I am pretty open about not being madly in love with my job. I do like the people I work with, and feel at least competent when it comes to my tasks - but it is not exactly what I thought I would be doing with my life at this point.
However.
I have found over the past two weeks there is something that happens to "working folk" that does not exist with the rest of the population. It is a sensation I was teased with during my years of classes and internships - but never fully appreciated even through my work as a Temp.
Affectionately and colloquially I believe it is referred to as "quittin' time."
After a long day of work, no matter how strenuous or simple, I start watching for the big hand to get back to the 12 for the 8th time. The routine of checking my email for the final time, shutting down my computer, organizing my to-do list for the next day, emptying my water bottle, packing my bag and heading out the door is a process glorious enough to outweigh any lack-of-interest in my work.
In short, going home makes it worth getting up.
10.28.2007
10.23.2007
The week in review
See how busy my job is?
I have been employed for one week and two days. I am in the groove. I am rollin' with the punches. I am slightly bored. I am in a routine. I am in a rut.
That is not a bad thing.
I work in an office. I have an ID card.
I guess that's the gist of it.
I have been employed for one week and two days. I am in the groove. I am rollin' with the punches. I am slightly bored. I am in a routine. I am in a rut.
That is not a bad thing.
I work in an office. I have an ID card.
I guess that's the gist of it.
10.12.2007
Just another day
Today begins the last weekend I am allowed to take for granted. Though I have, for the past two weeks, been temping at a clever little non-profit...the job is so menial I feel like I am expending more energy watching a fast-paced episode of Ally Mcbeal (which I have been doing a lot lately).
There has been a major plus to my temporary employment. Everyday I walk to my EL stop and hop on the Blue Line to go downtown. I typically get off at 11th street and walk the block to 1234 Market Street - the SEPTA building (South Eastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority) - then I stroll onto the express elevator (floors 12-20). I greet Falicia at the front desk and start working...
I like to get off at 11th Street so I can, on my way to work, pass some of the more amusing parts of the city.
1. The older (presumably) homeless man who has a karaoke machine hooked up to his electric wheelchair. He sits in front of the Market East Station and sings some classic tunes. So far I have heard everything from Christina Aguilera to Journey being belted by this not-so-bad man of the streets. I try to give him some cash when I have it...this sometimes proves a bit...disconcerting, however. You see, whereas most people put out a guitar case or Dunkin Donuts cup for spare change - the Karaoke Cavalier uses his prosthetic leg as a cash receptacle.
2. The road-side food carts. You know, hot dogs, hamburgers...I saw a shrimp-cocktail stand yesterday and walked across the street to avoid it. I opted instead for a beef kielbasa...mostly because it rhymes with che pasa. I am looking forward to the day when I go to order and they say: "Heeey man! Che pasa?" and I respond simply "Kielbasa."
3. As you get off the subway and turn the corner onto market, there is a stunning view of City Hall (the largest masoned building in the U.S.A.) That's enough about that.
4. Probably my favorite part of the trip to and from 1234 Market Street is my return home. I take the elevator back down to the lobby, then the escalator down to the below-the-lobby...walk out the door and through the turn-stile to 13th Street station. That's right, from office to subway, without ever going outside!
So, for now, I will completely blow off my weekend as if it was just another day.
There has been a major plus to my temporary employment. Everyday I walk to my EL stop and hop on the Blue Line to go downtown. I typically get off at 11th street and walk the block to 1234 Market Street - the SEPTA building (South Eastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority) - then I stroll onto the express elevator (floors 12-20). I greet Falicia at the front desk and start working...
I like to get off at 11th Street so I can, on my way to work, pass some of the more amusing parts of the city.
1. The older (presumably) homeless man who has a karaoke machine hooked up to his electric wheelchair. He sits in front of the Market East Station and sings some classic tunes. So far I have heard everything from Christina Aguilera to Journey being belted by this not-so-bad man of the streets. I try to give him some cash when I have it...this sometimes proves a bit...disconcerting, however. You see, whereas most people put out a guitar case or Dunkin Donuts cup for spare change - the Karaoke Cavalier uses his prosthetic leg as a cash receptacle.
2. The road-side food carts. You know, hot dogs, hamburgers...I saw a shrimp-cocktail stand yesterday and walked across the street to avoid it. I opted instead for a beef kielbasa...mostly because it rhymes with che pasa. I am looking forward to the day when I go to order and they say: "Heeey man! Che pasa?" and I respond simply "Kielbasa."
3. As you get off the subway and turn the corner onto market, there is a stunning view of City Hall (the largest masoned building in the U.S.A.) That's enough about that.
4. Probably my favorite part of the trip to and from 1234 Market Street is my return home. I take the elevator back down to the lobby, then the escalator down to the below-the-lobby...walk out the door and through the turn-stile to 13th Street station. That's right, from office to subway, without ever going outside!
So, for now, I will completely blow off my weekend as if it was just another day.
