Being personal assistant to Silvia Jencinella is anything but easy.
V: “I have half a notion that you need a personal assistant.”
S: “I think you’re right. I’ve been playing with the idea for a while”
V: “I daresay, when you’ll find one, you’ll make her life miserable…”
S: “You really think so?”
V: “With your bad attitude… I believe I’m the only one who could stand, since I know you so well…”
S: “Deal. When do you begin?”
This is how it took off; a playful defiance turned into mutual trust.
My profession as a cook, with ten years’ experience, does not stop me from taking care of my duties as Silvia’s personal assistant; quite the contrary, it turns into an advantage when she, my mother, “forgets” to feed herself.
Yes: Silvia is my mother. I am her firstborn, and at work this is an advantage in that I know her truly well – including her bad attitude.
She knows she can delegate tasks and rely on me; I know she will respect me and take me into account.
I am the only one from whom she will tolerate being told “stop right away, you’ve been working too much!”; anybody else would be incinerated on the spot.
Delivering a work past schedule implies being roared after.
I am her shadow, her filter, and her alter ego.
Working with her is thrilling, yet it’s anything but easy.