A half day today means less time for sitting and more time for living.
corporate
A Picture Share!
Denim Sneer
At 10:30 on Tuesday night, as I edited our final Customization Requests document, I came to a realization.
“I had to wash a load of dress pants tonight… I’ll have to wear my denim ones tomorrow.”
Early warning, I’ve learned, is best defense anyone in my department is equipped with.
“Peter,” my director said as she merrily continued her perfect touch-typing, “I don’t think I would care if you came in a monkey suit.”
You see, technically there is no rule against wearing denim on business dress days, so long as it’s part of your business dress attire. The dress policy clearly states “Business shirts with a full collar, ties, and dress slacks,” without distinguishing any fabric considerations regarding any of the clothing items. And, while I might automatically assume that vinyl probably does not qualify, I have no reason to make the same assumption about denim. My pants are definitely slacks – cut like slacks, creased like slacks. They just happen to be made out of high quality denim. Yet, the groupthink immediately causes my fellow associates to sneer and say, “I see you wore your jeans today,” just because they are on the lookout for anyone that might not fit in. My director does not subscribe to said think.
Yesterday I reaped a bounty of sneers, despite the fact that my pants were creased and well-pressed while the sneerers were often wrinkled, or khaki. Every time I walked into my director’s office she would sneer and say, “I see you wore your jeans today.”
And then we’d burst out laughing for an entire minute. I like working with people who have avoided/evaded the groupthink.
Peeking Through
Dreary from my new desk, but closer to air, free and flowing just outside the window.
There has been, apparently, a fit of jealousy about my desk. Everyone wants a window so that they too can be closer to the outside. It’s more than that for me, though; sometimes I like it because it reminds me that I don’t mind being in here so much at all.
The days alternate between long and longer, though I find that I don’t mind. Yes, increased hours actually decrease my wage, and yes, the corporate world is taking advantage of me in my impressionable youth, but I like it. I love arguing over point sizes at eleven thirty at night, and I love electronically reviewing materials for a meeting at seven forty-five while still in my towel.
I’m sure the novelty of it will wear off eventually. My Director speaks about time in broad strokes, painting a month here, a couple of years there. Every day the same, in it’s way, but each with a unique challenge.
On Monday, our new interns started. One of them has been ostensibly paired with me, I think to feel out my ability to delegate. I think I do a decent job, but the dichotomy between my spindly guffawing twentysomething self and my seemingly emotionless communications automaton mode might be a little too unnerving.
I wouldn’t want to do this forever, but it is a terrific fire to forge a more steely me.
Stalling
Sometimes I get so enamored with seeing a particular post come up while I load the page that I abstain from writing anything else just to keep it there (rather than writing another post I’m enamored with, perish the thought). I have a great post composed for you at home. It’s great. It has links in it, and stuff. I just couldn’t bring myself to post it.
Ahh, but isn’t it amazing what boredom can drive me to do.
Why is it so much easier to fall asleep when you’re trying to do something else, like take notes in a meeting or play guitar? Is it just because your attention is already engaged, making it easier for you to drift into slumber, rather than lying with your mind busy working overtime?
I often I fall asleep sitting on our bed, playing electric guitar … sometimes literally while playing – plugged in and everything. The sleep comes so suddenly that I have no recollection of what transpires between playing guitar and waking up (which, I have to say, was a little disconcerting).
On a related topic: carrying a gig bag is a better conversation starter than commenting on the weather or grumbling about the elevators, especially when you are carrying it inside a corporate fortress such as this one. I’ve already lost track of how many people have asked me if I would be “rocking out” on my lunch hour. I’m surprised they don’t just yell “Freebird” at me from across the lobby.
I at once relish and shun these moments, where it is made so clear that I am young and vital and still alive. On one hand, I love the affirmation that no, I will not give into the doldrum routine of adultness. On the other, I fear the doldrum groupthink, where the young one with the shaggy hair and the guitar case must be transgressing because he is not dour enough.
The groupthink intimidates me. Even though I don’t buy into it I still find myself noting when men’s pants aren’t ironed, or when anyone wears an inappropriately casual shirt on a weekday. Why should I care? Rationally, I don’t, but irrationally I just want to make sure everyone is being held to the same standards that I am. I can foresee how looking at someone’s shoes in the hallway transforms into, “Her lunchbreak already came and went – why is she wearing sneakers?”
Now that I have a lighter, smaller acoustic guitar, I’ve been thinking about bringing it with me to play on my lunch breaks. I could learn a new song every day, easily blowing through my standing 50+ to-do list of Beatles tunes. I don’t necessarily want to wander the streets while trying to learn a new song, but I remember the puzzled stares I drew last summer the few times I played in the courtyard. Will the groupthink suffocate my artistic urges?
I think the answer so far is YES, but not in the way that I meant it there. Oh, to be a well-fed starving artist.
Ah, but who am I kidding, I’d still play City of Heroes all day. Hi, do we remember my Senior Project.