A Millennial's Muse — Part 9: Yuppie on the Run

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

A Millennial's Muse — Part 8: The Beginning of the End of the Beginning

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,

I shared with you last week the departure (massacre) of Dark-humored Dan and subsequent drastic changes to my daily tasks, namely that they were multiplied by 253.

Luckily, my salary didn't change. But I did have to adapt to working in a three-person department where my other two co-workers were 4-5 rungs higher than me on that timeless corporate ladder metaphor.

I felt invigorated to have meatier work to do (though it wasn't in an industry I had affection for), and I knew that Magnum was proud of me for stepping up to the plate. But the deluge of work felt like it would soon be the end of me (or was it just a new beginning?). I appreciated the learning curves (never a lover of curve balls – who can catch them?), but they came at a pace that left me with corporate stretch marks and growing pains. Reminder: my company had a turnover rate exceeding 25 percent.

A hedonist at heart, I looked elsewhere for kicks and giggles.

Love Hurts. So Does Magnum.

In the early days with Dark-humored Dan, we had a mission: Operation: Get Boss Laid. You see, Magnum was a 45-year-old divorcee and single mom who had few friends (all of whom were married) and feared being alone forever. Her romantic frustrations manifested into behavior similar to that of a rabid animal (quick to snap, prone to biting, always up for "heated" conversations).

With our personal safety in mind, Dark-humored Dan and I thought it best if Magnum found a boyfriend. Soon. Like yesterday. Luckily, she met someone online and all of our lives improved…for awhile.

Much to my regret, Magnum was single again, Dark-humored Dan but a memory and I walked around wracking my brain thinking, "Who can I get to shtup my boss?"

Kickball

I joined an adult co-ed kickball team that played near the Washington Monument on the National Mall. The team was for University of Florida alumni, so it was a great way to meet people and immediately have something in common; it felt like a big family of extended cousins (except when necking was involved).

The game was not the mirror image of the version played as a kid; they pitched the ball violently – it bounced (and zigzagged!). So, seeing the difficulty my teammates were having kicking the ball, I made a request when I stepped up to the plate:

"Excuse me…"

No response from the pitcher, because I'm probably the only person/fool who invoked "excuse me" in drunken co-ed kickball.

"Excuse me, Pitcher…"

He then looked my way.

"Umm, can you pitch it gently….yeah, I like it gentle (shrug of my shoulders)."

He was amenable to my request for gentility and even offered to be gentle with me in other "games" that he alluded to. Yes, chubby pitcher with an under-bite, you're exactly who I want to wake up lying next to.

My stellar performance during that game was documented in the weekly kickball newsletter (Holy cow, thinks the girl who was always the last one picked for sports teams in elementary school).

Sibling Woes

For young professionals who share a city and genes, the sibling dynamic can change when you're both no longer going to the movies or out to eat on your parents' dollar. At least this became the case with my older sister, Julie.

Julie turned out to be a cheater. When both people's entrees cost a similar price, it makes sense to split the bill – this my sister agreed with – but when it came to dropping the green, she often said, "How about you put $20 and I'll put $10?"

Sometimes Julie would get creative with her attempts at chicanery like, "I got a parking ticket today…do you want me to be broke?" Who has the entry-level job here?

Another practice (in theory) was to take turns: I got one meal, she'd get the next. Guess who kept playing dumb when it was her turn?

Playing School, For Real

"Hi, I'm Jackie. Happy Thursday." And so began my stint as a volunteer English teacher to speakers of other languages. The world of TESOL – my new stomping grounds. Nothing felt better than being addressed as "teacher" [T-churr].

I taught grammar (that I first had to re-teach to myself the night before class) and life skills to immigrants one night per week. Unfortunately, because I am a subscriber to Jackie-speak, those well-meaning people walked around DC using words like woah, neat, super fun, yikes, and geez Louise.

Lasting lesson – For many of us, we learn what we do/don't like about our full-time job, but it's not enough passion fodder to know exactly what else we'd rather be doing. While helping others (balm for the soul), volunteering can also help you discover what you do/don't like beyond the material for consideration within your regular job. Volunteering can also be a way to moonlight before quitting your current job to pursue something you think you would like to do.

