Growing up, I never had “First Female President” on my life goal list. You know the ones that were prominent on all of the beginning of the year or student of the month/week/day posters. “What I want to be when I grow up:” or something like it. Being a girl in the post-feminism 80’s meant that we felt entitled and brazen to list things like Astronaut, Marine Biologist, and President on our posters. We were smug about our far reaching goals, rolling our eyes at the boys who listed things like Baseball, Football or Basketball player. We could be anything! Reading Rainbow told us so . . .
Except my anything was Teacher/Mom. Always. In the culture of girl power, sometimes I felt embarassed by my predictable aspirations. But I never waivered. Plus, even as a child, the power suits and powerful women just seemed like too much trying. When I heard ladies angry at the glass ceiling, I could only imagine the warmth of a glass topped greenhouse, or, on my daring days, the elevator Charlie broke through the glass ceiling of the Wonka chocolate factory with. Glass ceilings were nice.
All that is to say that I never had dreams of a corporate job, of a fancy office, of what my workplace would be like. Instead I imagined one room school houses and made folders filled with dreamhouses, porches, and paintchips (all in colors like slate blue and mauve, naturally).
But then today, as I was sitting in what seems to be my office of late, waiting on Gemma to finish her “business,” so I could do her “paperwork” for her, my heart yearned for something else. The feeling passed quickly (after all, I’m not so good at the ‘getting-up-early-and-moving thing required for a job-job) but I was left pondering my workplace.
It’s really not so bad. Sure, I kinda wish my desk wasn’t quite so near the toilet but this is just a temporary placement and I will be moving once I’m done training Gemma. It’s not a corner office but it does have lots of windows (though most of them need to be cleaned). Lunch breaks can be erratic and unpredictable, sort of like my co-workers. Co-workers or employees? It’s kind of hard to tell most of the time and complicated at best. It’s not that different from any workplace, I suppose. There’s the newbie who hasn’t quite figured the place out, the fiercely independent chick who insists on doing things her own way and then you always have to redo it for them, the singing co-worker who gets the most annoying songs in your head, the overly dramatic lady, the slacker, and the super dependable ladder climber. There’s a real dynamic here.
Maybe I spent so much time thinking about this simply because what I do has, as of late, felt so very much like work. It comes and goes and I know it has much to do with the season and being ready for good weather and the change that will bring. But sometimes I’d trade a piano scaling toddler or a non-working dryer for an annoying coworker or a finicky printer.
Only sometimes, though. The rest of the time I’m more than happy to have everyday be casual Friday dress and Bring Your Kids To Work Day. Plus there’s my fling with the boss . . .
He’s hot. Especially when he smooches the other girls.