Hey you - yeah all of you that were jealous of my unemployed condition (you know, the sleeping late every day for 10 weeks, and having no job stress, and living off unemployment and severance pay, and being free to travel without using up vacation days). You can start laughing at me . . . ready? one . . . two . . . three . . . NOW.
I'm employed again and in case I didn't mention it, it's a long drive to my new workplace. Fifty-eight miles each way. That's a lotta gas-o-line. And the employer is of the very traditional type, where they actually review the dress code with you to make sure you understand it before they'll offer you a job. The group I'm in also starts VERY early in the morning. Most of my co-workers arrive at their desks between 7:00 and 7:30 A-YEM. Although I have the flexibility to choose a start time anywhere between 7:00 and 9:00, the peer pressure is there to get me pulling into the parking lot with the majority of them at the earlier end of that range. Pulling into the parking lot an hour and 15 minutes after I got into the car. Which is about an hour after I woke up. Which equals one cranky camper when that alarm goes off at 5:20. Did I mention A-YEM? I did. I can hear at least one person sniggling right now: "Hah. I get up at 5:00. And I drive 75 miles each way. And I have to be there at 6:00 A-YEM." Well, goody for you. Gives me something to laugh about.
But since I care about you, here's more to laugh about. You have to see me wrangling with stockings again. Getting them on at that hour of the morning is no easy feat. I have hardwood floors in not-so-smooth condition, which means the second my feet are encased in nylon straightjackets, I have to shove them into high-heeled vice-grip shoes. And my poor flip-flop-lovin' feet have to stay in those podiatric prisons for the next twelve hours or so. And there's still the wrestling with the stockings each time I use the ladies room. Arrghhh.
And - joy of joys - my workspace is once again a cubicle. It's got to be eight years since I lived in a cube. In the interim, I've had the relative luxury of a "shared office" - two people sharing a space approximately the size of my refrigerator, but we did have a door, for heaven's sake. And quiet. Who invented these cubicle torture chambers? No privacy to hitch up the sagging hose now and again. Having to listen to at least eight different conversations besides the ones in my head. Anyone walking by free to just peek in and see that performance review you're working on.
But really? I love the sound of the job so far. I'm looking forward to being productive again. Dress code and working hours and distance all aside, it has many benefits. The people I've met on the floor have parroted all the wonderful things the recruiters in HR told me about the company. I feel lucky to have landed on my feet in a much better place than I fell off them.
And I get to work with a good friend again. S**** and I used to work together at Company A about 8 years ago (yes, in cubicles). We went to programming school together there, learned Cobol together (which was, in a Paris Hilton accent, HAWT in the pre-Y2K years). I eventually fell victim to my first downsizing and ended up at Company B. About a year later, S**** was looking to move on from Company A and I managed to put his name in front of someone and he got hired at Company B also. A few years after that, I moved to Company C, and within a year, so did S****. In fact, we shared the same "shared office" for several years. It was great while it lasted. He got downsized a year ago and went to Company D, which happens to be my new employer. We now work one cubicle-aisle apart. Under ordinary circumstances, it would be natural to wonder at where S**** and I will work next. But many of my new co-workers have told me this place is so good, it'll probably be my last job.
So I'm filling up my gas tank two or three times a week, sitting in a cube bleary-eyed at 7:30 A-YEM, strangled by stockings and heels in full view of everyone, but it's OK. It's good. I could be scrambling for survival in New Orleans.
Yeah, I'm lucky. And I appreciate it.
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