career

One of the problems that I’ve been struggling with since I started my freelance business has been holding my cell phone to my ear with my shoulder while I talk to clients and type notes on my laptop at the same time. To free up my hands, my parents got me a blue tooth for my phone on my birthday - you know, those things that short men with leather suit jackets always have stuck in their ears at the grocery store?

Well, I know it’s a little uncool to wear when you aren’t using it, but this thing has changed my life. Although its number one use is to allow me to take detailed notes during meetings with clients, I’ve also discovered an even better application for the blue tooth: it allows me to do whatever I want during the two-hour multi-office conference calls that I often have to sit through. During these calls I often don’t have to say more than “hello” and “nice talking with you.” The majority of these calls are about web design and roughly 5% is about written content - it’s kind of like listening to a baseball game on the radio but only having to pay attention to one inning.

For the last two months, I’ve sat through these meetings as if I were physically present at a meeting - kind of paying attention, very bored. But now my blue tooth - which not only frees my hands but also blocks out background noise — has unshackled me from my conference call prison.

Before the blue tooth I would do regular meeting things: drink a lot of tea, try to pay attention and fail, stare at the clock, think about other things I could be doing that are also not pleasant but that I would still rather be doing, like folding the laundry. Now, though, today - I actually did get to fold my laundry. And since I get paid to sit in on these meetings, it’s like I’m getting paid to fold my laundry! I also got paid to write some thank you notes, iChat, brush the cat, and pay my phone bill - all for the same hourly rate. At the end of the meeting, I even started writing the web content that the meeting was about, both saving myself some time and saving my clients some money. What a beautiful world.

It also makes me wonder what the other three people on the line are doing, since we all work from home. Is the coordinator flossing her teeth? Is the tech guy putting the final touches on that free verse poem he’s been working on? I never thought I’d say this before I started working from home, but it might be true: there’s such a thing as a productive meeting.

I’m home alone until Saturday night - Ben is in Las Vegas all week covering a fight. I thought it would be especially hard this time around since I would usually be at work every day interacting with friends and getting out of the house. I thought that this week I would basically be in solitary confinement for me, while at the same time, I would be getting picture messages from Ben of his overflowing buffet plates and of him posing with Hooters girls.

Instead, though, I seemed to have found a sure-fire cure for loneliness: extreme stress.

In my deep fear of not having enough freelance work to keep me busy and pay the bills, I got myself into a mountain of work. And if you don’t think it’s confusing to spend an hour writing about dry cleaning methods and the next writing about 18-wheeler spinal cord injury settlements and the next hour writing about auriculotherapy (look it up - I know I had to), then you would be wrong.

I thought I might spend the week wistfully sighing and conjuring images of our post-wedding winter cabin, complete with crackling logs and wine and snow falling silently outside. And no deadlines. Instead, though, I’m spending every single second worrying about how the hell one writes a joint venture business plan.

It’s a weird feeling - I constantly feel like I’m back in high school and about to take a test I haven’t studied for. The feeling of all of your brain cells lining up and preparing to bullshit to the fullest extent of their ability. Have I ever written about the herbal treatment protocol for smoking cessation? Of course I have! I’m a living, breathing copywriter, aren’t I? I can’t even watch TV or call my friends - I’m just constantly thinking on how I can possibly pull these things off and save my ass.

Don’t get me wrong, though. I’m enjoying the crap out of my new job. Sure, I might be a bit stressed and more than a little over my head, but on the other hand I’m doing stuff I love, I’m actually getting to make my own decisions and think and voice my opinions, and I wore a wifebeater without a bra all day.

I’ll tell you one thing, though: if stress is cure for loneliness, could a takeout chicken parmesan sandwich and a beer be a cure for stress?

There’s only one way to find out.

It’s my last day in an office, as an office-monkey. Hopefully, it will be my last day in any office, ever.

I feel extremely manic - like whenever anyone says anything to me, I want to scream, “Screw you!” and then give them the utterly immature double-birdie. This is totally regardless of who they are or what they say to me. It’s kind of a nice feeling, although I hope I can make it through the day without actually doing it.

