Whistle while you work...

In honor of Labor Day, I am going to hang on to the theme of the last post, my job. It seems I am not the only one who is taking a look at her workaday world this month. One friend has determined that her dream life of research in academia is perhaps a bit more selfish than she wants to be, and that shifting the focus to teaching is a good alternative path. Another friend is thinking of leaving her hectic, low-paying service-to-others job to get a higher paying, less hectic, service-to-paying-clients job. And I know I am not the only person who has asked him or her self this month, what job do I really want to be doing?

When I had my big job epiphany last week, it wasn’t that I had arrived at the elusive answer to that question. When people ask how my job is, I equivocate. It’s OK. You know, it’s not the most interesting thing in the world. And so forth. Last week it occurred to me that my job really has so many good things going for it, and I need to start viewing it that way. The commute is short, and I am only about 12 minutes away from the bunny’s daycare. The boss is dreamy about flexible hours and working from home when necessary (I abuse the flexible hours a bit but have been very conservative on the working from home option). The building is across the street from a swanky shopping center where I have fifteen lunch options and a nail place where I can get my eyebrows waxed and be back at my desk within twenty minutes. (Even when some other part of my face also gets waxed, thanks to the plain talking aestheticians at “Finger Paints”: “You sure you don’t want that waxed? You got a lot of hair!”) I have an office with a door, free coffee and tea, and bagels every Friday. And with the afore-mentioned buyout on its way, who knows what other kind of swag! I am challenged, somewhat, by the work, and for the most part, I have almost no job-related stress. I needed to face up to the truth: my job rocks.

So, right. That’s where I was last Monday. On Tuesday, the person handling some high profile, time sensitive documentation task was out sick, and I was randomly selected to be her understudy. And my stupid email program kept telling me I couldn’t send more email because… I had too much email already. You’re using our program a little too well! No job-related stress, did I say? Because I had heard this document needed to be finished that day, and because no one was answering my questions about whether the further changes needed to be added, I was preparing, at the end of the day, to drive the twelve short minutes to the daycare, bring the bunny back to my office, buy her some animal crackers from the vending machine, and get back at it. (She has visited the office before, and thoroughly enjoys playing with my plastic plate and jar of peanut butter.) That scenario was averted, but the stress level continued through the end of the day Wednesday. More lively than usual? You bet. But threatening to my new outlook.

Also threatening to my job love was a bizarre bathroom encounter that occurred right in the middle of the stress patch. As I was walking into the Ladies’, someone was walking out of the Gents’. I said hi to the person, walked into the bathroom, and was suddenly aware that someone had walked in behind me. I turned around, and it was…the guy who had just walked out of the men’s restroom. Wha wha wha? Here’s where the story gets really embarrassing, because of what my brain offered to my mouth to say: “So, you’re just going to walk into the girls’ bathroom?” What? GIRLS’ bathroom? Anyway, the guy stopped, and said, “Must have eye trouble.” He then took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes, to really drive the point home that something was wrong with them, rather than just getting the hell out of the bathroom. The GIRLS’ bathroom. He repeated his line about eye trouble, but by this point I had walked back to the door and opened it, and gestured him out. He put his glasses back on. I think he said he was sorry on the way out, and I think I said something like, it’s alright, goodbye now.

But, ugh! It was not alright! I have walked into the men’s room on more than one occasion, usually at a bar or restaurant after I had a few, and two steps in I see the urinal, have the split second moment of realization, gasp, and flee. Not so this man, who seemed confused as to whether he was in the Ladies’ (Girls’) or at the optometrist. Plus? He had just gone to the bathroom, in his rightful place, with the urinals and all. He was done! So what was up next for him? Did he think they had moved his desk into the ladies’ room? Was he looking for the free coffee?
So yeah, happy Labor Day, fellow workers of the world. I’ll be celebrating my day off by using my luxurious in-home bathroom without the fear of anyone walking in on me. OK, anyone over the age of two.