03.28.2002 - A Jaw Grind Disposition

Historically, I've been filled with optimistic excitement during my first day on a new job. Today, however, as I started my new position, I found myself on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Welcome to corporate America.

It didn't help that my day started out so poorly. Because the one person who offered to give me a ride out to my new office did so via IM while I slept, I had to scramble to find a way to West Sacramento this morning. Left with not many options, I called a taxi company as soon as I woke, and requested a cab to pick me up at seven o'clock. Pressed for time, I hurriedly showered and threw on some appropriate first impression clothes before heading out to the parking lot to wait for my ride.

At ten past Seven, I decided to call the cab company to see if there was a problem. They assured me the driver would be there in five minutes. Ten minutes and another call later, they stalled once more. The driver ended up arriving about fifteen minutes before my start time. As the drive normally takes about a half hour during commute time and I usually like to be early on my first day, I was absolutely livid. It's times like these that I wish I knew martial arts, because I wanted little more than to go Kung Fu on his tardy ass.

Somehow, however, the driver managed to break an unfathomable number of traffic laws and got me to work on time. Still, the cost of the ride ate up about half the day's pay, so I wasn't exactly happy with the result.

My new place of business is a large campus of five buildings housing the corporate offices of California's largest bank. In order to get into an building or room on the campus, one must have a security badge/key card. My supervisor assured me a temporary card would be waiting for me at the security office when I arrived. Of course, this was not the case. Because I didn't have proper access, I had to stand outside the door and look helpless until someone let me in.

By this point, I was already sure I'd lose my job because I wasn't at my desk by eight o'clock. When I finally got in, I expected to be greeted by my trainer. Thankfully, nobody noticed my tardiness. The person whose position I'm filling was late as well, forcing me to wait for about a half an hour until I could begin the training process.

As my new trainer showed me around the office and introduced me to people, I got the impression that because she had been incredibly friendly, attentive and competent over the past two years I would be an unwelcome shock to their system. This supposition gained support when a woman to whom I hadn't yet been introduced came up behind me and in a snotty tone grumbled to me, "are you sure you want to keep working here?" These people really sent out the welcoming committee.

As my trainer is understandably more focused on the freedom of not working than getting me properly trained, her teaching style has been bare bones. Her process consisted of vaguely outlining what needs to be done, having me perform the task and then becoming visibly irritated when I made mistakes. There are an incredible number of responsibilities and things to learn to perform well in this position, and I currently understand how to do very few of them well.

Just before Noon, we went to another building for a surprise farewell party for my trainer. On the long conference table sat a cake, some snack foods for everyone, as well as an offering of Red Bull, Wint-O-Green Lifesavers and a carton of Marlboro Menthols as a going away gift. I sat in the corner of the room, alone and uncomfortable before one of the women in my department invited me to come over and sit with her friends. We got to talking about the company, and one of the women said, "there are people that have been here for fifteen or twenty years. If people are staying that long, the company must be doing something right." While this should have been comforting, it was more frightening than anything. I couldn't imagine working at any job for fifteen years, let alone for a company where I was a nameless paper pushing cog.

For the rest of the day, I felt like I had an elephant standing on my chest. When I got back to the other building, I was told to look over the supply cabinet to see if any supplies needed ordering. When I got in there, I clutched a doorjamb and tried to fight off a wave of anxiety. It's usually a sign that a job or an environment isn't good for you if you have a near panic attack experience four hours in.

Thankfully, I had the opportunity to take a lunch break shorly thereafter. In search of some sort of familiarity and comfort, I spent my hour sitting by the man-made lake leaving a message on Katie's voicemail and reading my David Rakoff book. This didn't help, as the alone time gave me too much room to think. The anxiety snowballed, and I realized that if I stay with this position for the next three months, I will not want to get out of bed at all by the time June rolls around. The problem is that finding another part time job will be ridiculously difficult. So, I can either stay in this job and risk having my heart jump out of my chest onto my desk where it will dance around before openly mocking me in front of my co-workers then collapsing in a bloody heap, hope to sniff out another similarly scheduled but lower stress part-time job, or I could find a full-time job and take Spring quarter off of school. None of these possibilities sound remotely appealing, but such is the life of Jeffy. I suppose I should be happy to be involved in a real life game of "would you rather" that doesn't involve scabby band-aids or Star Jones.

After my break, I went down to what will or won't be my other desk to learn the other facets of my position. This other area is known as "The Row," as it's home to the five highest ranking executives in the company. It's my duty to be the occasional personal assistant, or "bitch," to one of these executives. So, I'll be working in a high pressure environment where I'll have to be at the complete mercy of someone who cares very little about my existence and run the risk of being fired if I place her Wall Street Journal on her window table at an incorrect angle. That's three strikes. I'm out.

While being trained to be her assistant, I was thrown several strange tips. My trainer told me to sit on the edge of my seat and listen carefully to everything going on in her office, and if I hear her get out of her chair, I need to snap immediately to attention. Also, the importance of keeping information I hear while on "The Row" (not to be confused with Suge Knight's "Tha Row") to myself. She said that people might intentionally say things while I'm in earshot as a test to see if I would pass that information along. I couldn't tell whether I should feel more like I'm being jumped into a new gang or if I should feel like the roadie who needs to find a wine glass full of brown M&Ms, or Ozzy won't go on stage that night. Either way, I didn't feel comfortable.

I finished the day out clutching my chest and trying to find my happy place. Thankfully, I didn't need to drop the other half of my day's wages into the taxi company's pockets because my trainer offered to drive me home.

When I got home, I wanted to talk to someone, but because it's still Spring Break, I'm still home alone. The only two disadvantages of living alone are that things can get a little lonely and you don't get to split the cost of your utilities. Other than that, it's great. At that moment, however, I was feeling the drawbacks, and the only thing that distracted me was a pint of Ben and Jerry's.

As I sat in bed, I thought about calling The Moms to see her opinion on the situation. As I deliberated, the phone rang, and it was her. Surprisingly, she suggested that I take the quarter off of school, and right now, that's where I'm leaning. The problem is that I think she wants me to take the quarter off of school so I'll come stay with her. She's lonely, and I understand why she'd want this, but I have no friends in Livermore and I'd still have to pay rent in Davis. Although the conversation made me feel a little better, I still felt stressed when I hung up the phone.

Thankfully, Katie came over later in the evening to talk and kind of calm me down. I hate complaining about things to her, but I love that she'll listen. This doesn't, however, do much to chip away at my whiny bitch reputation.

So, on Friday, I have to evaluate my situation and decide what will eventually be best for me. That "make love, not war" thing worked out pretty well. I think I could make a killing in the t-shirt racket if I printed up some with the phrase "make cookies, not decisions."

I think I've found my new job already.

-- Jeffy