In a final and desperate fuck you from Pavlov’s administrative assistant, I have been asked to pack every single history book, premium, and sales tool in the office and ship them to Boston (where my position is moving after I leave), all on my last day. This is a lot of stuff and the task is almost laughably impossible. However, in my heightened, almost-superhero state of bliss, I am tackling the project with speed, superhuman strength, and a big, sloppy smile on my face.

It’s kind of like when some petite woman’s toddler gets pinned under a car (how do toddlers always seem to manage this??) and she somehow summons her five-foot-two, 100-pound body to lift the car off the ground and save her child. You know what that’s called? It’s call love making even the most impossible things possible. Of course, in my case, I’m accomplishing the impossible due to my deep, black, seething, paranoid, hate. But it still feels good.

And when I get off this afternoon, I’m going to eat a big hamburger with Ben and then meet all my friends for drinks at a tacky bar. And tomorrow, for the first time, I’m the only one who gets to tell me what to do.

(These are some adorable and hilarious candy hearts  my friend Hilary made for me to help me get through my last week - what Ben is calling my “victory lap.”)

Coming in at #6 in our Top Ten Countdown of things I won’t miss about my office job is… not having any control.

And mostly, I’m talking about my paycheck. There it is, every two weeks: the same amount of money, down to the cent. While people with families or other responsibilities might find this comforting, I find it really unmotivating and stifling.

Because the thing is, I could do a really, really crappy job this week - come in late, leave early, long lunches, shoddy spreadsheets, etc. Or I could do a really, really awesome job - stay after hours, skip lunch, be meticulous, not make personal phone calls, etc. And either way (or somewhere in the middle, where I usually end up), I get paid the exact same amount. Down. To. The. Cent.

There’s simply no reward for doing a good job. You could get a promotion (unlikely for my position) or you could get a raise (we saw how that went) or you could get some praise from your boss (praise pays exactly 0% of your rent). A smart person in my position would do the least amount necessary to keep their job. But that’s no way to live.

By freelancing, I get to make my own decisions about how much I make. If I want to work a grueling 12-hour day and make $500, I would be free to do that. Or, if I wanted to take a day off, I could, keeping in mind that I wouldn’t make a dollar. Even though I’m giving up the luxury of knowing exactly how much I’ll make in a day or a month, I’m also getting the luxury of being in control of how much I make.

The bottom line is that my actions will be reflected in the results. And that’s pretty important to my mental health and general outlook on life.

Number Eight in the list of Top Ten Things I Won’t Be Crying Over When I Leave Work For Good Next Week: my cubicle.

Here’s my beef with cubicles: they don’t DO anything. They are a representation of something that does not function in any way that the thing that it represents functions. It’s like being on a movie set - let’s say of NASA mission control - and trying to coordinate a launch of a real, actual spaceship from said movie set. Sure, it looks like it could work, but it certainly wouldn’t. Astronauts would die.

In the case of the cubicle, a cubicle wall looks a lot like a regular wall, but accomplishes very few things that real, actual walls accomplish.  In other words, cubicles are not only almost completely useless, but they also remind you of how great walls that work are.

So - what are the great things that walls do every day for us? First off, they keep out sound to a large extent. Secondly, they prevent people on the other side of the wall from seeing what you’re up to. Thirdly, they often go all the way up to the ceiling. Why are walls good things to have in offices? Because they create quiet, pleasant work environments with minimal distractions and maximum privacy. Not only are you able to work without being bothered, but can also work without worrying that you are bothering someone else.

Where do cubicles fit into this wall-based workspace strategy? Nowhere, as far as I can tell. They block no sounds from the cubicles around you - you can hear phone calls, eating noises, even when someone is scratching their skin with their nails (worst sound ever). They also don’t block anyone from seeing what you’re doing - anyone who walks by gets a gander at whatever you’re doing (in this case, updating my personal blog during office hours). If anything, they make you think you have privacy when in fact you do not - a three-sided cubicle does not make it okay to pick your nose three-fourths of the time.

Sure, cubicle walls accomplish one or two things that real walls do. You can tack up kitty pictures onto both, for example. But kitty pictures mean surprisingly little when you are listening to your evil cube mate planning her tacky wedding while chewing gum and scratching the skin on her arm.

In the end, my beige cubicle walls do little more than mock me and my lack of real walls, all day long. At least in open workspaces, you don’t feel like everyone is pretending like they’re not working a lame box - a box that doesn’t even come near to the ceiling.

