This afternoon I was going through my reader, and I came across this post by Life of Brian, detailing his extremely neurotic morning routine.
All I can say is “Wow.” Also: who has the damn time to do all of that?
My clock radio is set to begin playing at 5:00 am. I’ve had a symphonic Queen CD in there for the last several months — I usually finally crank my eyes open around “Save Me”, and will often switch to WTOP to find out if there are any early morning problems with the Red Line.
At 5:30, my alarm goes off. I hit snooze. At 5:40, it goes off again and I hit snooze, again. At 5:50, it goes off for a third time, and this time, I crank one open and see that my alarm clock says 5:50, and thus, I’m now running twenty minutes later.
At this point, I do not drag myself out of bed: I leap. The cats, big dark shadows on the couch, bolt for cover under the bed. They will later want to harass me to remind me to feed them before I leave. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t.
In the bathroom, I turn on the shower so it can warm up. Mouthwash, brush. I don’t shave: I’ve got a big bushy beard, what would there be to shave? Well, yes: my head. But I shave my head before I go to bed, usually. I try never to skip shaving my head more than one night.
So I brush, and then I jump into the shower. I get soaked, I soap up, I rinse off. I exit the bathtub, deodorize myself, and drip into the closet, where I dress: I work in an Office, and an informal one, but I try to dress nicely — sure, I wear jeans and cargo pants, but I’m not above pairing that with a button-up shirt and a tie. Sometimes, a sweater vest. Don’t worry: the tie is usually crooked.
By this time, I’m about all set. Wallet, iPod, and keys go into my pockets, my SmarTrip card, on a lanyard, goes around my neck. Glasses on my face. I put on my scarf, hat, coat, throw my messenger bag on, and grab my lunch out of the fridge (I brown bag, and I make it the night before). At this time, I’m out the door, with a short walk, a not-so-long Metro ride, and a not-so-long bus ride awaiting me.
You might think doing all this takes quite a bit of time. Honestly, though? If I’m not out my door by 6am, I’m taking way too long. (I mean … I’m not a woman.)
I predict one day, Brian will slaughter all of his enemies, slowly and painfully. I suspect this post will put me on that list. So, when you find my skinned corpse rotting in a dumpster somewhere, make sure to go ask him some questions.
Yesterday, it snowed. In accordance with the Office’s snow day policy — “If you want the day off, use PTO” — the majority of people did not arrive for work. From those who came in, including myself, there was some grumbling about having to work, especially since our lack of internet for most of the day made it almost impossible to actually get anything done.
Two of my coworkers commute down from far-far away. They were in a minor car accident yesterday, and thankfully, neither was injured, although the car was not so lucky, and might need some fairly expensive repairs.
The car’s owner is fairly pissed off, and I suppose she has a right to be — goodness knows, I’ve been plenty of pissed at this company in the not so distant past. But when she told me, “I know I can’t expect anything from this place!” I just sort of had a realization.
Okay, so we don’t get snow days — we all get a base of three weeks’ worth of PTO (Paid Time Off). We’re allowed to go negative on our PTO to the tune of two and a half days.
The Office is flexible about unpaid leave, and working hours: their only restriction is that you be in the Office from 10 am to 3 pm Monday through Friday. How you fit the other fifteen hours per week in is per your discretion — many of my coworkers stay long hours Monday through Thursday and only come in from 10-3 on Friday.
We have health insurance — good health insurance — and dental insurance. There’s a 401K plan that might actually be coming into fruition, although talk about it has died since the economy nose dived. We have catered lunches once a month, and a budget for “fun” out of the office activities which allowed us to go play pool one day after work last week, not only with the Office picking up the tab, but letting us use the time towards our forty. (That was the day I met Mister The Plumber.)
Our building’s parking requires payment: the company picks up the tab for the monthly parking permit. Those of us who don’t drive can have that amount reimbursed towards our commuting expenses.
Our only rule governing personal internet time is that any streaming site (YouTube, Pandora) is off-limits. Other than that, we’re permitted to spend as much time on Facebook, Gmail, or CNN as we wish, with the caveat that our work must be done by the time we leave for the day.
I don’t mean to mock my coworkers’ bitching: many have voiced such complaints. But I worked for the better part of a decade at menial hourly wage jobs, where being paid to take the day off was not an option. If it snowed and I couldn’t make it in, or I chose not to endanger myself trying, I did not get paid for the day. I had no health insurance through work, and when I did, it was a crappy, horrible plan that ate too much of my paycheck and fooled my coworkers into thinking a vision plan (free eyeglasses!) was a good benefit: no.
Sometimes I think people should be forced to work blue-collar jobs for a set period of time before moving into the white-collar field. I never particularly liked many of my jobs, only got along with a few of my bosses, but I learned enough in that time to appreciate where I am now (even if I sometimes forget that lesson).
Admittedly, the culture here has changed in the year I’ve been working at the Office (that’s not entirely true: my first day was March 24th, so I’m three weeks shy). We used to get multiple lunches a month, and chartered buses to baseball games. Our budget for fun used to be greater, and no one cared if you worked twelve hours a day Monday through Wednesday and came in from 7 to 11 on Thursday, because, by God!, you had your forty. At the end of the week, individuals used to be recognized for assorted achievements with gift cards: I still have one in my wallet: $50 Cheesecake Factory. (Any takers? Single ladies only need apply).
I attribute the changes to the nations’ financial woes: the big changes to the corporate culture came when the economy tanked, when a hiring freeze went into effect.
And it sucks. Of course it does. But when it comes to “not expecting anything from this place?” I’m still happy to be able to expect a paycheck every two weeks, which was far more than I could from a lot of the other places I’ve worked.
