Bad Haikus and Ice Cream

As genuinely interesting as my department’s jobs are, there is one awful truth: it’s office work.

Sure, it’s office work that goes into keeping Marines healthy and safe (and thus office work that indirectly helps you not die), but still. Computer screens and cubicles. It can get kind of dull.

Which is why today was Bad Haikus and Ice Cream Day.

Apparently, every so often the office solicits “bad” haikus from everyone and then, in a ceremonial reading from “Andy-san” (who donned a headband that read “Haiku Master” on it), a winner was chosen to receive the rare honor of a $5 Starbucks giftcard. Then we all ate ice cream.

I am pretty sure this is the best office I will ever work in.

I have computer access!

So if last week ended with me falling over in public, this week ended much more gracefully.

Today was the best day at work so far, which is saying something, since every day has been pretty great. But today, I…

• Got a box of Munchkins from the Dunkin’ Donuts to share with my office
• Saw a man at lunch who looked precisely like a G.I. Joe action figure, ridiculously square chin and all

Although he didn't have an AK-47 in the cafeteria *EDIT: I was politely informed that this is an M16. I should have known better than to think G.I. Joe was carrying a Ruskie's gun. USA! USA! USA!

 

• Made friends with a security guard
• Power-walked almost a mile around A-ring in heels
• Finally gained computer access (!!!!!)
• And got checked out by some cute military guys

The computer access saga was a lovely tale of bureaucratic gymnastics, but thankfully, one of my favorite people at work took it upon herself to check up on it every day. And so today, after no less than five phone calls to five different offices (“Oh, no, you need to call Sgt. Techman in MCICOM.” “Nope, I can’t help you…Maj. IT at this extension can help you,” etc.) I GOT COMPUTER ACCESS!!! AND, even more importantly, I now have email, which means I can actually communicate with people in my department. Now sure, usually I sit within four meters of any one of their cubicles, but it’s the principle of the thing. Emailing someone from the next cubicle over is how adults work.

It’s nice that I have Big Girl Computer Capabilities now, since I don’t have a desk to call my own anymore. I had a cute little desk in the corner by the door (complete with a late ’90s-era CRT monitor and a chair that made ominous clicking noises when I tried to adjust it), but it was far, far away from the magical Cubical Island where my environmental folks work. This made me sad, because even though they all made a point to come see me and check up on me, I still felt lonely and removed from the group, like the puppy at the pet store who gets played with a few times a day but still sits sad and alone at night.

But then they adopted me, and gave me an option: stay at my desk, or become a traveling gypsy among Cubical Island. I of course chose the latter.

The Traveler lifestyle is not easy, but it is exciting, and I like feeling like I belong. Virtually every day, one of the 7ish people in my department doesn’t come in to the office, since much of their work is visiting installations or done via government-encouraged “teleworking” from home. When that’s the case, there are empty desks, in which I am kindly allowed to reside. I love being near the rest of the group, since they’re genuinely entertaining human beings, and they’re quick to offer advice or knowledge to me, for which I am truly grateful.

Also, it means when we brought back Munchkins for everyone this morning, they got to sit on my desk, and I could eat them whenever I liked and not have to walk halfway across the office to get one. This is an added bonus to being an Office Gypsy.

The icing on the cake in a perfect end to my first full week at work: as we took a quick afternoon coffee/walking break, four of us left the office for a moment. I was distractedly walking and talking with Jen, my computer advocate/kindly office caretaker who brought me a banana for breakfast one morning, when we passed a group of guys in fatigues (from which service, I still cannot tell you, unless I look at them intensely and not out of the corner of my eye as I’m chatting with someone else). After we passed them, the two other men from my office who were walking with us went, “Did you see that? They were totally checking you out.”

Yep. My week ended with me catching the eye of the some of the many, many insanely attractive men in uniform who work in my building.

This week > last week.

JOBS!!!!!!!!

Tonight was the State of the Union address, which takes place in the Capitol. It is widely acknowledged that the address is primarily political grandstanding, but it takes on a whole new meaning when you live in a town where 95% of the working populace depends on what the federal government says and does. Being in the capital, just a couple dozen blocks from the speech, was an amazing experience.

Of course, being in a bar that turned the address into a drinking game and sitting next to a gaggle of Australians also added to the experience of it, I suppose.