My new home office is, on the other hand, going to be totally sweet. Not only does it have real walls (and even doors!) but it also has a couch and TV and stereo. And I can write off the square footage of my new office on my taxes.

Before we get down to business, I’d like to share a reader art submission from Jess, a very talented graphic designer from Boston. I don’t think Ripley has ever looked so good. And you thought nothing could be cute and creepy at the same time!Moving on:

Coming in at the #9 spot in the Things I Won’t Miss About My Participation in the Rat Race is having two bosses.

Why is having two bosses so terrible? Think about it this way: in many ways it’s like being a child involved in a joint custody situation - there are major communication problems, each parent wants you to love them a little more than the other parent, and whenever you do anything with one parent, you feel guilty about how the other parent might feel. Then again, it’s not like being a child involved in a joint custody situation in that while I have two bosses, I do not get to have two bikes.

Here’s how things used to work, back when I had one boss:

1. My boss would call me and ask me to complete a project for her.
2. I would complete said project.

Now, here’s how things work with two bosses:

1. My first boss calls me and asks me to complete a project for her.
2. I complete said project.
3. My second boss calls me and asks me to complete the very same project.
4. I inform her that the project is complete and sitting in her Inbox.
5. She looks it over, feels a little bit sad that she wasn’t aware that the project was even assigned, and then makes herself feel better by calling my first boss and letting her know that she would have liked to see the project done slightly differently.
6. My first boss calls me and asks me to redo the project, keeping in mind the slight changes that makes my second boss feel like she’s part of the team.
7. I re-complete said project, except that this time I am filled with bitterness and hate.
8. My second boss emails me: THANK YOU!!!! :) :) YOUR THE BEST!!!!
9. I try to ignore her grammar and to not think about my wasted life.

Here’s the thing: isn’t the point of managers that there is one person leading a project and making decisions? Does anyone in the company realize that doubling the number of managers and halving the number of assistants is STUPID? I guess it doesn’t matter to me anymore since…

Here’s what it’s like to work for a kitty boss:

1. My boss demands to play with the fishing pole feather toy.
2. I finish a writing assignment and then go fishing for kitties with the fishing pole feather toy.
3. Neither of us are wearing pants.

In the #10 spot for my countdown of Things I Won’t Miss About My Office Job, we have the dreaded New York Transit subway commute.

Each day I rise, get dressed, don my coat and head off to another thrilling 40-minute ride on the subway - the form of public transportation where you never wonder whether or not the platform will reek of urine, but only whether it will reek of fresh urine or stale urine. Where you never wonder whether or not you’ll get a seat, but only whether you will be jammed up against a subway car pole, an automatic door, or a complete stranger.

People tell me I should read a book, but I’m not sure they understand, as I’m usually too busy concentrating pretty hard on if those are lice in the little girls’ hair next to me or if they’re fleas. I mean, I thought lice were too small to see, but on the other hand I didn’t think fleas could crawl like that.

But there are ways to pass the time. Here are a few fun games that I’ll miss in a couple of weeks, when my commute will shrink to the much shorter, roomier, nicer smelling 50-foot walk between my bed and my couch.

Name That Smell! Is it animal, vegetable, mineral, or vagrant? Bonus points if you can figure out who specifically is producing the smell (hint: it’s usually either the guy who only has on one shoe or the guy who is wearing two shoes, but on his hands).

Count the seconds it takes after the doors open at the Lexington stop for someone to start yelling or shoving. You get bonus points if you can guess who starts yelling and shoving. You get super bonus points if you can make it past this stop during rush hour without feeling hatred for human kind.

Stare at the guy reading the new Victoria’s Secret catalog who is making a face as if he were actually reading the Financial Times. Stare at him so hard that he feels it, looks up and tries not to look embarrassed. Try not to suggest that that thong would not compliment his body type.

Count how many people are reading The Secret at any given time. Wonder to yourself how come not one of these people has become wildly successful enough by now not to take the subway.

Try small talking with the person sitting next to you. See how many sentences you get through before they either get up and move or swear at you.

See how quickly you can run away from the drunk guy peeing all over the place and staggering around the subway car. You don’t want to lose this game.