There are many, many things I adore about my chosen profession. "The Box" as I lovingly refer to my work place, is not one of them.
I work in a large corporate office. The hallways are reminiscent of The Shining. To get a cup of coffee involves 10 minutes of walking. I often lament that I'm not allowed to wear roller blades to work. On my exhausted days, a Segway seems completely feasible.
There is white noise piped into our work spaces. Sensorily it sounds like the day after a concert. Without the fond memories.
Many of my co-workers keep stadium blankets at their desks for days when the polar vortex moves indoors. I always find this to be the preferable side of the coin, as on the days when we are arid and baking, there is a point where you have to stop removing layers.
Each end of the building has a women's restroom with two stalls and one sink. The center of the building has a larger hub of restrooms. One outer restroom is next to the exit (next to Froggerland). The other is just outside the cafeteria and my beloved coffee shop. The center restrooms are next to nothing. Guess which restroom always has a wait? My mama taught me to use the restroom before each car trip, and to wash my hands before eating. It would seem every other Iowan woman was taught the same thing. The restrooms were designed by a man. Clearly.
To enter our building, or to leave our building to get to the coffee shop / cafeteria, there are revolving doors. You scan your security badge, a smarter-than-me British accented woman tells me to step into the door. If you step too briskly you will bang into glass. If you are too slow, you may be bent in the door frame as it revolves. I find a classic shuffle step is the appropriate rhythm to make it through the doors. Unless you are carrying a laptop bag. Then shuffle, ball change, shuffle hop works better.
Our parking garage was created by someone who didn't drive. If you follow the signs, you will take 10 minutes to get out of the garage, and hit no less than 10,261 speed bumps along the way.
To walk from the parking garage into the building, you have to walk across all the traffic trying to enter the parking garage. It feels very much like playing Frogger.
The crosswalk (gosh - that makes it sound like traffic would stop for you - doesn't it?) is also built in a perfect wind tunnel. This insures that if you are wearing a dress or skirt, it can double for a shoulder shawl or head wrap as you Frogger your way across the crosswalk to the revolving door for entry to the building. I find nothing shows off my undergarments better than the weak fluorescent glow cascading from the building out over the crosswalk.
It takes me less time to drive into work than it does to wind my way to the top floor of the parking garage (it's always full by 8 a.m.), Frogger across the crosswalk to the building, beep through British door lady, and sashay down the Shining hallway to my desk. Heaven forbid I should need a coffee once I arrive at work.
If you should decide to visit my workplace, there is a lovely visitor parking lot. About a mile from the visitor's entrance. You will be tempted to enter through the revolving door (adjacent to the wind tunnel). This is for employees only. Continue on, fair visitor. Your entrance will come. Someday.The meandering path you take to arrive at your final destination? Clearly not designed by an Iowan who went outdoors in winter. Or perhaps one born without sweat glands and thus not bothered by the summers.
Oh, I adore my Box. Truly.
This is one of my favorite Police songs. Shiny metal boxes that take us from home boxes to work boxes. I have a dream someday soon the weather will let me escape my boxes more for some outdoor time. A girl can dream.
The Police - Synchronicity II
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