I work for a company of Performing Artists. (No, I’m not saying who.) My work email signature, below my name and above the company website address, reads simply “Administration and Public Relations”. And I really like that. No “Manager” or ”Executive” or any other hierarchal titles attached. Oh, I could put one on there if I wanted – I know the company would endorse it. But I much prefer the somewhat vague classification of just “Admin and PR”. I’m more of a broad, free-range kind of girl.

It’s the perfect job for me because I enjoy being a behind-the-scenes ‘gopher’ and doing wee jobs that fall through the cracks just as much as I enjoy making significant business decisions. I thrive on being able to interact closely with people, then switch gears completely and crunch numbers and prepare reports. I would shrivel up and die, or shoot someone, if I was forced to work in a sexist, bigoted, or chest-thumping environment where “not my department” or “I don’t make coffee” were wall plaques. I have a healthy enough self-confidence and work ethic that I don’t find anything demeaning about any job that is done with pride and care.

Possibly more than anything, my job is perfect for me because it is never predictable, never boring, and always challenging.

Which may be why it took this long before I was exposed as a complete and utter fraud.

One of my bosses was asked to participate as a volunteer in a little side project for a media company. He agreed, and did the best job he could given the circumstances. What no one could have predicted when he signed on was that the “little side project” would take on a ravenous life of its own and explode into a nation-wide popularity campaign teeming with community emotion, political and geographical rivalry, and potential economic consequences.

Not surprisingly when you have to make very public decisions and express an opinion in a country of 33 million opinions, there were some quite happy people and some bitterly angry people after the project was over and results were announced. My boss and his fellow suckers… er… volunteers have been getting hung out to dry in the media and on discussion boards as a result, and it’s driving me batshit nuts.

Sure, I hold a non-title title of Public Relations whatever. But I guess the time has come when I’m forced to ‘fess up. I have no framed papers on the wall, no bulging portfolio, and no formal training or accreditation for this job. I got this plum gig because I learn quick, I’m perceptive, and when I bite off more than I can chew I’m too damned stubborn and proud to let failure be an option so I work my ass off and figure it out. Oh, and I have shit-luck when it comes to flying by the seat of my pants. Those are pretty much my credentials. I’ve done some self-study over the years on Marketing and Media and related topics, but my edjumucation has been almost exclusively from the clichéd School of Life, Common Sense, and Hard Knocks.

Unfortunately, I must have skipped the day they covered “How to chill, baby, and not punch the snot out of asshats who are saying nasty things about someone you care about”.

That the asshats are probably perfectly wonderful people when they’re at home is beside the point. In fact, my boss, who is handling it all with his usual class and professionalism assures me that, as a group, they are. The problem is that I have never, despite years of trying, been able to cultivate that whole mature and responsible “whatever… fuck ‘em if they don’t agree” attitude that is clearly an essential skill for CEOs, Presidents, Executives… and anyone in the Public Relations, Entertainment, or Media industries.

Crap.

I’ve been found out.