I managed to get through almost an entire year of my first post-college job without facing any mild depressions or setbacks over the loss of my carefree, beer-saturated life. I didnt understand why so many fellow grads struggled with adjusting to life the cube. Granted, my seemingly laid-back studies landed me in a similarly laid-back cube life when compared to my not-so-smart friends who opted to study things like finance and accounting (and yet, act surprised when they are stuck crunching numbers in a wrinkled suit for nine hours a day), but as collegiates we generally knew what to expect when we gave a firm hand to the president of our respective collages and grasped that sparkling, divine diploma with the other.
So here I am almost a year later, living the life in my own little rectangle of cream-colored everything punctuated by the pitch-blackness of random office supplies (computer, stapler, phone). I actually enjoyed getting into business/casual attire every day–it definitely beat wearing the same old ragged Giants hoodie to class by day and getting gussied up for dinner and drinks by night over and over and over again. Business casual might not be the most flattering look, but it definitely makes an early morning more fun trying to spice up black pants and collared shirt. (Wow. How girly do I sound?)
I also enjoyed having my own mini Mr.Coffee to keep me company while I enjoyed fresh bagels and the USA Today crossword puzzle (via computer screen, ofcourse). My morning breakfasts pleasantly segued into writing a few emails and a paragraph or two of a feature for the magazine, while catching up on the days gossip with my long list of gchat buddies. Shortly after a homemade lunch, I strolled outside to stretch my legs. By the time I was back, a bit more writing and gossiping and it was time to go home. Life was good. Up until about a week ago.
Summer sunshine hit, and it dawned on me: for the first time in my twenty-two years I am not going to be able to spend the next three months lounging out by the pool, reading chick-lit and sipping on Yuengling lite (see–I’m not THAT girly). Long gone are my days of leisurely jogs around the neighborhood at 2 in the afternoon or packing up for a trip to the beach on some random Tuesday morning. I am glued to this ugly square of carpeted walls for the next…good God how long exactly is it until I have my life back? How long until I can keep a tan longer than my two-days off allow? How long until I can stay up past 11 and sleep in past 8? How long until I can eat breakfast at noon and do the crossword while sitting in a sunny lawn chair?
After nearly eight months of slurping up chicken noodle soup to keep warm with only the promise of summer to sustain me I realize that I have been robbed of my relaxing, hot days by the pool, lake, beach, outdoors. From now until..eternity? my summers will consist of what peeks of daylight I can steal by cranking my neck just far enough over my cube to see through the crack of my bosses door to get a glimpse out of her tiny window. By the time I get off work the sun will have ducked behind the rush hour horizon and the pools water will be icy cold during its last open hour.
A beach bum at heart, a lover of summer and all that it stands for: my positive outlook at life in the real world has been crushed. Prepare yourselves for my diatribe against the agony that is corporate America.
