Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Settling In

I have a desk. The concepts "my professional life" and "desk" haven't intersected since about 2007; desks were things other people had, people who left biscotti wrappers on the tables I had to clean every day. I can hear Finance GuysTM talking into bluetooth headsets, but now instead of passive-aggressively eye-murdering them I want to let them be so they can work and I can too.

I have a chair. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

I have...autonomy.

That last one is unnerving. My first day, I didn't leave until virtually everyone else in the office had. I didn't go to lunch until well past 2. I assumed when it was time to do either, someone would tell me. I didn't want to step on toes, you see, or break unwritten rules.

I'm still resisting the compulsion to tell someone any time I go to the bathroom. Like Morgan Freeman in Shawshank, only less convicted murderer redeemed by time/Tim Robbins, more wearied barista redeemed by improv and copious amounts of alcohol. "Starbucks broke you," my roommate taunted. "You're a dog afraid to walk out of an empty cage."

Since I'm told the corporate environment values initiative, let's hope that's not the case. I brought cookies into work today. Does that count as initiative? I didn't even say anything, just grinned a little every time I heard a worker say "who made these?" And there's my backup plan: if it turns out Starbucks did break me, I'll bring in so many weekly treats that to fire me would be unthinkable. If I ever leave, who will make the cookies?

Now, I'm not the most devout Catholic, as I'm fairly sure being in a Christian Rock band earns you a bit of leeway with the big man upstairs. But Jess is correct: I fear no consecrated corpse-bits. Why be afraid of what's already dead, particularly when its sanctity renders it immune to any form of zombie plague or necromancy? Plus, uh, being handed a swatch of cloth and told it touched a dead guy's tongue before I got it prepared me for a reliquary life. Is reliquary an adjective? No? Well, it is now. My, are those St. Anthony's bones? How very reliquary of you. Reliquant, almost.
Welcome to me ordering sushi, or craft beer, or anything delicious. Art I can usually take or leave, but it's good there are people in the world who can go nuts shopping for things you cannot eat or drink.

I have certainly never seen this enthusiasm, this shopping Jess de vivre, in person. Never. Nor have I ever watched countless souvenirs be separated, catalogued, and wrapped for shipment to various recipients. Neeever ever ever.

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