I have officially relegated ya’ll to second cousin I don’t keep in touch with status and I’ve had enough. (I’m beginning to think my digestive system is punishing me for not posting in the form of it no longer working.)
I got a job, everyone. I started on Monday and deciding what to wear each day has felt like one of those choose your own adventure dates where I ultimately will end up wearing a short skirt in a trampoline factory with my laundry day panties on.
The problem is I hadn’t stepped in the office yet to observe the casual dress cues, the dos and don’ts, the don’t-ever-wear-as-much-cheetah-print-as-Susan-from-Finance-has-on warning. I was interviewed through the interwebs, with two people that work in the New York headquarters, not even the Austin office. The women’s top half, from what I could tell, was dressed with a simple peach/beige button up shirt, presumably from Banana Republic or Ann Taylor. I would have to start becoming okay with shopping at the Loft. I could do this. I was a shopper at heart, anyways.
It was also just a few weeks ago when I realized it was no longer appropriate for me, as a 24 year old, to shop at Forever 21. This was a tough call to make — I had just bought a super cute Mexican inspired high-low skirt and was wearing it doing errands when I was stopped by an eleven-year-old girl who asked me where I got such a cute skirt. Instead of acknowledging the compliment, I stopped, as if I was tapped by a five year old playing freeze tag, and hoped she’d move on to mortify the next 24 year old dressed like a preteen, who might not take it as such a vitriolic personal attack.
But before the whole I-got-a-job-and-the-world-is-right-again attitude, I had a few breakdowns. Hence the not posting for two weeks. The last two weeks can be characterized by images of Matti playing me the song “True Colors” and “Hakuna Matata” while I watch Extreme Makeover Weight Loss Edition, and by me buying eight of the same Banana Republic cardigans in different colors and trying on twelve different variations of the same outfit for my first day of work like I was trying out for the lead part in Working Girl 2. There would also be a picture of me shamefully discovering and subsequently, devouring the reality show Below Deck with Matti in the background cupping his face in his hands defeatedly because he’d rather read Murakami while listening to Joni Mitchell than watch most television programming (hands off, ladies).
So it seems I had been out of the game too long. And by game I mean getting dressed and leaving the house. Monday would be interesting. And it was. Mainly in the sense that I didn’t ruin everything I touched. Oh, and being an Office Coordinator AKA Pam Beasley (more glamorous) is nothing like being an After school Director — it seems that children need more directing and coordinating than adults. Also, childcare employees need to get paid more like a billion yesterdays ago. Basically, I spent most the of the first day amazed at the socially accepted practice of writing an email message solely using the subject line. Come to the front office for your package, you animals!
I think I’m gonna really jazz the place up and hopefully get some of those “health benefits” I’ve heard so much about over the years. I feel a little rusty, but the Leslie Knope inside of me cannot be silenced–but If I don’t witness some serious office hijinks soon I’m gonna be so pissed.