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office was divided on whether she was permanently on the Atkins diet
or just lucky enough to have a superhuman metabolism； the result of
some pretty fantastic genes。 Either way； she thought nothing of
devouring the fattiest； most sickeningly unhealthy foods—even though
the rest of us weren’t exactly afforded the same luxury。 Since
nothing stayed hot for more than ten minutes after it arrived； I’d
keep reordering and tossing until she showed up。 I could get away
with microwaving each meal one time； but that bought me only an
extra five minutes； and she could usually tell。 （“Ahn…dre…ah； this
is vile。 Get me a fresh breakfast at once。”） I would order and
reorder every twenty minutes or so until she called from her Cell
Phone and told me to order her breakfast （“Ahn…dre…ah； I’ll be at
the office shortly。 Order my breakfast”）。 Of course； this was
usually only a two… or three…minute warning； so the preordering was
necessary both because of the short warning and in the rather mon
event that she didn’t bother to call at all。 If I’d done my job； by
the time her actual call for breakfast had e； I’d already have
two or three on the way。
The phone rang。 It had to be her； too early to be anyone else。
“Miranda Priestly’s office；” I chirped； bracing myself for the
iciness。
“Emily； I’ll be there in ten minutes and I’d like my breakfast to be
ready。”
She had taken to calling both Emily and me “Emily；” suggesting；
quite rightly； that we were indistinguishable from each other and
pletely interchangeable。 Somewhere in the back of my mind I was
offended； but I’d grown accustomed to it at this point。 And besides；
I was too tired to really care about something as incidental as my
name。
“Yes； Miranda； right away。” But she had already hung up。 The real
Emily walked into the office。
“Hey； is she here？” she whispered； looking furtively toward
Miranda’s office as she always did； without a hello or a good
morning； just like her mentor。
“Nope； but she just called and she’ll be here in ten。 I’ll be back。”
I quickly transferred my cell phone and cigarettes to my coat pocket
and ran。 I had only a few minutes to get downstairs； cross Madison；
and jump the line at Starbucks—and suck down my first precious
cigarette of the day while in transit。 Stamping out the last embers；
I stumbled into the Starbucks at 57th and Lex and surveyed the line。
If it was fewer than eight or so people； I preferred to wait like a
normal person。 Like most days； however； the line today was twenty or
more poor professional souls； wearily waiting in line for their
expensive caffeine fix； and I had to jump in front of them。 It was
not something I relished； but Miranda didn’t seem to understand that
the latte I presented to her each morning could not onlynot be
delivered but could easily take a half hour at prime time to
purchase。 A couple weeks of shrill； angry phone calls on my Cell
Phone （“Ahn…dre…ah； I simply do not understand。 I called you a full
twenty…five minutes ago to tell you I’d be in； and my breakfast is
not ready。 This is unacceptable。”）； and I had spoken to the
franchise manager。
“Um； hi。 Thanks for taking a minute to talk with me；” I said to the
petite black woman who was in charge。 “I know this sounds absolutely
crazy； but I was wondering if we could work something out in terms
of me having to wait in line。” I went on to explain； as best I
could； that I work for a rather important； unreasonable person who
doesn’t like to wait for her morning Coffee； and was there any way I
could walk ahead of the line； subtly； of course； and have someone
prepare my order immediately？ By some stroke of dumb luck； Marion；
the manager； was going to FIT at night for a degree in fashion
merchandising。
“Ohmigod； are you kidding？ You work for Miranda Priestly？ And she
drinks our lattes？ A tall？ Every morning？ Unbelievable。 Oh； yes；
yes； of course！ I’ll tell everyone to help you right away。 Don’t
worry about a thing。 She is； like； the most powerful person in
fashion；” Marion gushed as I forced myself to nod enthusiastically。
And so it came that I could； at will； bypass a long line of tired；
aggressive； self…righteous New Yorkers and order before those who
had been waiting for many； many minutes。 It didn’t make me feel good
or important or even cool； and I always dreaded the days I had to do
it。 When the lines were hellishly long like the one today—snaking
around the entire counter and pushing its way outside—I felt even
worse and knew I’d be walking out with a full load。 My head was
pounding at this point； and my eyes already felt heavy and dry。 I
tried to forget that this was my life； the reason I’d spent four
long years memorizing poems and examining prose； the result of good
grades and lots of kissing up。 Instead； I ordered Miranda’s tall
latte from one of the new baristas and added a few drinks of my own。
A grande Amaretto Cappuccino； a Mocha Frappuccino； and a Caramel
Macchiato landed in my four…cup carrier； along with a half…dozen
muffins and croissants。 The grand total came to 28。83； and I made
sure to tuck my receipt into the already bulging； specially
designated receipt section of my wallet； all of which would be
reimbursed by the always reliable Elias…Clark。
I had to hurry now； as it was already twelve minutes since Miranda
had called and I knew she’d probably be sitting there； seething；
wondering exactly where I disappeared to every morning—the Starbucks
logo on the side of the cup didn’t ever clue her in。 But before I
could pick up all the stuff from the counter； my phone rang。 And as
usual； my heart lurched。 I knew it was her； absolutely； positively
knew it； but it scared me nonet