed international fashion style.  Her openness makes me feel welcome, but I’m scared to admit to her that I loathe conflict, have never spoken on a microphone and don’t know anything about engineering. 

“One of the benefits of UN meetings is two-hour lunch breaks.  Let’s walk to a brasserie down the street,” Monique says. 

Inside the quaint casual bistro she orders for us in accented French.

“Where did you learn French?” I ask, making small talk.

“Oh, here and there. I lived in Belgium when I was young, and my family also has a small chalet a few hours from here.  I grew up all over the world but was in Brazil from elementary through high school so Portuguese is my best language; then Spanish and Italian.”

“Wow, you’re so cultured.  Where does your last name come from?  Where else did you live?”

She laughs, “My father’s dad is Cuban.  Dad worked for the international paper industry and mom was a travel agent.  We moved around for Dad’s work to India, Brazil, Belgium, and Italy.”  

“Oh my gosh. I have been to both Cuba and Brazil,” I say, eager to impress her and seek direction on my future career path, “and are you an engineer?”  

“God no.  I invented my undergrad major at Vanderbilt, now they call it Latin American Studies and then got my law degree at UT.   Don’t judge me.  I’m not Southern and I’m not a lawyer, unless you cross me. [chuckles] I stumbled into technology while working for the US Government because of my language skills and it is exciting.  Then I realized technology’s potential to connect people especially in the developing world.  I love travelling and meeting interesting people.”

The waiter interrupts, “Your mussels and French fries, mademoiselles,” laying out our food to share, “would you care for white wine?”

“Just sparkling water” Monique says.     

“Me too,” I say to the waiter and then to Monique, “My goal is to travel the world.  What are your favorite places?”

“I was in Madagascar recently.  Did you know the lemur is a matriarchal species?  The females go to battle when there is conflict; an apt metaphor for this meeting. What about you, are you an engineer?  How did you get into technology?”

“Me?  An engineer?  No.  I barely know anything about technology.   My Master’s is in International Relations and my experience is a summer internship at Motorola where I conducted a marketing study for a promising invention, ‘Internet over the phone’ which led to this internship.”

“I love it.  We’ll get along great.  Sadly, we are the only women here. But that’s ok. Here’s what to expect.  The guys in the room can be abrasive.  Their mission is to prevent our technology from entering the market, and we are outnumbered by 10 to 1. They don’t have strong social skills and when things get heated, they are prone to make things personal.  You’ll be an easy target because you’re new and fresh faced.  Don’t take it personally and don’t back down. I got your back.

Look at it as a learning experience.   UN meetings operate on a consensus basis.  Your company’s goal is to see the technology included in the standard and theirs is to eliminate it from consideration.   If we don’t agree; they don’t win.  We tie if we reach a stalemate.

You don’t need to know anything about technology to achieve that outcome.  You simply need to request the microphone and repeat the same statement multiple times.  Just raise your placard and when you get called say, ‘Thank you Mr. Chairman.  I respectfully disagree with the gentleman from xyz country or xyz company, but this technology achieves the following characteristics and should therefore be included in the standard.’

They will challenge us with technical arguments, algorithms, and math.  We will have NO idea what language they are speaking.  But you can literally keep saying the same thing again and again the next 5 days and we will won’t lose.  We got this.  You ready?  Let’s go back to work.” 

“OK,” I say, “these guys sound mean.”

She looks at me with a twinkle in her eye. “Doesn’t that just make you so mad?”