I'd recently been unemployed for almost two months. I walked off a job after being insulted by my boss and, full of righteous indignation and with a finger pointed to the Heavens, screamed "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!" ... Actually, it was more like I calmly and quietly closed out of what I had been working on, turned off my computer and walked out, leaving The Man speechless. I took action against a job I hated. I thought things were finally going to change and I would find That Job I'd always wanted - even though I've never quite been sure what That Job was. But it didn't matter, I was going to find it. Six weeks later, nothing. I couldn't even get an interview for a receptionist position. I called a temp agency and they quickly got me a gig and it's like I'm experiencing the New York City job workforce for the first time. I'm working in the Park Ave/50's area and it's a whole different ballgame. It's all suits and ties, very serious and - I didn't know this was possible - even more self-absorbed over here. It's also my first time working in a larger corporate setting, sitting in my little cubicle and typing away - forgive me for repeating something you've already known for 22 years. I often come late to the party. I got an iPod a few months ago and drove my friends nuts with my raving: "OhmyGAA! iPods! Do you know?! You can shuffle! You can put your entire CD collection on it! It's like the greatest radio station EVER!" To which they'd roll their eyes and reply, "Yes. Yes, we know. We've known for years. Jackass."
My subway ride into work gets jammed. I look around and, like I said, it's mostly corporate attire racing to pile on, and the thing I notice: their faces - they're not sad or mad or resigned, they're just ... blank. Which I think is even more unnerving because I wonder, am I now one of them? Drones. Hundreds of people file off at their stop, emotion-free, and walk this slow, organized march up the stairs to the exit so they can while away the next eight to twelve hours of the day, the next, what, 30 years of their lives doing ... I mean, is this even what they wanted to be doing?
And probably by "they" I mean "I."
It seems as though I've arrived at The Crossroads in my career, my life. I have two feet firmly planted in either road, I'm caught and can't seem to move. I came to New York a long time ago to do something and, for a variety of reasons, I am a long way off course and have ended up in this cubicle, lost amidst a maze of other impersonal cubicles. I look around at the people who work in this office, it's a trade publication. Some of these people probably wanted to be Bob Woodward and have ended up writing about lumber. I guess my question is: if we all came to New York for one reason or another, end up doing something else and don't seem too happy about it (and really, who in New York seems happy?), why exactly are we still here? What does this place now offer us instead of our original ambitions? I mean, for me, one great advantage used to be I knew the bookstores and DVD places where I could get my hands on a book or a movie two weeks early. Those places don't beat street dates anymore, so I'm at kind of a loss as to what I'm doing here these days.
My subway ride into work gets jammed. I look around and, like I said, it's mostly corporate attire racing to pile on, and the thing I notice: their faces - they're not sad or mad or resigned, they're just ... blank. Which I think is even more unnerving because I wonder, am I now one of them? Drones. Hundreds of people file off at their stop, emotion-free, and walk this slow, organized march up the stairs to the exit so they can while away the next eight to twelve hours of the day, the next, what, 30 years of their lives doing ... I mean, is this even what they wanted to be doing?
And probably by "they" I mean "I."
It seems as though I've arrived at The Crossroads in my career, my life. I have two feet firmly planted in either road, I'm caught and can't seem to move. I came to New York a long time ago to do something and, for a variety of reasons, I am a long way off course and have ended up in this cubicle, lost amidst a maze of other impersonal cubicles. I look around at the people who work in this office, it's a trade publication. Some of these people probably wanted to be Bob Woodward and have ended up writing about lumber. I guess my question is: if we all came to New York for one reason or another, end up doing something else and don't seem too happy about it (and really, who in New York seems happy?), why exactly are we still here? What does this place now offer us instead of our original ambitions? I mean, for me, one great advantage used to be I knew the bookstores and DVD places where I could get my hands on a book or a movie two weeks early. Those places don't beat street dates anymore, so I'm at kind of a loss as to what I'm doing here these days.
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