The office manager has a truly thankless job. She’s the person who has to tell you to quit eating stinky cheese at your desk, or to pick a name for Secret Santa, or that you’ve run through your monthly allotment of Post-Its. But it wasn’t always thus. Back in the ’60s, the office manager was the undisputed queen of all the secretaries, assigning the cutest girls to work for the most powerful executives, showing off her perfectly hoisted bosom in her perfectly tailored outfits, purring passive-aggressively at her foes, possibly sleeping with the boss, and generally running the floor with an iron fist in a velvet glove (literally, in the winter months). It was a sexier, more refined time; you could tell from all the cigarettes.
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