Cross your T's and dot your I's,
Jackie

A Millennial's Muse – Part 7: The Corporate Tornado of My Life

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,

"Burrrr," said the Jackie

You can take the girl out of Florida, but you can't take the "I get chills from ice cream" out of the girl. Immersed in the viscous territory of winter, I attracted attention at work as the girl who wore her coat all day. People would walk by my cubicle and do a double-take, offering a "Yeah, that's a nice coat and all, but why are you still wearing it?"? look.

I read their silent judgments – those warm blooded bullies – and countered their stares with, "Ok, I'm from Florida, and I'm having a hard time adjusting to the weather…alright?!"

I self-diagnosed myself with Seasonal Affective Disorder. Snow flurries can be agents for sadness. I also harbored cheetah envy since I could no longer run through the National Zoo in the mornings due to frigid temperatures.

Corporate America – On the Rocks

Not enough that I had to work on President's Day (in the nation's capital – talk about sacrilegious), but the heat hadn't been turned on during the weekend, which produced the coldest temperatures DC had seen that winter.

On Monday morning, the office was an icebox. People were wearing their coats and scarves as they went about their work, and the security guard in the main lobby manned her desk in one of those fashionable hats with ear muffs attached. My sentiments to the rest of the company – welcome to my world. Who's making fun of the Florida girl now?

People were complaining and I thought it a prime opportunity to realize one of my many goals: fighting in the name of a good cause/inciting a riot so we could go home. I've always wanted to be chained to something, chanting, "Heck no we won't go!" on the premise of some moral principle (I'm 100 percent serious).

I was about to start rallying the troops, but then I heard that there was a sponsored breakfast and all were invited. I'm a sucker for a bran muffin, I'll admit it.

A Loaded Gun

After an all-day client meeting, Magnum and I took the out-of-town visitors (thorns in my bum) for dinner. Magnum and a martini were a dangerous combination (and I thought I was a lightweight).

She became loquacious, loud and was calling me "Boo-Boo" by the end of the night. After dinner, we dropped the group off at the hotel, and Magnum suggested that she and I continue drinking. Hail to the chief I did.

Secrets were shared, many laughs had and by the end of the night we were crying to each other about not being able to find guys that could compare to our fathers. I tried to pick up the tab but Magnum said, "Honey, come on, we're expensing this sh@! to the client." So much to learn.

Pistol Smoke

Magnum finally did it; she shot someone. Dark-humored Dan was unexpectedly fired while I was picking up office supplies at Staples – story of my life.

When I got back to work – 3-ring binders and alphabetical dividers in tow – his computer monitor was blank except for a flashing cursor. I thought it was strange, but I was eager to assemble the new organizational object of my affection so I didn't give it much thought. Toward the end of the day, Magnum called me into her office and broke the news.

I took it pretty hard. Speechless sounds about right. I felt like the last remaining person held captive in a stand-off. How could he leave me alone with an armed boss? How could this happen when just the day before he asked me:

"Hey, want to go jump in front of a bus with me?"

"Public or charter?" I questioned.

"Which ever one is bigger," he said.

He was my "boy" and the levity of my day, so I worried that my job would become completely dull and void of laughter. Naïve me didn't realize that upon his departure, I'd be assuming all of Dark-humored Dan's tasks in addition to my own. I soon became real tight with a phenomenon known as overtime – coming in early, working through lunch and growing bitter quickly.

Looking back, I learned more about the association industry, the competencies of my position and my work ethic (huge) in that intensely tumultuous time. I literally had to comb through Dark-humored Dan's desk and return countless phone messages he ignored, rectify invoices he buried under file folders (un-alphabetized…) and try to make sense of rampant post-it notes.

Work Makes Me W(h)ine

You know you've had a bad day at work when you're walking home, pass a wine store with a sign outside boasting a free tasting at 5:30 p.m. and you wish with every fiber of your being that it is still viable at the current time of 6:30 p.m.

I walked inside toward the tasting table where the server says she can offer me a Sauvignon Blanc, a Pinot Noir or a cocktail slushy. "And which would you like to try?" she asks.

