The old saying always rings true, even in the smallest of situations. For those of faithful readers who don’t keep up with my Facebook statuses, 
I recently started a new job. After three-and-a-half years, I knew there would be some things I would miss; the basic comforts of a job are the hardest things to say good-bye to. You know what I’m talking about – knowing where corporate letterhead and post-its are, understanding how often inner-office mail is delivered, learning the name of the person who greets you every morning at the front desk, having to re-organize your desk, create new files and adjust to a different view.
I was as prepared to start this new adventure as possible; able to curb my anxiety dreams of having to learn a new personnel file system before my first day. I consider that prepared. I’m even doing really well with learning names. I think asking people to reintroduce themselves doesn’t make me seem incapable of remembering their names; after all, they only have to remember one new name. I have met close to sixty new people in the past seven days, remembering even a few I’ll consider a success – only 540 more to go!
It’s not until you start a new job when you really appreciate what you had at your old job, the ole’ grass is always greener scenario. Let me clarify one thing before you get your panties in a wedge – I’m not regretful for leaving my old job. It is certainly a place that I no longer desire to be involved with. Now that is all cleared up, there is one thing I miss is single restrooms.
My new job is housed in an old Baltimore City building on the corner of Redwood and South Street; we occupy all seven floors. For a non-profit organization with a South Street location (around the corner from the famous Hustler Club), I certainly wasn’t expecting such a nice chuck of real estate.
The boardrooms and conference rooms are huge without a mix-match of chairs and standing room only for staff meetings. The cafeteria has twelve tables with seating for close to 50 people and spotless, no matter the time of day. My office is huge, with matching furniture (full size desk, double armoire with four file drawers and full legal size file cabinet). Not to mention that HR has our own storage/supply closet that is not slotted for a storage-to-office conversion if we add to our headcount. The only downside to this wonderful office space is, although they are located on each floor, is multiply stall restrooms.
I sort of have a thing with multiply stall restrooms that I assume stems back to my days at Lynchburg College, living in a dorm with a single hall bath. During my junior year and the age of the ever popular AIM instant messenger, I had a neighbor who was notorious for reading away messages, discovering your message read “in the shower”, pulling up some bench and catching up on the latest campus gossip. For anyone who has ever lived in a dorm with a single hall bath, you can understand that showers in those facilities are not very large or excessively private; not to mention living with a roommate, you only got twenty minutes of solitude a day. So, as a result of said neighbor, I have a deep appreciation for single restrooms.
I recently started a new job. After three-and-a-half years, I knew there would be some things I would miss; the basic comforts of a job are the hardest things to say good-bye to. You know what I’m talking about – knowing where corporate letterhead and post-its are, understanding how often inner-office mail is delivered, learning the name of the person who greets you every morning at the front desk, having to re-organize your desk, create new files and adjust to a different view.I was as prepared to start this new adventure as possible; able to curb my anxiety dreams of having to learn a new personnel file system before my first day. I consider that prepared. I’m even doing really well with learning names. I think asking people to reintroduce themselves doesn’t make me seem incapable of remembering their names; after all, they only have to remember one new name. I have met close to sixty new people in the past seven days, remembering even a few I’ll consider a success – only 540 more to go!
It’s not until you start a new job when you really appreciate what you had at your old job, the ole’ grass is always greener scenario. Let me clarify one thing before you get your panties in a wedge – I’m not regretful for leaving my old job. It is certainly a place that I no longer desire to be involved with. Now that is all cleared up, there is one thing I miss is single restrooms.
My new job is housed in an old Baltimore City building on the corner of Redwood and South Street; we occupy all seven floors. For a non-profit organization with a South Street location (around the corner from the famous Hustler Club), I certainly wasn’t expecting such a nice chuck of real estate.
The boardrooms and conference rooms are huge without a mix-match of chairs and standing room only for staff meetings. The cafeteria has twelve tables with seating for close to 50 people and spotless, no matter the time of day. My office is huge, with matching furniture (full size desk, double armoire with four file drawers and full legal size file cabinet). Not to mention that HR has our own storage/supply closet that is not slotted for a storage-to-office conversion if we add to our headcount. The only downside to this wonderful office space is, although they are located on each floor, is multiply stall restrooms.I sort of have a thing with multiply stall restrooms that I assume stems back to my days at Lynchburg College, living in a dorm with a single hall bath. During my junior year and the age of the ever popular AIM instant messenger, I had a neighbor who was notorious for reading away messages, discovering your message read “in the shower”, pulling up some bench and catching up on the latest campus gossip. For anyone who has ever lived in a dorm with a single hall bath, you can understand that showers in those facilities are not very large or excessively private; not to mention living with a roommate, you only got twenty minutes of solitude a day. So, as a result of said neighbor, I have a deep appreciation for single restrooms.
It was an adjustment the first few days but something I figured I could live with; when compared it to all the pluses the job, people and organization have to offer, I didn’t give it a second thought. Last week, I was in the restroom, first stall, when I heard the restroom door open and in walks another employee who sits in a cubical near my office. She was standing at the sink rising out a bottle or something (it was hard to see exactly through the cracks). I thought to myself “Amanda, you are okay. She is just cleaning her bottle, she’ll finish and leave.” Then it happened.
“Angie is that you?” she asked. Of course, I didn’t respond.
“Angie, I’m talking to you. What are you doing?” I had to respond; I didn’t have a choice.
“Um, no Ruth, it’s Amanda.” I said, looking down at my shoes and hoping when I looked up she wouldn’t be peering through the cracks.
“Oh, hi Amanda! How’s your first week going? Are you getting settled in? Everyone here is so happy to have you onboard.” She continued to ramble like this for what seemed like thirty years. I politely grunted in agreement without trying to encourage such interaction in the future. Finally she said something like “Well, have a great day!” and left.
The grass is always greener…
“Angie is that you?” she asked. Of course, I didn’t respond.
“Angie, I’m talking to you. What are you doing?” I had to respond; I didn’t have a choice.
“Um, no Ruth, it’s Amanda.” I said, looking down at my shoes and hoping when I looked up she wouldn’t be peering through the cracks.“Oh, hi Amanda! How’s your first week going? Are you getting settled in? Everyone here is so happy to have you onboard.” She continued to ramble like this for what seemed like thirty years. I politely grunted in agreement without trying to encourage such interaction in the future. Finally she said something like “Well, have a great day!” and left.
The grass is always greener…