10.08.2007
I've got no strings
I have a job. Yeah, employment. A 9 to 5 (well, actually it is on flex-time, so it might be a 6:30 to 3).
A dream job, perhaps not. A paycheck, paid vacation, possible friends, work experience - definitely. I am pleased as punch (so pleased, I am willing to use the term "pleased as punch").
I will be an editorial assistant for a medical publishing group. 3 subway stops from my house, in Olde City (or Olde Towne as I like to call it). Just a short walk from all sorts of lunch stops, pre-work coffees, post-work bars.
I'm a real boy.
A dream job, perhaps not. A paycheck, paid vacation, possible friends, work experience - definitely. I am pleased as punch (so pleased, I am willing to use the term "pleased as punch").
I will be an editorial assistant for a medical publishing group. 3 subway stops from my house, in Olde City (or Olde Towne as I like to call it). Just a short walk from all sorts of lunch stops, pre-work coffees, post-work bars.
I'm a real boy.
9.28.2007
This one is juuuust right.
**This post may be considered off-color by some readers**
Urinals are amazing. It's crudely simple, but true. I can only hope the creator of the urinal had some sort of a patent on it (though my guess is it was God, with the tree). Based on the anatomical make up of males, the urinal is overwhelmingly ergonomic.
I can get passed the awkward situations created at times by "urinal etiquette," occasionally resigning myself to take a stall (but I am not above making others uncomfortable to avoid the stall). I am willing to put up with the unnecessarily obnoxious all-the-way-to-the-floor urinals (they tend to splatter). In truth, there is only one thing that really bothers me when it comes to the men's-room-line-killer.
Those freaky-deaky, super short urinals that can be easily used by NO ONE. (For those readerettes who do not know of these unpleasant contraptions, I would compare them to walking into a stall in hopes of a toilet - merely to find a Fisher-Price Laugh and Learn toilet).
These nuisances are, I can only assume, intended for young boys - well, they can just use a stall like they learned to do at their house (unless they have a urinal at their home, in which case I can't figure out why they would ever want to leave). There has been at time I attempted to use a mini-pee, but was so afraid I would actually relieve myself on-top of the contraption - I couldn't go.
All that to say, today my life changed.
Today I went into the restroom, post job interview (which is probably the subject I should be covering right now). I was astonished. Along the urinal wall (no dividers, just FYI) there were three sizes of urinal. Daddy Bear, Baby Bear...and Perfectly-normal-why-the-heck-do-you-need-another-size Bear. Considering my grand stature (6'5") I opted for the Daddy Bear.
It was too tall.
I was up on my toes, laughing out loud, when another gentleman entered the restroom. I saw him notice me and chuckle to himself. I could basically read his thoughts: "I don't know why they even have that thing in here, there is no need to mess with something as crudely simple as a urinal."
Amen, man. Amen.
Urinals are amazing. It's crudely simple, but true. I can only hope the creator of the urinal had some sort of a patent on it (though my guess is it was God, with the tree). Based on the anatomical make up of males, the urinal is overwhelmingly ergonomic.
I can get passed the awkward situations created at times by "urinal etiquette," occasionally resigning myself to take a stall (but I am not above making others uncomfortable to avoid the stall). I am willing to put up with the unnecessarily obnoxious all-the-way-to-the-floor urinals (they tend to splatter). In truth, there is only one thing that really bothers me when it comes to the men's-room-line-killer.
Those freaky-deaky, super short urinals that can be easily used by NO ONE. (For those readerettes who do not know of these unpleasant contraptions, I would compare them to walking into a stall in hopes of a toilet - merely to find a Fisher-Price Laugh and Learn toilet).
These nuisances are, I can only assume, intended for young boys - well, they can just use a stall like they learned to do at their house (unless they have a urinal at their home, in which case I can't figure out why they would ever want to leave). There has been at time I attempted to use a mini-pee, but was so afraid I would actually relieve myself on-top of the contraption - I couldn't go.
All that to say, today my life changed.
Today I went into the restroom, post job interview (which is probably the subject I should be covering right now). I was astonished. Along the urinal wall (no dividers, just FYI) there were three sizes of urinal. Daddy Bear, Baby Bear...and Perfectly-normal-why-the-heck-do-you-need-another-size Bear. Considering my grand stature (6'5") I opted for the Daddy Bear.
It was too tall.
I was up on my toes, laughing out loud, when another gentleman entered the restroom. I saw him notice me and chuckle to himself. I could basically read his thoughts: "I don't know why they even have that thing in here, there is no need to mess with something as crudely simple as a urinal."
Amen, man. Amen.
9.21.2007
A little language lesson
Q: What tyrannical trait do my father and favorite public relations professor have in common?
A: The ability to (often unknowingly) make one feel fleaish while correcting language limitations (read: flaws).
