Welcome to the Jungle

Yes, it's really me. I'm back. What can I say except a full-time job, my very own box set of 'Thin Man' movies and Downton Abbey have kept me quite busy.

And well....sometimes I'm just lazy...there is that.

For any of you who actually have familiarity with my blog, you know that a lot of the impetus for my writing comes as a result of being a Gen X'er in this present world, this economy, the realities of life in post-prosperity America. On that front, I do have some good and some not so good news. The good news is that my contract has been renewed for another 6 months, and the bad news is that my company still isn't really hiring. I have a job of sorts, as long as I don't mind having no vacation, no medical coverage and that when the office closes for holidays, while a day off for them means a holiday with pay, a holiday for me means a forced day off with no compensation. The new reality is just being glad you have a job at all. And the truth is, sometimes the justice-seeking part of me burns with resentment when I am frequently reminded by others of that very fact when I dare to wish that I could actually have a real vacation, or dental work or the just the right to have a real email address, not just jane.doe@noncompanyIworkfor.us.companyIworkfor.com, which shows up on emails as JaneDoe/noncompanyIworkforbutamnotreallyoneofthem.com. I am oh-so-glibly chastened, 'just be glad you have a job at all'.

Corporate life or as I think of it, 'navigating the cubicle jungle' is still somewhat of a new experience to me. Until this assignment, I nearly always worked in a one-man office reporting directly to my 'boss' who frequently was the owner, supervisor, manager, CEO and Jedi-Master all in one. There are myriad things that surprise, perplex or just plain exasperate me.

Take meetings. In my former life meetings were terse 20-30 minute affairs where I sat at a tiny table with the boss and compared notes. Meetings at 'NoncompanyIworkforbutamnotreallyoneofthem' are lengthy 2-3 hour affairs held in chilly conference rooms with long wide tables and tall-backed chairs. It's very much like a meeting of the 'Justice League' but instead of Superman, WonderWoman, Batman, Robin, Aquaman, and the Green Hornet, you have Managerman, MiddleManagementSupervisorMan, UptightEngineerman, LaidBackEngineeringSupervisorGuy, BrilliantButComplexEngineerman, ResignedLookingCustomerServiceRep, HyperActiveMarketingMan, QualityControlManagerman and Secretarygirl (that would be yours truly). There are Powerpoint presentations instead of holographs of evil henchmen, but it's mostly the same principle, we are all supposedly fighting against evil, in our case the crime of improperly constructed electrical equipment. One of these 'conference rooms' it's shiny nameplate next to the door tells us, is 'The War Room', no really, I'm not kidding. Some of them have kitschy titles with management-lingo principles, 'Synergy', 'Apex'. When I breeze by them on my way to the break room or in pursuit of some type of errand, I tend to think of the parking lots at Disney World and the trams with unholy cheerful Disney staffers exhorting us to "Watch our step as we depart if we are parked in Goofy, or Sleepy or Doc".
"As you depart, please mind the door 'NoncompanyIworkforbutamnotreallyoneofthem' staffers as you exit 'Fusion' bound for 'Break Room', 'Factory Floor' or 'Cubicle Lane 30', okay, we're clear!"

It's a weird world, of people wedged into cubicle offices tensely staring at spreadsheets on screens, there's a whole cosmology of office workers I never dreamed existed until now. The aftermarket parts unit are such a tighly woven group, they all go to get coffee at one time, reminding me of 'lining up to go to P.E. class circa 1983'.  It's stunningly like school in that there are cliques even though these are adult workers, some middle aged. You have project engineers which I tend to classify as PPO's, or 'perpetually pissed off'. Phrases frequently uttered by these creatures are generally something along the lines of, and I quote, "I don't give a @#$% how it gets there as long as it gets there BY THE END OF THE WEEK!" They are always fond of using the phrase 'bottom line' and get some sort of sadistic pleasure in berating underlings by asking them over and over and over again, "NOW do you understand". This guy tends to walk with incredibly tight hunched over shoulders, a frown and a furrowed brow. This is not the guy you want to try and make small talk with while waiting your turn at the coffee machine.  This next group I want to preface by saying it is not in the least intended as racial,  'The Incredibly Pretty Hispanic Woman's Group', you can't hang with them if you don't own a pair of 8" stillettos, gold hoop earrings and speak fluent Spanglish. They tend to eat lots of salad, I haven't quite worked out why, but I think the principle is something along the lines of if you have to balance all of your body weight on a 8 inch spike, you don't want to be top-heavy.

Guy on the other side of my cubicle could have his own lonely hearts column, his cube is a haven for people who are having relational or childcare problems. Until now, I never knew what gossips' men are or that they nearly equal women in the drama-queen race. Many times while being forced to endure (that's the thing about cubes, the acoustics are incredible which is why there are no real secrets in offices unless someone's jaw is wired shut) 30 record-breaking minutes of whinging and whining about 'his girlfriend who doesn't understand _________fill in the blank'; I feel like vaulting over the cube wall, slapping his face (a'la Cher in 'Moonstruck') and shouting, "Man up, Nancy!"

I guess that's the thing about office life, it's the quirky stuff that helps us endure a life where cubicles are so plentiful, you nearly need street signs. I personally live on the 'Island of Lost Toys Boulevard' a block away from 'Tech Avenue' and two blocks up from "PPO Lane'. A place where you need a compass to navigate your way to the printer at which your prints invariably are jammed or are not waiting at all as the machine impatiently beeps at you as if to say, 'Hey man, I am sooo out of paper!'. Maybe it explains why two ladies a block over on Tech Avenue feel the need to rehash 'The Bachelor', 'Jersey Shore' and 'Dancing with the Stars' in such loud excruiating detail. Or why some days when guy in the cube directly across from mine types so softly, it seems as if he is just 'tickling' the keys that I become so annoyed I 'retaliate' by banging the keys on mine as as loudly as I can possibly manage.

At any rate, it's never boring. On one of my very first Justice League meetings, guy in the chair across from me, actually dropped off and began snoring, softly yes, but definitely snoring. I was speechless with worry and kept wishing I could nudge him or something. I was stupified at the fact that everyone in the meeting was engrossed in his or her Crackberry/I-Phone/Droid device or tapping away on a laptop.  Even more perplexing was the intricate game of musical chairs that seemed to be constantly running as 1 or 2 persons would just simply walk out of the meeting to 'take a call'. It reminded me very much of the Mad Teaparty in Alice in Wonderland. I kept waiting for someone to shout out, "Off with his/her head". Fast forward six months and if the Plant Manager himself walked in dressed as the White Queen, I probably wouldn't even look up from my laptop.

Yep, life in the cubicle jungle...what a strange, strange trip it has been.
Welcome to the Jungle Indeed.