wasn’t　the　only　one　dragging　myself　to　work　at　such　an　obscene　hour。
  He　was　probably　getting　paid　150；000　a　year　to　be　so　miserable；　but
  whatever；　at　least　I　wasn’t　alone。
  Benji　saluted　me　with　his　lit　cigarette；　glowing　eerily　in　the　still
  dark　winter　morning；　and　motioned　for　me　to　e　over。　I　was　nervous
  I’d　be　late；　but　Eduardo　gave　me　his　“Don’t　worry；　she’s　not　here
  yet—you’re　fine”　look　and　I　walked　over　to　Benji。　He　looked
  bleary…eyed　and　hopeless。　He　probably　thoughthe　had　a　tyrannical
  boss。　Hah！　If　only　he　knew。　I　wanted　to　laugh　out　loud。
  “Hey；　I　noticed　you’re　the　only　one　here　this　early　every　day；”　he
  muttered　at　me　while　I　dug　around　in　my　bag　for　lipstick　before
  hitting　the　elevators。　“What’s　the　deal？”
  He　looked　so　tired；　so　beaten…down；　that　I　felt　a　surge　of　sympathy
  and　kindness。　But　then　I　felt　my　legs　nearly　give　out　from
  exhaustion；　and　I　remembered　the　way　Lily　had　looked　when　one　of
  Benji’s　dumb　lacrosse　buddies　had　asked　if　she’d　been　happy　to　watch
  or　really　actually　wanted　to　join　in；　and　I　lost　my　cool。
  “Well；　my　deal　is　that　I　work　for　a　rather　demanding　woman；　and　I
  need　to　get　here　two　and　a　half　hours　before　the　rest　of　the　goddamn
  magazine　so　that　I’m　prepared　for　her；”　I　said；　my　tone　dripping
  with　anger　and　sarcasm。
  “Whoa。　Just　asking。　Sorry；　though；　it　sounds　pretty　bad。　Which　one
  do　you　work　for？”
  “I　work　for　Miranda　Priestly；”　I　said；　and　prayed　for　a　nonreaction。
  Something　about　having　a　seemingly　well…educated；　successful
  professional　have　no　idea　who　Miranda　was　made　me　very；　very　happy。
  Delighted　almost。　And　luckily；　this　one　didn’t　let　me　down。　He
  shrugged　and　inhaled　and　looked　at　me　expectantly。
  “She’s　the　editor　in　chief　ofRunway；　”　I　lowered　my　voice　and　began
  with　glee；　“and　pretty　much　the　biggest　bitch　I’ve　ever　met。　I　mean；
  I’ve　honestly　never　met　anyone　like　her。　She’s　really　not　even
  human。”　I　had　a　litany　of　plaints　I　would’ve　liked　to　have　dumped
  on　Benji；　but　theRunway　Paranoid　Turnaround　came　on　full…force。　I
  became　immediately　nervous；　almost　paranoid；　convinced　that　this
  unknowing；　uncaring　person　was　somehow　one　of　Miranda’s　lackeys；
  sent　to　spy　on　me　from　theObserver　orPage　Six。　I　knew　it　was
  ridiculous；　pletely　absurd。　After　all；　I　had　personally　known
  Benji　for　years　now　and　was　quite　sure　he　wasn’t　working　for　Miranda
  in　any　capacity。　Just　not　totally　sure。　After　all；　how　could　you　be
  totally　sure？　And　who　knew　who　could　be　standing　behind　me　at　that
  very　second；　overhearing　every　one　of　my　nasty　words？　Damage　control
  was　required　immediately。
  “Of　course；　she　IS　the　most　powerful　woman　in　fashion　and
  publishing；　and　you　just　can’t　get　to　the　top　of　two　major
  industries　in　New　York　City　handing　out　candy　all　day　long。　Um；　it’s
  understandable　that　she’s　a　little　tough　to　work　for；　you　know？　I
  would　be；　too。　Yeah；　so；　um；　I　have　to　run　now。　Good　seeing　you
  again。”　And　I　ducked　away；　as　I　often　had　the　past　few　weeks　when　I
  found　myself　talking　to　someone　other　than　Lily　or　Alex　or　my
  parents　and　I　couldn’t　help　myself　from　bashing　the　witch。
  “Hey；　don’t　feel　too　bad；”　he　called　after　me　as　I　headed　toward　the
  elevator　bank。　“I’ve　been　here　since　last　Thursday　morning。”　And
  with　that；　he　dropped　his　smoldering　butt　and　half…heartedly　stamped
  it　into　the　cement。
  “Morning；　Eduardo；”　I　said；　looking　at　him　with　my　best　tired；
  pathetic　eyes。　“I　fucking　hate　Mondays。”
  “Hey；　buddy；　don’t　worry。　At　least　you　beat　her　here　this　morning；”
  he　said；　smiling。　He　was　referring；　of　course；　to　those　miserable
  mornings　when　Miranda　would　show　up　at　fiveA　。M。　and　need　to　be
  escorted　upstairs　since　she　refused　to　carry　an　access　card。　She’d
  then　pace　the　office；　calling　Emily　and　me　over　and　over　until　one
  of　us　could　manage　to　wake　up；　get　ready；　and　get　to　work　as　if　a
  national　security　emergency　were　unfolding。
  I　pushed　against　the　turnstile；　praying　that　this　Monday　would　be
  the　exception；　that　he’d　let　me　pass　without　a　performance。
  Negative。
  “Yo；　tell　me　what　you　want；　what　you　really；　really　want；”he　sang
  with　his　huge；　toothy　smile　and　Spanish　accent。　And　all　the　pleasure
  of　making　the　cabbie　happy　and　finding　out　that　I　had　arrived　ahead