It is not an altogether undesirable trait, and it certainly keeps you on your linguistic toes while discussing communications strategies...and taking out the trash. I even like to believe a bit of the Syntax Gestapo gene has been passed on to me. I can quickly recognize error in speech, whether or not I can correct it.
Unlike my corrective counterparts - I am not very concerned with the poor grammar that grips our country like a unquenchable flame. I am more worried about the people who don't sound cool when they talk.
As I (hopefully) enter the world of mass communications, I am prepared to take on the challenge of speech alteration for the better of bored listeners around the globe (at least where English is spoken, I can't do much for the other guys). Part of this process is eradicating the "business bro" terminology. So, here is my statement:
As a future communications leader of the world (yep, the world) I hereby dedicate myself to the removal of the following language from my vocabulary and the vocabulary of those within my sphere of influence.
1. Drop me a line. (This means get in contact with me)
2. Give me a holler. (This is normally used for the phone)
3. (and this is the worst) Shoot me an email.
In addition to said terminology, I will refrain from any phrasing I deem unfavorable in the future.
Any others?
***these were submitted by a new friend via email***
1. You're good to go
2. ..take it to the next level
3. my bad
4. BFF
5. snail mail (which is a derogatory comment about our nation's postal service)
6. anything with "a-cino" at the end.
A: The ability to (often unknowingly) make one feel fleaish while correcting language limitations (read: flaws).
It is not an altogether undesirable trait, and it certainly keeps you on your linguistic toes while discussing communications strategies...and taking out the trash. I even like to believe a bit of the Syntax Gestapo gene has been passed on to me. I can quickly recognize error in speech, whether or not I can correct it.
Unlike my corrective counterparts - I am not very concerned with the poor grammar that grips our country like a unquenchable flame. I am more worried about the people who don't sound cool when they talk.
As I (hopefully) enter the world of mass communications, I am prepared to take on the challenge of speech alteration for the better of bored listeners around the globe (at least where English is spoken, I can't do much for the other guys). Part of this process is eradicating the "business bro" terminology. So, here is my statement:
As a future communications leader of the world (yep, the world) I hereby dedicate myself to the removal of the following language from my vocabulary and the vocabulary of those within my sphere of influence.
1. Drop me a line. (This means get in contact with me)
2. Give me a holler. (This is normally used for the phone)
3. (and this is the worst) Shoot me an email.
In addition to said terminology, I will refrain from any phrasing I deem unfavorable in the future.
Any others?
***these were submitted by a new friend via email***
1. You're good to go
2. ..take it to the next level
3. my bad
4. BFF
5. snail mail (which is a derogatory comment about our nation's postal service)
6. anything with "a-cino" at the end.
9.17.2007
Fasting, in the name of employment
Just one block from my loft is a quaint, yet classy pedestrian walkway jam-packed with restaurants, salons, boutiques and my new favorite video store (coincidentally, the video store guy and I are becoming quite the pals; I have named him Kevin).
To me, there are two real stand-outs in the Liberties Walk (you know you are in Philadelphia when...): The video store, a super-hip collection of "The"+1-word titles (The Crush, The Paper, The Lover, The Cannon) and films picked solely for their obscurity (I won't try and mention any of these, because I have never heard of any of them). The other is the candy shop(pe). Yes, an honest to goodness candy store with everything from ice cream and rock candy to truffles and chili-pepper chocolate.
One thing people should know about me, I love candy. I am a sucker (npi) for sweets. Cookies, brownies, cakes, ice cream, hard candy, chewy delights, simple sugars, pies, hydrogenated fats, over-processed glucose of many kinds...I love it. It is truly my weakness.
As a display of dedication to the job hunt, I am refraining from entering the store until I have found permanent employment. It may be the hardest thing I have ever done...and I did a 3-day solo trek in the mountains of Utah carrying nothing but a knife and an empty saucepan.
*I also have a bottle of 1999 Veremonte Cab Sav that I am not opening until I get a job - but after typing this I really just want candy...
To me, there are two real stand-outs in the Liberties Walk (you know you are in Philadelphia when...): The video store, a super-hip collection of "The"+1-word titles (The Crush, The Paper, The Lover, The Cannon) and films picked solely for their obscurity (I won't try and mention any of these, because I have never heard of any of them). The other is the candy shop(pe). Yes, an honest to goodness candy store with everything from ice cream and rock candy to truffles and chili-pepper chocolate.
One thing people should know about me, I love candy. I am a sucker (npi) for sweets. Cookies, brownies, cakes, ice cream, hard candy, chewy delights, simple sugars, pies, hydrogenated fats, over-processed glucose of many kinds...I love it. It is truly my weakness.
As a display of dedication to the job hunt, I am refraining from entering the store until I have found permanent employment. It may be the hardest thing I have ever done...and I did a 3-day solo trek in the mountains of Utah carrying nothing but a knife and an empty saucepan.
*I also have a bottle of 1999 Veremonte Cab Sav that I am not opening until I get a job - but after typing this I really just want candy...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
