Corporate math

Tuesday I contacted HR with some concerns.
Today I was fired.

Two days for action.

Pretty impressive huh?

Appearances

As I have stated in a previous post, my life was not so simple growing up. I wasn't ever really expected to be anything great. People mostly wrote me off as being "damaged" or "having issues." I think it was decided that I was the family fuck up. Filling that position was no easy task, seeing as how my lovely little clan is full of alcoholics, pill poppers, manic depressives and narcissists.

Somewhere along the way I got tired of living as a walking stereo type and cleaned myself up. I enrolled in college and actually did well. I paid my own way, bartending evenings and weekends to cover school bills and other expenses. I worked as a club dancer (not a stripper,) a Bacardi girl, and a restaurant hostess. All these jobs paid cash and counted for nothing on my resume. Upon graduation I worked for a small family company until the bank came knocking.

The day I told my family about my corporate job was one of the proudest days of my life. It was my little fuck you to all of those who had written me off and put me down. No longer was I the comparison to be used by my cousins to make them look better. I was doing things right and I did them on my own.

This past weekend was my grandparents anniversary. I was due to take Friday off. On Tuesday I was told due to a client meeting that I could not, so I requested Monday off instead. This was approved and I changed my travel arrangements so I could still spend time with my family.

4:30PM Friday I was told I couldn't take Monday off.

I did the family thing and listened intently as my grandparents acknowledged how far I had come. They were proud of me as was the rest of my family. I wanted to cry, but could not for fear that the fuck-up title would make a comeback. I bit my cheek to break my emotional concentration and smiled externally when everyone asked how my new job was. I excused myself a day early explaining there was much important work at the office and I had to return to it.

I had non-refundable tickets so I waited in the airport from 4AM looking for a standby flight that would get me to work on time. The company will not refund my money for changing flights.

When I got to work on Monday I was asked to order lunches and clean the pantry.
I guess it's important, I mean someone has to do it...

Fuck you Forbes.com

I was browsing the internet and came across this lovely article;
http://www.forbes.com/careers/2006/08/21/careers-marriage-dating_cx_mn_0821women.html

I work in the Forbes.com building and I'll be riding the elevator all day looking for someone to punch...
All kidding aside write any letters of concern and address them to

Forbes.com
90 Fifth Avenue
New York City, NY 10011

This is not 1955 and we must remind certain people of that fact.

Complacency

I found myself straightening up the conference room yesterday without a thought in my mind. Now I'm usually thinking to myself how unfair my situation is, or pehaps plotting my escape while I do their Cinderella tasks. I keep my mind occupied with thoughts of better places so I don't give up so to not be thinking a thing startled me a bit. Its rare for me to be so empty headed and I peered into the glass top to the walnut credenza to take a look at my face. Here I was; 25 years old, a college graduate with "big corporate" experience, and I was cleaning like a maid. It bothered me a lot during my first few weeks. I would come to work and reluctantly check the pantry; counting the coffee k-cups, making sure the stirrers, sugar, sweeteners, ect...were all stocked up, checking the paper trays in the printers and copiers, checking the fax machine and distributing the morning mail. Then I would check the refrigerator to make sure our supply of milk hadn't run out (it inevitably would have) and then I would trudge downstairs to the store to restock. I hated each step, each moment of this routine, hoping that if I slept in a bit someone else would take care of it for me.

Now I find myself going through the motions; doing things without being consciously aware that I'm doing them. Does this mean I've accepted my fate, I don't mean to sound like a whiner (I know, I know that's all I ever seem to do) but this isn't right. When I was at the bank I felt as if I didn't leave I would be stuck there forever. I was feeling old and tired even though I had no reason to be. I moved on, I guess you could say I jumped off a cliff without bothering to check if crash pad was fully inflated. It wasn't and at first I bitched and moaned about the pain but now it seems as if my body has adapted.

I just want to know when things will stop being so tedious, when will I be able to complete the work day without double and triple checking the clock each hour. I feel aimless and useless but worst of all I think I'm becoming complacent and I don't think I'm ready to jump again yet.

Things have been worse

When I was 18 I spent 2 weeks living in a homeless shelter.

When I was 16 I spent a month in a mental institution.

I know things can be worse then they are now, what's so upsetting to me is that things still are not that great. When I went through these dark periods and things fell apart completely I always held on to the idea that one day I would be past all of it and be a "successful" person. Not necessarily a person who was successful, but an individual who knew how to live their life as a human being and interact with other such "successful" people.

I envisioned myself at 25 with a good job and a nice apartment, making enough money to support my masters degree and still vacation in Europe for a week during the summer. I looked to those people around me who seemed to have everything so perfect. My peers complained about simple things like curfew, dating and part time jobs while I struggled to get my mind to shut up for five fucking minutes so I could concentrate on just one thing. As my life spiraled further out of control and I lost touch with reality, claiming once I could jump from the 9th floor terrace of my parents apartment and not get hurt, I still held on to the idea that if I worked hard enough then one day I too would have simple things to complain about.

I have my simple things now, my job sucks, my income is pitiful and my apartment periodically leaks from the ceiling. I won't even get into the fact that I've been forced out of the city I call home due to "gentrification" and neighborhood improvements. Still it doesn't seem as easy as I hoped it would be. I can't even explain how hard it was to shed my old self. I struggled with the idea that "normalcy" would come in pill form and that everyday for the rest of my life this pill would restore what nature could not.

My insurance ended in late June and I found myself for a month without "normalcy." What I needed to function became a luxury not a necessity and I found myself negotiating other expenses like food in exchange for functionality. And for one whole month I struggled without my pills, opting to instead smoke weed every night to fall asleep and exercising until my mind was quiet. Today I refilled my first prescription under my new insurance plan. And I stared long and hard at that little pink capsule of sanity. Perhaps the dream was all a lie and satisfaction doesn't exist for people like me.

Sub-Par

Never so much as now in the desperate heat of the city has my pay cut affected my life.

Acting like the fool hearted optimist I am I surrendered a portion of my cushy corporate paycheck to come clean conference rooms in the exciting world of advertising. Saying good-bye to not only my over inflated salary but overtime and year end bonus as well. Watching my electric bills increase as I watch my paycheck decrease has not been easy on me. Adding to this that I now work with "stylish" ladies and "cosmo" girls who dress like everyday is a new chance to strut down the sizzling, urine soaked streets as they dash to the hottest new bar for $14 dollar fluorescent martinis.

I have never been one to pay more then 50 dollars for a pair of good shoes, (and for 50 bucks they better feel like mattresses and make my calves look thin and toned!) The concept of haute couture is for underfed models and over exposed actresses, not an underpaid, overworked account coordinator (which in ad speak mean secretary.) And yet I come to the office every day with my street fair purse to gawk at the LV logos slung across shoulders (as ubiquitous as graffiti in a subway tunnel in this fine city) and Manolo spikes hobbling feet. Its enough to make one question their proper place in the world. At the bank I was surrounded by men in dockers and Asian women with china-town knockoffs that could rival any original piece. Here in the land of appearances you can best be sure that no knockoff will go un-scorned.

I remember reading somewhere to dress for the position you want, not the position you have. Well thanks to my measly wages and my inability to forgo luxuries like electricity and food I will have to make do with the options in my price range. However I think I'm sending the message that I'm perfectly happy serving as a professional whipping girl and that scares me a bit.