We got to the bar about an hour before the speech and were prompted (if we liked) to take a name tag with the key word of our choosing. Every time the President said that word during the speech, we could earn a jello shot for just $1.

Some words were popular (“energy,” “Republicans,” and less creatively but more prodigiously “The”), but the word of the night (as recorded by the Jello-Shot-‘O-Meter) was definitely “jobs.” Most everyone in the bar was a savvy politico, so anyone who wanted to knew which words would be key well before the speech started. Still, I don’t think anyone realized just how many times Mr. Obama would say “jobs.”

How do I know this? Well, we sat down well before the bar got crowded, but as the speech drew nigh, a half dozen friendly Aussies came to our area and stood around us (we had secured a spot near one of the many TVs). Living true to the best stereotypes of their land, they were fun, funny, and quick with their liquor…but none more so than Jobs Girl.

Every time the President talked about creating, improving, or losing jobs, without fail, Australian Jobs Girl would shriek at the top of her lungs, “JOBBBBBBSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!” in the general direction of the bartender who bore a tray of jello shots. Her devotion was astounding but surprisingly enjoyable.

And so I shall always remember this State of the Union (which was quite good on its own) as the Year of the Jobs Girl, and I shall remember it with a smile. Thanks, Sheila 😉

So I fell over in the Metro yesterday…

A few of the people in my office very kindly let me tag along to Happy Hour after work on Thursday.

It was rather fun, and a great way to chat with some of them outside of the office. After an hour or so, we started to pack up and leave, and one of my co-workers (and her husband who had joined us) mentioned that they had parked out in Shady Grove, on the Red Line that I take home. So we all took the train together.

At this point it was about 6:30, or, as I like to call it, Everyone-In-The-Greater-Metropolitan-Area-Is-On-The-Metro-Right-Now p.m. So we smushed onto the train, my coworker’s husband kindly found her and I a place to sit, and we braced ourselves for our sardine-like journey.

All was well until we got to my penultimate station. Thinking myself clever, I got up in preparation for my stop, said goodbye, and squeezed my way to the door, where a kindly little old man looked at me and said, like an early ’90s video game level boss, “It appears that you are trying to leave.” When I told him that that was indeed my intent, he graciously moved out of the way….just as the train came to a sudden halt and I fell over into a crowd of harried commuters.

Years of living with Mandy have robbed me of any grace I might have possessed at some point, but generally I do not fall over. Even more rarely do I fall into a crowd of people, and even less often than that do I do it in front of a senior colleague and her husband.

Thus, I did not know the protocol to dealing with pure mortification. The mass of commuters quickly shoved me back into an upright position, and at least two men offered hands to help me into an upright position. Which was kindly and all, but my mind became consumed by a single, driving desire to escape the scene of the shame as quickly as possible. As soon as the doors opened, I was gone.

So that’s how my first week of work ended: sprinting up the broken Woodley Park Metro escalator to hide my shame.

Welcome to the real world, Ms. Binder.

The Birth Certificate Song

I love protests.

We had our first Friday class today, which was merely a matter of her handing out the syllabus, and thus inconsequential and non-blog-worthy.

However, afterwards, we went to Supreme Court building, which is BEAUTIFUL. It’s one of the few buildings I’ve never visited, and it might be my favorite. It’s relatively new (completed in 1935 or so) but gorgeously Greco-Roman and marbley and truly lovely.

The building in question

We went on the tour inside of the actual hearing room (or whatever they call it…where the lawyers argue and the Supreme Court sits to listen). No pictures allowed in there, but still very cool.

Gorgeous marble hallways. All of the bright white marble was American-harvested

However, what was more interesting (though significantly less beautiful) than the Supreme Court was what was going on just outside. The Supreme Court building is just across the street from the eastern lawn of the Capitol, where a bunch of protestors had just gathered while we were inside. Devoted as they were on such a chilly January afternoon, they apparently were not interested in getting up before noon. These are my kind of people.

After a few moments of inquiry, it became clear why they were there: tomorrow being the two-year anniversary of the Citizens United case, these protestors were voicing their discontent that corporations have near unlimited ability to fund elections and effectively direct what is increasingly becoming a “democracy” in name only. Sigh. Still, it’s always encouraging to see citizens stand up for what they think is right against what is wrong, braving the wind and illustrating that not only do some Americans still care about this country, they are willing to exercise all of their rights to defend it in whatever small way that they can.

