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 every Wednesday 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,

When the debris finally cleared from the mess Dark-humored Dan left behind, two new people were hired to ensure that I remained vertical (the likelihood of which was diminishing rapidly). Just shy of the one-year mark at my first job post-college, I reached my corporate boiling point.

New Kid on the Block

No, not Joey, Jordan, Danny, Donnie or Jonathan. Dark-humored Dan’s replacement, Richard, was too serious for my taste, and I feared he left home every morning with his hanger still in his shirt.

When Richard did his “I’m a new staff member/this is Jackie’s version of heaven” office supply order, I asked him to include a tape gun for me. When the supplies arrived, my blushing cheeks quickly turned pale because I saw a tape gun but no tape.

I walked over to Richard’s cubicle — tape gun in hand — and said, “Buddy, you got me a tape gun but no tape…” Then I performed a monologue (hand gestures involved) about why men need women in their lives, and had someone asked me to order them a stapler, I would have instinctively known to also order staples. I walked away feeling exasperated, wishing that there was still someone in the office who called me “dude” and put me in a head-lock from time to time.

Southern Hospitality

Why would anyone bake cookies for their co-workers (twice in one week)? Meet Belle, from Louisiana; Baton Rouge to be precise. Belle smiled (a lot). Belle got a full-sized cubicle; I still operated out of the officially dubbed “temp workstation.” Belle got a laptop on her first day (I got one after eight months) and flowers from a doting boyfriend (don’t even get me started).

My Resentment Cup Runeth Over

I knew something was wrong when the sight of a new email in my inbox provoked feelings of rage. I didn’t care what was being asked of me or by whom; I just didn’t have patience for anything work related. SPAM was the only kind of email I appreciated. Ok, now that’s indicative of a problem.

This all encompassing feeling of THIS DOESN’T MATTER loomed over me constantly. Customers would call to complain about their name being misspelled on a membership certificate, and it required every ounce of self-control to not say, “Really? That’s a shame, especially when children are being orphaned by AIDS as we speak.”

It wasn’t fair to me and it wasn’t fair to the company. We both deserved better.

On the Employment Prowl

I had two good interviews with the international programs office of a university. I thought it could be a nice fit: back to campus (could I wear a backpack?), stimulating environment (seize the day with professors’ office hours?) and a field I had affection for (study abroad again?).

Quite possibly the most agonizing decision I’ve ever made, but I revoked my candidacy before they were going to check my references. The position would have been a completely lateral move — as grossly administrative as the job I currently had, for about $1,500 more per year, not to mention an awful commute.

I wanted to be a student again (still can’t decide on a MA program), and while I would have been back in the academic setting, I think it could have been the ultimate tease and may have left me feeling inadequate. I wouldn’t be the student; I’d just be someone pushing paper in an office serving students.

Jackie-logic, based on experience and nothing more: You can talk to everyone whose judgment you trust, read blogs and books that share the how-to’s of career success, but I think the best barometer for making a career decision is the visceral response(s) you get when you sit down to weigh the pros and cons and visualize yourself in both roles. It’s your job, and you’re the one who has to live it everyday.

I learned “to labor and to wait” for another nine months — a corporate gestation period that would produce a far better opportunity to move on to. Stay tuned.

Neighbors Prevail

Neighbor, privy to my potential plan to flee, was quite relieved when I told her we’d still be sharing a lawn.

Standing in our respective cubes with an arm extended over the shared partition so I could borrow Neighbor’s calculator, we looked at each other longingly — me happy to see her from the nose up, she fortunate for the view of my hairline (I’m 5’2”…remember?).

Neighbor: “Oh, Neighborette…(her pet name for me)” she said.

“Yeah…(sigh)…that’s me.”

I didn’t eat Belle’s cookies,
Jackie

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