As a vivacious and painfully naive college senior, I was certain that a large, fabulous company in downtown Chicago would hire me to lead their creative department in a vast creative project for only creative people because of my talents and creativity. This idea was the only reality I had to thrive on until I actually did get hired...as an intern...at an insurance company. Given that the company was located downtown and I was in the most creative department an insurance company can justify, I suppose you could argue that half of my idealized situation became real. For some reason, this was when I finally learned a life lesson that I should have learned when I was rejected from the Ivy League world I had always imagined myself in; things just don't work out the way you plan them. The lesson here, of course, is to accept this truth about your life and be more open-minded. I'm still working on the latter part of that.
My first day of the internship was full of core-shaking realities. I suddenly found myself in a cube with no one around who wanted to have fun. The adults were twice, sometimes three times my age, but in stark contrast to the adults in my previous life, they were not full of lessons, encouragement, or experience. For the first time in my young life, I was bored. I mean really, truly, devastatingly bored. Not even the spots of color from the company's logo on the cube walls inspired me. I was shut away from the world by limited days off, monotonous data entry, and a serious lack of real human interaction. I became impatient to change my horrendous situation and prove myself invaluable, and that is exactly what I did. Through the fine art of rule-breaking, slight underhandedness, demonstrating talent, building an ego, and a change of cube location, I became a full-time employee reporting straight to the senior vice president of my department. For those who are not yet (or never were) familiar with corporate hierarchy, all of senior management reports to the CEO. Yup, I became a valued member of that little society in less than two years, and I didn't even sleep with anyone on the way up. The details surrounding my two years at this company are too many and too tedious. Describing them now will take me far away from the point of this post, so I will leave them for another day.
As I began to grow into a professional, I outgrew the job I had worked so hard to tailor to fit my strengths. I wanted more than my boss could give me, and he knew that, I think. It wasn't because he didn't want to reward me, it was because his hands were tied by a narrow-minded CEO and his forty-two year old (I know that's your real age) bum-kisser, who followed his coattails around all day and happened to be in my department. It didn't take a therapist to identify the severe daddy issues that were involved in that despicable relationship. It became too much for me to bear, so I quit the grind and moved home to Dallas, Texas. Just like that.
With the help of my dad, as much as I hate to admit it, I got a job in the marketing department of a medical supplies distribution company. Medical supplies is a product I can get behind a little more easily than extended service contracts, so I was happy to take the job. The only problem is the location of our office, which is a one-story, completely carpeted, red brick building...in Arlington, Texas. If that doesn't mean anything to you, think Office Space, except a smaller, more depressing structure. I can see a Jiffy Lube and a Taco Bueno outside my window, and every once in awhile, a pick-up truck goes by. If this isn't culture shock, I don't know what is. I went from a downtown high-rise office building located just a few blocks from Daley Plaza to a thirty-minute commute on I-30 to the most barren land west of Dallas that calls itself a city. Going from corporate to country in just one month is not only an extreme, out-of-control ride; it's something you cannot prepare yourself for through idealizations, imaginary situations, or predictions. I drive to work every day now and have to worry about things like gas and traffic. I actually have to be awake enough to navigate at eighty miles per hour at 8:00 in the morning. I pull up in my conspicuous black convertible with my eff-off, oversized shades and Lady Gaga shoulder pads. I look as if I've accidentally ended up in Arlington, which is, to a certain degree, very true. I did not plan to ever venture to, much less spend my days in, Arlington, Texas, but somehow, here I am.
At least now I can listen to a full Lady Gaga song without public transportation's noises, dangers, and health hazards. At least I can wear skinny jeans and not be called into HR for my inappropriate and offensive dress. At least I've begun the most important journey I've ever set out on; the search for myself. This is me keeping an open mind.
