Right now, I am less well-dressed than the woman standing by the subway entrance holding a sign and collecting cash in a cup. I’ll bet her last boyfriend didn’t dump her for an antique maps dealer.

“Or what if he did?” I gasp, muttering to myself. A bearded hipster carrying a folded bike with a hemp strap around the handlebars looks at me like I’m losing it.

Because I am.

My hair is dirty. I have no makeup on and there are dark grey circles under my eyes. There is no time to go home and start all over again.

Amanda Warrick is going to be in that meeting. Crap. She's always perfect.

I make a U-turn and run back up the stairs. There's a CVS on the corner of this block. It's not Sephora, but it will have to do. Eight minutes and $57.45 later, I am back out on the sidewalk, carrying a plastic bag with foundation, mascara, lipstick, blush, a brush, and a hairclip. Also a can of dry shampoo and a pair of black tights.

I toss some change in that poor woman’s cup. She gives me a conspirator’s smile.

According to the drug store register receipt, I saved eight bucks with my customer card. It's my lucky day.

Customer card… interface… an idea attempts to form in my thick and foggy brain. Could we give our O clients a membership card that confers benefits? Not just "buy nine massages, get the tenth for free," but something really fun and unexpected? I need to talk to Ryan. He can tell me what the clients would love, and he'll understand the programming issues. That was his minor in college.

I take off my jacket in the O Spa lobby and stuff it into the CVS bag, hoping to look like I've been at work for hours. Given the dirty hair, tired under-eye circles, and yesterday's skirt, I really do look like I never went home last night. Great.

I duck into the ladies' room and wash my face with the Tropical Paradise hand soap from the dispenser, drying it with paper towels. My skin instantly feels like it's going to crack and fall off, and I am not going to escape the scent of chemical pina colada today. I unpack my purchases and get to work with them.

Makeup is really just hope in a jar, or a tube, or a pencil. Doesn't matter if it's CoverGirl or the priciest brand at the Neiman Marcus counter, I defy you to open the package without believing on some level that you are about to be transformed into Gigi Hadid.

No matter how many times I have bought a new lipstick, since I was thirteen years old, I still pull off the cap with the expectation that my life is about to change forever.

It's worth eight dollars just for that moment.

When I emerge from the bathroom, no one mistakes me for Gigi’s older sister, but they don't reach for their tissue boxes, either. Hayley, the receptionist, looks up when I pass her desk. She brightens.

"Carrie! You look like you got some sleep." She jumps up and hugs me. "See, I told you it would get easier!"

I got sleep because I went to bed at 7:15 last night with two Tylenol PM. But she doesn't need to know that.

"I know just what you're going through. When Carlos broke up with me last spring, I thought my life was over," Hayley confides. "I stayed home three nights in a row, crying and eating Oreos. My mother was so worried." Hayley is twenty-one. "But then my girlfriends made me go out dancing with them, and what do you think? I met Javier that very night! And we've been together ever since! It was fate."

“That’s great,” I say weakly, hating her on the inside.

She smiles a satisfied smile. "Our song is 'Single Ladies.'"

This is clearly supposed to make me feel better. It doesn't. Tears prickle behind my eyes. No. No crying. Not until I’m at my desk.

"Thanks, Hayley," I manage. "What time is the Anterdec meeting this morning?"

She checks the schedule. "Ten o'clock."

"Thanks again."

I head back to my computer and open up my phone tree script. Somehow I've got to focus my brain on this. I've got all the basic options and responses down, but some of the more specific questions still need to be considered. I've spent hours interviewing Hayley and the spa receptionists downstairs to identify the most common requests.

And the most unusual.

It's O. We get quite a large number of unusual requests:

What wine pairing do you recommend with strawberry massage oil? (I'll connect you to our catering manager.)

The key to my handcuffs is lost, how do I get them unlocked? (Bring them back and we will give you another key. Unless someone is wearing them, in which case, use bolt cutters.)

Can I book a vaginal massage party for my book club meeting? (Yes. What book are you reading?)

I need to determine how deep the technology can go before the call has to be handled by a live person. For cost savings and improved efficiency, the more the process can be automated, the better. But O is decidedly not your average call center. Hours and directions are easy. Retail clients looking for standard appointments are referred to our website to see our menu of services and book online. Club members, of course, have their own special service team.

But O is all about customized, personal service at every level.

My computer makes a sound and I jump. Chloe, my boss, has sent me a message.

Carrie, can you come in for a minute?

I pause in the open door to her office. She looks up. As always, the surface of her glass waterfall desk is clear and pristine. A single white rose stands in a polished steel vase. The gauzy Roman shades on the windows filter the light into a soft haze. No matter what crazy stress is going on at O, Chloe’s office is a peaceful retreat. It’s like a spa within a spa.

"Hey," she says calmly. "Ready for the meeting?"

"I think so. I made a chart of the phone tree that shows all the options and where they lead. And I have sample recordings of three different voices, two men and a woman. After I get today's feedback, I'll arrange a focus group. That will help us understand how clients will respond."

"Great," she says, studying me. "You look pretty good for someone having a pretty bad week."

"You heard?" Chloe is a little older than me, but not much. She's so together — she has this great job and an adorable baby girl and her boyfriend Nick is amazing. She has everything. Her life is moving forward perfectly.

I have nothing. My life is now actually sliding backward. My broken vagina changes the laws of thermodynamics and makes Einstein rethink his theory. I can reverse human progress.