Archive: Working Girl

I really like being efficient. I like knowing that I am getting the maximum amount of work done and minimizing time spent and effort exerted. It’s part of the challenge behind running errands, doing housework, and doing actual work work. Cooking a casserole while the dryer spins and then folding laundry while the dishwasher runs is sweet harmony. Doubling back during a trip to the grocery store is aggravation.

I have come to find, however, that when I encounter someone who does not share this viewpoint, it is like we are speaking two different languages. I can’t understand why that person doesn’t want to do something faster or better, and it’s a mystery as to why I am always in a rush. For example, let’s examine conversations with my supervisor today about an organization-wide list:

Me: I just sent you the finished list to send out for corrections.

She: Great. I’ll send it out with a note to send in revisions by Tuesday.

Me: Will they go to you?

She: I think that’s the easiest, since we won’t get more than a handful.

Me: Sounds good.

(An hour elapses. I receive the mass mailing with the list attached. I send my supervisor an addition to the list that someone has sent independently. She re-sends the e-mail back to me immediately, along with several other revisions, asking me to input them.)

Me: Am I making the changes to the list? I thought we had agreed that you were receiving them.

She: Yes, people will send them to me, but you can just input the ones from today.

Me: Are we going to have trouble with different versions?

She: No, I’ll just keep any additions I get in a separate file. You’re just going to add the new ones because I haven’t physically set up a folder yet.

Me: Oh. … Do you want me to send you the list after I make those changes today?

She: No, just hang on to it for now.

I go back to my desk. I enter the changes and re-save the file with Monday’s date. I am so confused. Why doesn’t she keep a master list and track the changes? Or why don’t I manage the whole thing? What does it mean that she hasn’t physically set up a folder? She hasn’t taken a folder out of the supply closet? Or she hasn’t right-clicked and chosen “New Folder”? How will we know who has done what? If I receive revisions from people, should I input them or send them to her to file?

I think there’s something going on here about the way things have always been, how I don’t have a full understanding of that history, and a mystifying dependence on hard copies, but I am unclear about why we would add steps and points of contact into a process. It’s not that things need to be done my way, but I don’t understand the advantage of this way, not that my supervisor needs to justify herself. I just don’t get it.

I’m kind of relieved that today is Friday, and when I get home, I can chop vegetables and make dip as efficiently as I darn well please.

TGIF! In the last afternoon of my first week at the new job, I have the following observations and conclusions:

• My office is freezing. I’m almost always cold wherever there is air conditioning, so I’ve learned to have a sweater and/or a scarf with me at all times, but this office is a whole different story. When I’m not typing or using the mouse, I’m sitting on my hands to warm them up. Not surprisingly, I am totally unmotivated to drink the bottle of water I bring everyday.
• As though to counteract the arctic mornings, my window lets in blistering afternoon sun on clear days. As grateful as I am for the natural light, my black hair is baking my head.
• On a related note, I feel obligated to have a plant because of the sunlight. Inconveniently, I am the angel of death for plants, so I think I may need to get a cactus-type form of vegetation. Or maybe bamboo?
• So far, I’ve managed to lock myself out of my office (temporarily — the lock is finicky), render the supply cabinet impregnable, and momentarily lose my car in the parking garage. Let’s hope no one noticed.
• After working at an office of only a dozen people, I am not familiar with the etiquette of the Common Microwave. I used to just take stuff out and holler that a Lean Cuisine was finished, but I have a feeling that that type of thing won’t fly around here. My apprehension reminds me of the universal question of whether or not to take someone’s laundry out of the dryer in college. Yesterday, I trotted out to warm up my leftovers and found a container of Indian food sitting in the microwave. I went back to my office to wait for two minutes. When I returned, it was still sitting there. I waited for three more minutes. On the third trip back, the Indian food was placed on top of the microwave and a new container of macaroni and cheese was simmering inside. After a moment of hesitation, I took a quick scan of my surroundings, switched out the macaroni for my pasta, and made it back to my desk chair without incident. Presently, the owner of the Indian food asked the general populace who had removed his food and I admitted to taking out the food belonging to the person who took his food out. I mean, I waited at least five minutes, which I think is a healthy statute of limitations relative to microwave time durations. With no frame of reference, I have no idea if I’m being reasonable or ridiculous.
• I work in a low-traffic, quiet end of the third floor of the hospital and there is generally no reason for me to walk around, so I’ve made a point of parking on the top level of the garage and taking all of the stairs in the garage and the building. Everyday. Both directions.
• Having high ceilings is cruel when you can only reach halfway up the walls, on a good day, with heels. It’s not as though I have shelves up there, but if I did, I wouldn’t be able to reach them. It’s the principle of the thing.
• I need some tunes, which will require me to bring in some old computer speakers and a stack of CDs to rip next week. I’m thinking a mix of classical/movie soundtrack/jazz/mellow will do just fine.
• The walls are crying out for some decoration, but the best, low-cost treatment I have come up with so far involves slapping up prints from my 2003 Ansel Adams calendar. I am not crazy about the idea due to my reticence to revert back to poster-putty decorating.
• I really miss my old office’s community label maker. I think I might put one on this year’s Christmas list.
• My supervisor told me frightening tales of the legendary critters around this part of the “old hospital” and I am not excited at all about the prospect of a mouse roaming around. Yesterday, I saw a huge cockroach zipping through the air, making a sound like an electric razor. It landed on the wall with an audible fwap and left me thoroughly skeezed.
• All of the content I am editing is flying straight over my head and not just because I am short. I have created research posters about the diagnostic use of an epidural blood patch and normalizing oxygen-based energy measures of gait. At the moment, I am editing a paper about genome mutation and I do not understand a word of it, but I can still edit it competently. Thank goodness that comprehension is not a prerequisite.
• If I answer my phone by lifting up, like I’m accustomed, I will bang the phone very loudly on my metal cabinet, which I totally did today when a nurse called for information. It was great. And not at all embarrassing. Must lift out, not up.
• I am enjoying the Power of the Red Pen a little too much.
• I get a thrill out of answering the phone with, “Editorial Services, this is RA,” because it means that I am an editor for real!

