Here read the true tales of a young twenty-something cubicle dweller by day - dreamer of “there’s got to be more than this” by night - trying to find the moral of her everyday story. Walk with Jackie down cubicle lane as she humorously shares the pitfalls and high points of moving to a new city for her first job, building a life post 5 o’clock, and searching for meaning in every crevice of her stu-stu studio.

Dear Fellow Millennials,

A Millennial’s Muse draws open the curtains of the window into my young professional’s soul. Today begins an anecdotal series of revelations detailing the peculiar, perplexing and playful journey of the last 20 months spent in Cubicle #8032 somewhere in the nation’s capital. Beginning with the deliberative acceptance of a job offer and ending with the awkward terrain of two-weeks notice, this virtual journal o’ mine will contemplate work/life equilibrium (“balance” is so overdone), longer than legal lunch hours (please don’t tell), happy hours redefined, family relationships when all members are now “adults,” extracurricular amusements, and mo’(re).

Who This Be?

Who am I to be a distinctive millennial voice? I’m not much different from you, really. Perhaps shorter, as I barely meet 5′2″ on the measuring stick. I experienced the quintessential first job after college and, like Billy Faulkner (is that rude?) said, I couldn’t not write about the whirlwind of new feelings I encountered on the cusp of yuppie-hood.

Before battling with the forces of work, I went to the University of Florida where I attended three football games in four years. All three games were blessed with rain and allowed me to leave early, for which I cheered. I wanted to major in Interior Design, but my dad told me that I “would starve.” You can’t plan life, but you can plan meals is one of my personal mantras, so I was not keen on the prospect of famine. Instead, I opted to major in the ultra lucrative field of Sociology.

I think life has a novelistic quality to it, thus I’m a big fan of saying (and writing), “Story of my life.” That phrase will meet your eyes many times. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Shall we begin?

You’re Hired. Who Me?

When your brain is trained to analyze and interpret society, what kind of jobs are you qualified for after graduating from college? I would have loved to spend my days sitting on a park bench or in a coffee shop watching passerby and caffeine sippers, respectively, but since money does not grow on trees (Dad aphorism again) nor is it disbursed freely by baristas, I had to look in the direction of paid employment.

Program Assistant, Program Associate, Programming Specialist – I know all too well the effects of Labeling Theory, and I was about to become one if its victims.

My job search narrowed to two viable options with two very different employers. Washington DC is home to the headquarters of many professional associations that serve as membership entities and networking hubs (read: adult tree houses where anyone can feel like they belong) for people in their particular career industry. Job prospect #1 was with a management firm for associations.

DC is also fertile ground for universities, and feeling bitter about my severed ties with academia, I thought working on a campus could be a great fit for me. Job prospect #2 would give me the license to wear school-spirited attire once again. Silent victory cheer for hooded sweatshirts.

I had two interviews with both employers and, being the anticipatory person that I am, thought I needed to decide which of the two jobs (I hadn’t even been offered yet) I was going to accept. Yeah, I’m one of those.

I placed phone calls to friends, family, former internship supervisors and anyone else who would listen to my holistic assessment of the pros and cons of each potential position. Knowing that neither position would serve as my career destiny but more as that must-have element to my resume (a real job), I wanted to include factors other than what I would be doing at my desk in the decision making process.

Job prospect #1 was with a company of 200 employees at an average age of 25 years old. Job prospect #2 was in an office with seven employees, five of whom seemed like people that might very well have been teased in middle school. Since I moved to DC not knowing anyone other than my older (and less mature) sister, the viable pool of would-be friends at job prospect #1 was enticing.

I also considered the hours of the work day, flexible options for start and end times, ½ hour versus a 1-hour lunch, commute time, the quality of eateries near the offices, room for growth, how safe I’d feel walking to the Metro if I had to work late, proximity to a yoga studio and other deciding factors I’ll reveal when I feel like we’re better friends.

And the Winner Is…

I received job offers from both prospects within hours of each other (told you so). I had of course made up my mind well in advance of even needing to, so the only question remaining was how to respond to the voicemail from the offer I wasn’t accepting. Did I need to return the call or could I just send a polite e-mail? “Mom…?”

Advised that I should consider their feelings and the generosity of getting an offer (what is this, dating?), I called back job prospect #2 to thank them and say that I accepted another position. The woman on the other end said that she wished she had called me sooner. People, don’t hold back your feelings. When you love someone/want them to work for you, carpe diem.

And there laid the first stepping stone on the path I would tread as an underpaid and overworked Education & Programs Assistant with an association management company in a nook of DC that would satisfy my food, safety, and yogic concerns.

Tune in next week for my big first day and hyper-analytical accounts of new office supplies, studio apartment living and getting lost in a 5’ x 4’ cubicle.

Professional in progress,
Jackie

Popularity: 7%

Share This