"All of them."

On the defensive,
Jackie

A Millennial's Muse – Part 6: Why, Thank You

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

A Millennial's Muse – Part 5: Getting a Grip

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 Millenials,

Two months into my first job and with a perfect attendance record, I guess I lived up to Allen's definition for success. The remaining 20 percent slice of the success pie (it's always food with me) depended on the most challenging part of my day. Around 5:02 p.m. (not one to linger), I'd wait for the elevator to take me out of cubicle headquarters. There were four elevators, two on each side of the 8th floor lobby. When the bell dinged to signal the arrival of the elevator, I would attempt to turn toward the just-dinged elevator. This was basically a hearing test that I failed four out of five days each week.

I continued to explore my co-worker relationships (good way to pass idle time) and set out to fill the unpaid hours of my life with activities that spoke to the student and hip-hop dancer in me.

Blessed Neighbor

Neighbor sneezed two to three times everyday, without fail, so I began saying "bless you" to break the ice (pacify my superstitious soul) and promote cross-cube dialogue. Each "bless you" made Neighbor laugh. Neighbor said that I was like the voice of God blessing her. Yeah, that's me.

As the sneezing persisted, Neighbor and I got more comfortable with each other. And by comfortable, I mean that Neighbor started tossing Jolly Rancher candies (favorite flavor watermelon) over our shared partition. She became my conscience in a way, where I just vocalized random thoughts that popped into my head.

"I could use some dark chocolate."
"I think I need a haircut."
"I'm especially cold today."

On occasion, she'd briefly respond or grunt. Some people actually had work to do.

Wake up, Little Bossy, Wake up

On the metro heading to work, I hooked my arm around a pole so as not to somersault into the lap of a business-suit clad man (it's happened before) and spotted Magnum sound asleep. I leaned toward her, as far as my grip on the pole would allow, and whispered, "Boss…wakey, wakey." She jumped, blinked repeatedly, and then looked up to see who had stirred her sleep. I couldn't tell if she was smiling or baring her teeth at me like a wolf prepared to attack.

The first sign of Magnum taking a liking to me was an occasion when she called me into her office. I was so nervous that before entering, I (Jewish) crossed myself the way I had seen people do it on TV by way of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Turns out she wanted to show me a purse she bought on her lunch hour. I thought it was tacky, so I told her she had a really unique sense of style. Magnum smiled to herself and seemed pleased. This began a pattern that would lead to the most critical lesson I'd learn at my first job – do not allow yourself to be befriended (beyond reason) by your boss.

Bros

Throughout the day, Dark-humored Dan and I "shot the shit" as he referred to our exchanges. We addressed each other with masculine nicknames like Champ, Chief, Buddy, Man, Dude, and my personal favorite nickname for the Darth Vader of the office, "oh captain, my captain" (remember Dead Poet's Society?). Dark-humored Dan said that if he was the captain of the ship, then I should have been prepared to drown.

Play Time

Looking back on the things that sustained me during 20 months at a job I largely loathed, it was the structured activities I did after 5:00 p.m. that connected me with interesting people and saved my brain from spoilage. For starters:

-I joined a book club that met once a month at a Mediterranean restaurant. Hummus and prose – fabulous.

-I took a knitting class (jumped on that trendy bandwagon) and eventually finished a scarf during a season that was too warm for neck coverage.

-I did a continuing education class at Georgetown University, learned what a Hoya was, and became the teacher's pet. Story of my life.

-For exercise and family bonding, I took a hip-hop dance class with my sister. The instructor – a choreographer on a reality TV show involving competitive dancing – asked for my number. He called only between 2:00 – 4:00 am. I never answered, but I suspect that he didn't want to take me out to dinner.

When I told Magnum about my extracurricular discoveries, she kept saying that these were things she "always wanted to do." Her unwavering interest unnerved me, so I thought about testing her with something obscure like, "I just found out about this weekly online chat group for people who are into girl-on-girl Tibetan porn…you in?" And if she was game, I'd grab my desk organizer and run.

Happy Wednesday,
Jackie