  of　Miranda　vanished。　I　was　left；　as　I　was　every　morning；　wanting　to
  reach　across　the　security　counter　and　tear　the　flesh　from　Eduardo’s
  face。　But　since　I　was　such　a　good　sport　and　he　was　one　of　my　only
  friends　in　the　place；　I　weakly　acquiesced。“I’ll　tell　you　what　I
  want；　what　I　really；　really　want；　I　wanna—I　wanna—I　wanna—I　wanna—I
  really；　really；　really　wanna　zigga　zig　aaaaaahhhh；”　I　sang　meekly　in
  a　pitiful　tribute　to　the　Spice　Girls’　nineties　hit。　And　once　again；
  Eduardo　grinned　and　buzzed　me　through。
  “Hey；　don’t　forget：　July　sixteenth！”　he　called　after　me。
  “I　know；　July　sixteenth　。　。　。”　I　called　back；　a　reference　to　our
  shared　birthdays。　I　don’t　remember　how　or　why　he　had　discovered　my
  birthdate；　but　he　adored　that　we　had　the　same　one。　And　for　some
  inexplicable　reason；　it　became　a　part　of　our　personal　morning
  ritual。　Every　single　goddamn　day。
  There　were　eight　elevators　on　the　Elias…Clark　side；　half　for　floors
  one　to　seventeen；　half　for　seventeen　and　up。　Only　the　first　bank
  really　mattered　since　most　of　the　big　names　were　on　the　first
  seventeen　floors；　they　advertised　their　presence　with　illuminated
  panels　over　the　elevator　doors。　There　was　a　free；　state…of…the…art
  gym　on　the　second　floor　for　employees；　plete　with　a　full　Nautilus
  circuit　and　at　least　a　hundred　Stairmasters；　treadmills；　and
  elliptical　machines。　The　locker　rooms　had　saunas；　hot　tubs；　steam
  rooms；　and　attendants　in　maids’　uniforms；　and　a　salon　offered
  emergency　manicures；　pedicures；　and　facials。　There　was　even
  plimentary　towel　service；　or　so　I’d　heard—not　only　did　I　not　have
  the　time；　the　place　was　always　too　damn　crowded　between　the　hours　of
  sixA　。M。　and　tenP　。M。　to　so　much　as　walk　around。　Writers　and　editors
  and　sales　assistants　called　three　days　ahead　of　time　to　book
  themselves　into　the　yoga　or　kick…boxing　classes；　and　even　then　they
  lost　their　place　if　they　didn’t　get　there　fifteen　minutes　in
  advance。　Like　nearly　everything　at　Elias…Clark　designed　to　make
  employees’　lives　better；　it　just　stressed　me　out。
  I’d　heard　a　rumor　that　there　was　a　daycare　center　in　the　basement；
  but　I　didn’t　know　anyone　who　actually　had　children；　so　I　still
  wasn’t　entirely　positive。　The　real　action　began　on　the　third　floor
  with　the　dining　room；　where　so　far　Miranda　had　refused　to　eat　among
  the　peons　unless　she　was　lunching　with　Irv　Ravitz；　Elias’s　CEO；　who
  liked　to　eat　there　in　a　show　of　unity　with　his　employees。
  Up；　up；　up　we　went；　past　all　the　other　famous　titles。　Most　of　them
  had　to　share　floors；　with　one　flanking　each　side　of　the
  receptionist’s　desk；　facing　off　behind　separate　glass　doors。　I
  hopped　off　at　the　seventeenth　floor；　checking　my　butt　in　the
  reflection　of　the　door’s　glass。　In　a　stroke　of　empathy　and　genius；
  the　architect　had　kindly　left　mirrors　out　of　the　elevators　in　640
  Madison。　As　usual；　I’d　forgotten　my　electronic　ID　card—the　very　same
  one　that　tracked　all　our　movements；　purchases；　and　absences　in　the
  building—and　had　to　break　onto　the　floor。　Sophy　didn’t　e　in　until
  nine；　so　I　had　to　bend　down　under　her　desk；　find　the　button　that
  would　release　the　glass　doors；　and　sprint　from　the　middle　of　the
  reception　area　to　the　doors　and　yank　them　open　before　they　snapped
  locked　again。　Sometimes　I’d　have　to　do　this　three　or　four　times
  until　I　finally　caught　it；　but　today　I　made　it　on　my　second　attempt。
  The　floor　was　always　dark　when　I　arrived；　and　I　took　the　same　route
  to　my　desk　every　morning。　To　my　left　when　I　walked　in　was　the
  advertising　department；　the　girls　who　most　loved　adorning　themselves
  in　Chloé　T…shirts　and　spike…heeled　boots　while　handing　out　Business
  cards　that　screamed　“Runway。”　They　were　removed；　wholly　and
  entirely；　from　anything　and　everything　that　took　place　on　the
  editorial　side　of　the　floor：　it　was　editorial　that　picked　the
  clothes　for　the　fashion　spreads；　wooed　the　good　writers；　matched　the
  accessories　to　the　outfits；　interviewed　the　models；　edited　the　copy；
  designed　the　layouts；　and　hired　the　photographers。　Editorial
  traveled　to　hot　spots　around　the　world　for　shoots；　got　free　gifts
  and　discounts　from　all　the　designers；　hunted　for　trends；　and　went　to
  parties　at　Pastis　and　Float　because　they　“had　to　check　out　what
  people　were　wearing。”
  Ad　sales　was　left　to　try　and　sell　ad　s