Dear Fellow Millenials,

Five months into my journey as a first-time cubicle resident, and I’m glad to have you along for this reflective trip back in time. You’re a terrific passenger, but I wouldn’t mind if you talked a little more. Come on, really, how is my driving?

As we approach Thanksgiving, I think it apropos to shower this week’s muse with happenings that end on a thankful note.

Growing Pains

My department – including Magnum, Dark-humored Dan, myself, and a mainstream person lacking even one feature I could characterize for your amusement – had a social dynamic that neared perfection, as if Human Resources did a casting call and found the ideal ensemble. On a day like any other, I received below-the-belt news; HR was interviewing for another assistant, my status counterpart. I was often bored, yet we needed more hands on deck.

I didn’t take the news too well. See, in my family, I’m the favorite child. I like to be the one thought of as cute, young and adorable, and I wanted symmetry between my own family and my work family. I voiced my concern to Magnum and the HR recruiter.

“Wait, am I still going to be the favorite?? (Notice my lack of regard for Dark-humored Dan’s feelings, as he was standing right next to me) Why do we need another assistant? I’m cute. I’m young. Some might say “adorable.” (And yes, I did make a quotations hand gesture) What more do you need? You can even call me “baby” but please, please, don’t put me in the corner.” Name that movie.

The hiring was postponed for months after the budget was “revisited.” If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. For this I was oh so thankful.

Popcorn Wednesday

The company’s first client was in the popcorn industry. A popcorn party was held on the second Wednesday of each month to bring us back to our roots and boost company morale. When the turnover rate is over 25 percent, there’s nothing an old-fashioned popcorn machine can do to fix it. A chocolate fountain – maybe. I enjoyed the popcorn parties, and any excuse to exit the cube was reason to be thankful.

Neighbors — Inside and Out

Neighbor and I defied the cubicle wall barrier and went out for lunch together after months of speaking through a partition. We were both nervous about having that much face-to-face time. I proposed that we sit side-by-side to avoid seeing the other person. Neighbor suggested sitting at separate tables, back-to-back. We ended up sitting next to each other (putting a small vase between us) and brought a co-worker so we had someone else to look at. All went well, and we avoided any one-night-stand feelings of awkwardness, thank goodness.

Could it be?

I met Helen Thomas. Who’s that, right? Many know her as a recognizable face in the crowd of reporters at White House press conferences. I knew her from a cameo role in the movie Dave, where she played herself for about three seconds.

I was out to lunch when I spotted her. Where I grew up (Florida), if you see someone famous, you approach them and ask for their autograph. You’re usually encountering a mouse (Mickey) or a duck (Donald) in costume in Orlando. Why change course now?

I walked in Helen’s direction, but she was eating chicken wings like they were going on the endangered species list. I didn’t think it was appropriate to interrupt her with animal skin between her teeth and a bone hanging out of her mouth. Finally, she came up for air and shook my hand (which then became greasy, but no problem). She’s so small and very gracious – except with the chicken.

Bloody Hell

There was a blood drive and I signed up since I did anything that allowed me to flee the cube. I entered the blood donation room and was horrified by the chairs which resembled the electric chair, the blood technician with an obscenely long pinky finger nail and five hairs of a length fit for braiding extending from the middle of his neck, and the supply of sodas which reminded me that I could potentially pass out, only to be revived by Coke – not of the diet variety. The registrar asked if I brought my ID.

“No.”

Registrar: “Okay, well go back to your desk to get it and then come back.”

“Okay…” (Yeah, like I would return to a cave that I knew had a hungry bear inside.)

I went to my cube and, over our shared wall, told Neighbor that I was having serious doubts and wanted to keep all of my blood. Neighbor assured me that I was doing a great thing and offered to keep me company, even hold my hand. Fine…

When the blood from a finger prick to test my iron level didn’t immediately dissolve in a testing solution, the technician put it in a centrifuge for further testing and if it wasn’t at least 38 percent, I couldn’t donate.

How I prayed for a deficient iron level, you can’t even imagine.

The result: 39 percent

I didn’t vocalize the thought brewing inside me. That thought being: “F–k.”

I was led (pulled) to the chair, but in the end, my veins were too small for the size needle they were using to draw blood. I could rest assured, though, that my veins were not too small for me (which was conveyed to suppress the look of horror on my face that I had inadequate veins – the look no match, though, for the sense of gratitude I felt for being able to keep my blood.

Thankfully yours,
Jackie

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