Civil disobedience, nestled between the Capitol and the Supreme Court building

But then a guy with a megaphone appeared and started singing a song about birth certificates. This is when we chose to leave.

Ah, protestors.

The Three Day Work Week: Why the Imaginary French Have Great Ideas

I give the French too much credit.

The imaginary French (who live only in my head) all have eight months of vacation, public school systems that not only teach their children math but also offer advanced culinary classes, a healthcare system so all-inclusive that they’re like the weird War of the Worlds alien blobby things who eradicated disease entirely on their planet, all in addition to only having a three day work week in the first place.

Further research has indicated that that’s not all entirely accurate. But it doesn’t stop me from  believing that the French way of life is more relaxed, and wishing that I could adopt it. Segue-lly speaking, this week I got to feel French: I started my internship on Tuesday, and finished my work week up today, Thursday.

The three-day work week was perfect. No matter what job you start, the first week is always hard, simply because it is your first week. The severity of this difficulty depends on the field, I would imagine, but I don’t care if your first week is in the new police department with an aging cop who is just days away from retirement (thereby ensuring that your week is filled with near-death experiences, explosions, and at least one teary goodbye) or at the Taco Bell in the mall; there’s a learning curve, man, and until you have a weekend off to regroup mentally (and physically, if you were running from explosions all week), you will NEVER be at your best that first week.

But three days was exactly what I needed. I woke up at 5:30 on Tuesday, twitchy and nervous as I have been on every first day of everything since I started kindergarden. I made myself all fancy, put on my suit, took a lint roller to it (I meant business, dang it!) and went to work.

The Pentagon itself is awesome enough to deserve a separate blog post, but for now, may it suffice it to say: I feel like I’m working in a mall. A magical, magical mall.

Work itself: My office is AWESOME.

Every single person in the department I work in is the nicest human being ever. “What?” you say, skeptical as ever, dear reader. “That is grammatically impossible! ‘Nicest’ is a superlative, and only one of your co-workers should have that title!” To you I say, shut up, and this is my blog post, and for serious, they’re super nice.

I know you’re not supposed to talk about work itself on the Internet because people hear, so I won’t do much, but I have to say that I do genuinely love them. I’m super useless around the office because I still don’t have Internet access (a saga unto itself), but each and every one of them has taken time out of their busy schedules to sit down with me and really truly talk and help me understand what they do. And that is an awesomeness that cannot be overstated.

So after the first day of getting introduced to people and getting the badge/computer process started, I had a couple days to chat with people, get to learn what they do, and most importantly, eat. The eating is good. Several of the people in my office warned me, half-seriously, about the “Pentagon 15” that new staffers tend to put on because of all the food in the building (but alas, that is a story for another time).

Three days really was perfect, though. Without Internet, I can’t do any of the external research that my boss (who is ALSO the nicest person ever) suggested I do to get started, so instead I’ve been spending my days reading. And reading. And reading. And then I read some more. And after that I open a new folder on budget regulations, and read that. And then someone mercifully comes by me and suggests we go for more food, and then I remember that yes, life is indeed worth living.

So as much as I love work, I’m glad that my first week is over. Because now it will never be my first week here again; the learning curve is never over, but I can only get smarter and more useful from here on out. And I’m so in awe of my office, all I want to do is be smart enough to contribute, in any small way possible. Three days was just enough time to figure that out. Instead of being overwhelmed or tired, I find myself smiling, excited to go in to work on Monday.

Maybe this is why the French seem happier than we are?

Why yes, I can blog, too!

If you’re reading this, it’s only because I posted a link on my Facebook page, and you already have some emotional attachment to me. At least, I hope so for your sake, because I’m going to be honest from the get-go: this is yet another travel blog, of a young 20-something thinking every brunch was the best in the world and every person she meets on the street is the Most Interesting (Homeless) Man in the World.

It won’t be that interesting, but it will all be true. Is that fair enough?

If you like me and like what I have to say, then God help you, but please feel free to read about my adventures this semester in one of my favorite cities. Then next time I see you, we won’t have to have the awkward moment of me trying to relay all my experiences from a whole semester in just a few minutes.