You wouldn’t know it by the looks of this here blog, but I actually enjoy blogging. I also enjoy sleeping. I have not been doing a lot of either lately and that should clue you in on just how busy we’ve been.
But before I launch into the world’s longest recap post – which I hope to do …errr sometime soon, right after the 5.1 billion other things on my to-do list – I thought I would share some practical career advice for all of you capitalists out there.
First, allow me to provide you some context. I am part of a department and like all good corporate structures, all of us little people report to slightly bigger people, who in turn report to a few even bigger people, who all report to one man (man in this case – it certainly could be a woman.). He is the Head of the Department and just two leaps down from the CEO. And while I highly doubt he knows of, or would ever even care to read my blog, I am still paranoid enough to change his name. In fact, I’m fairly certain I’ll be fired first thing Monday morning just for writing the above four sentences. But that’s ok. I think the damage has already been done, so what’s one more insignificant blog post? Thusly, I will creatively refer to head honcho man as “Mr. Smith.”
Now, Mr. Smith is simply known around the office as …well, “Mr. Smith.” I’m generally a first name basis kind of gal, but I quickly picked up that my penchant for friendly equality doesn’t apply in this case and thus, I address Mr. Smith as “Mr. Smith.” For the longest time, I doubt Mr. Smith even knew I existed, but I have recently (as in about a year ago) moved prison cells cubicles and now sit closer to his assistant, which means Mr. Smith gets to see my face a bit more frequently than my shy self would prefer.
My new location also means that Mr. Smith and I share the same communal printing hole. Which leads me to Example #1 of how to further your career prospects: One fine day at work, as I diligently toiled, I remembered that I had a hair appointment at a new salon and thereforeth, required directions. Since Somanna and I choose to live in the stone age and not own a GPS – highly annoying devices in my opinion, unless you live in real metro areas – I simply hopped on google maps, pulled up my directions. and printed them out. I then went back to my work and after completing a few things, decided to hop up, go grab my directions off the printer and since I was up, refill my water bottle all in one efficient loop before returning to my desk.
So I head off down the aisle to the printer and as I rounded the corner, who I should I almost crash into? Yup, it’s Mr. Smith. Because nothing screams “professional” more than a full body tackle greeting with a complimentary water bottle baptism.
We exchanged pleasantries, as he gathered his, you know, WORK RELATED DOCUMENTS. Then Mr. Smith very graciously said “I believe these must be yours??” referring to my jumbo “you must be dumb as brick if you still can’t figure out the belt line here” Google map. I muttered something about still learning my way around, to which he naturally inquired how long I had been in Raleigh.
But between you and me three years is really not long enough to know every single street in town! And I was headed to a new hair salon so I didn’t want to be late, mmkay. GEEZ.
Strike Two came about a week after the map incident and of course, it occurred on the day my supervisor was out. Because that it is how irony really works Alanis. Mr. Smith needed some numbers as it was the end of the quarter. I had potentially foreseen this scenario happening, but my supervisor had reassured me that Mr. Smith would not need or want those numbers until the day she returned.
So just picture the fake grin plastered across my face as I smoothly reassured Mr. Smith that I would get those numbers to him right away, when he stopped by my cube. (Office Tip: Always promptly turn off your iPod dock when management enters your square-shaped dungeon workspace. In retrospect, I doubt Mr. Smith shares the same affection for this fabulous workout song as I do.) Frantic panicking naturally followed his request, along with a mad scramble to read, learn, and properly execute new procedures.
Dramatics aside, his request was really quite straightforward, but we were missing some data and blah, blah blah I was caught between the super fun dilemma of “do I hurry and give him wrong information” or “do I wait and give him what I think is (mostly) correct information?” Well, I didn’t have much time to ponder that debate, because he quickly returned to my cube and wanted the numbers.
As in, Now.
And as he said to me, rather firmly, “It’s not a report I’m after. I just need the numbers.”
So I gave them to him. And then began packing my few belongings, sent a few good bye emails and waited for security to show up. They never did …well that day… so I must have gotten the numbers …right?
The working world is so fun, isn’t it? A great way to boost one’s confidence.
But like all good things, the creme de la creme came this past week. On Wednesday circa 5:30 ish. I had left work and had headed out to hop on the belt line – which I successfully navigated mind you – and decided that good ole NPR failed to deliver the pre-workout motivation I sorely needed for Wednesday’s running session. So I promptly found some slutty pop music, cranked it up and proceeded to rock out some of my best dance moves.
Yes, I am almost thirty.
But not yet. So I danced it out.
In my car, err beat up station wagon.
I hope you see where this is headed right?
We all pull up to a stop light……………
(But I’m still grooving and moving!) ………………………….
and by we, I mean myself and the other drivers of course……………………………………..
AND MR. SMITH!
Mr. Smith IN HIS GENERIC AMERICAN MADE SEDAN.
Right beside me and my shaggin wagon.
Strike Three. Batter’s Out.
And that my friends, is how it’s done. Career advancement, Peaches Style.
(Faceplant into steering wheel.)