New purple sweater. Standard blank pants. Sensible black loafers. Newly-minted ID badge.

Clip-clop down the tile floors past murals of lobsters and starfish as the sound of Nickelodeon echoes down the hallway.

Take a scary elevator up to the third floor. Knock on my new supervisor’s door. “Good morning,” I say.

She pushes open the door to my new office. Beige. Filled with stacks of folders. Can’t open the door all the way. Need to pull out a giant cardboard box so that I can get to the computer.

Start on a department newsletter with a temporary log-in. Don’t know whether I should eat the lunch I packed when it seems like people generally buy food from the cafeteria. Learn that my supervisor is leaving at 1pm. Decide to eat lunch on my own after she heads out. Make a point of getting the details about the employee parking garage before she leaves.

Complete three out of five on-line training modules that need to be finished by the end of the day. Give my eyes a break from glazing over to rearrange and organize the office. Rue the decision to wear shoes with heels. Sneeze furiously from the dust I pick up. Resolve to bring in disinfecting wipes the next day. Look around at the empty walls and cracking plaster. Know that the office isn’t glamorous, but it’s mine and it has a door. Make a list of things to bring in tomorrow to make it more homey. Sit down, satisfied at the fruits of my labor.

Finish the on-line training. Install printers. Decide to head home.

Feet ache. Hit traffic on the way home. Get stuck behind two giant pieces of farm equipment.

Am glad that I went through with cooking three casseroles the day before. No need to cook. Or clean.

(Except for that apple cake for church tomorrow night.)

Funny TV tonight. Cute puppy.

Good day.

As I drove in to work today, observing the shafts of summer’s last sunlight cutting through the trees, I reminded myself that I would not make the same drive on Monday. Or the next day. Or the day after that. Today is my last day at this company and it feels very strange.

My cube-neighbor put together a good luck party on Tuesday, for which the calendar invitation read:

Goodbyes are the pits so instead we’ll have a GOOD LUCK party for RA. She doesn’t like surprises so she’s been informed about the event, but a separate email will come with details.

My co-workers assembled all of my favorite things to eat, which, when viewed in one place, compose the most random selection of foods. I had my choice of chili, caprese salad, Funfetti cupcakes with strawberry frosting, dill pickles, Swedish fish, Red Vines, and gummy bears. I have rather eclectic taste, I suppose, although the collective effect is a bit nauseating. I received a scrapbook of workplace pictures (my bridal shower, my birthdays, Halloween costumes), thoughtful notes, and puns! If that weren’t enough, we played a cutthroat game of Apples to Apples because it’s public knowledge that I am a board game enthusiast. I enjoyed all of the work they put into it, but the whole time, I couldn’t help but think, Man, they really have me down. It was almost spooky.

To get me through a packed week, I made aggressive to-do lists and took great pleasure in slashing through each item with a permanent marker. Each black line brought me that much closer to being finished and I relished the feeling. When I cleaned out my cube, I was startled to realize how much stuff I depended on to make my desk my own. Old birthday cards, fortune-cookie sayings, a lei from my bridal shower, and rubber ducks were all packed up into a copy box, along with a drug store’s worth of contact solution, hand lotion, lip balm, and nail files. I also seem to have a problem with hoarding pens and sticky notes; whoever comes to this workspace after me will be sufficiently equipped.

I’ve sent out my final goodbye to the company, told a select few colleagues about this little corner of the web (hi!), and checked off every e-mail in my Follow-up folder. I’ll shut down my laptop, leave it in my empty cube. Then I’ll glance over the gray desk and walls to make sure I didn’t leave anything behind. I will miss my co-workers dearly, but I’m not planning on coming back any time soon.

Onward and upward, friends.