So after an eight-week run I’ve been extracted from the temp job in the projects and not a MOMENT too soon because I’m pretty sure that my cohorts there thought the royal wedding had something to do with Queen Latifah.
I’ve had mixed feelings since then but I reckon it must be the right thing because I haven’t spent much time looking in the rear view mirror, if you know what I mean. I’ve been placed at a new assignment that is located in a very swanky downtown office. I used to sit at my desk at the other job and wonder when, (not IF) a bullet was going to shatter my office window and part my hair, or alternatively, when someone would come into my office and beat my white privileged ass. Now I sit at my desk and ponder (with almost as much concern) if my foundation properly matches my neck. One could say there’s a vast difference in these two assignments.
The post before this one resonates with uncertainty, shame, guilt and regret. Sometimes it’s hard to see your way out of something when you’re so deeply entrenched within it, you know? This is where you *attempt to* put one foot in front of the other and take a deep breath and keep. moving. forward. Last weeks relocation filled me with sadness but also with renewed hope. I have to be willing to concede that maybe that wasn’t where I belonged. My pal Gregg says that people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime and I feel the same way these days. I think that everything falls and fits into place sometimes with a thunderous clank and often it doesn’t look like you thought it would.
The other morning my goddamn garage door wouldn’t go up and I was unable to override the system and manually lift it, so for about ten minutes I just spun around my garage frantic with my freshly ironed hair flying into my crimson-stained lips (it’s all very devil-wears-Prada at this new assignment so who knows I may roll up in a beret one of these days, #notjudging) while I ran up and down the stairs to and from my kitchen while simultaneously trying to call my boss while also trying to decide HOW THE F I AM GETTING TO WORK.
Also, I “may” have phoned my husband (THREE time zones away – who was attending a business conference) to press the magic button somewhere from within his hotel room so that our garage door would rise unceremoniously and let me go to my assignment already. Alas, it did not. Not only did I wake him up at 4:30 AM, but he was sweet enough to consult Mr. Google to ascertain that yes, I was indeed screwed as the proverbial spring had sprung on our garage door. So on a day of many firsts, I also took an Uber to get to work. A SOBER Uber, you guys. It’s a different experience than say, when you’re wasted to your pits and tits on warm vodka (interspersed with shots of Jack) after singing in the rain all night at an outdoor Indigo Girls concert, for a random yet completely falsified example. Again, two VERY different comparisons, much like my temp jobs.
So, I took the damn Uber. I actually arrived BEFORE my twenty-something co-worker, which kind of cracked me up. LOOK AT THE WOEFULLY RESPONSIBLE 50-YEAR OLD LADY, YOU GUYS! She took an Uber to GET TO WORK, can you imagine?!?! The Uber cost more than what I’m being paid hourly but that’s really another matter. ANYWAY. My point is that I bet their matte polished toes would curl up in horror at the path it’s taken me to get here and I’m NOT JUST TALKING ABOUT THE UBER you crazy millennials!
Sometimes I think life is just a series of destinations and states of beings and although the adventure is clearly sometimes in the journey, we all inevitably land where we’re supposed to. Is that naive or childish? Maybe. I landed at work, sure. How I got there was unconventional, I suppose. Often things don’t go as planned, but they seem to work out anyway.
So, in summation, I will leave you with my final sage quote from the projects:
She from Africa. For real. She run with lions and shit and now you tellin’ me she afraid of my little dog? Bitch, please.
I’m not going to miss all aspects of that assignment, but I will miss these little pearls, I’ll be honest. There was a hum-dinger last week involving the phrase dookie-turd which now seems awfully redundant, but it was a whopper and if I can recall it “correctly” you’ll be the first to read it, I promise.
Here’s to the next adventure. I hope you’ll join me.
‘dookie -turd’ = GOLD. Lol’d hard in my open office for all my coworkers to hear.
Right?!? I cannot express to you my delight with some of these colloquialisms! *ahem*
So glad your in a better place. <3
I know this was a very sentimental post, but I got stuck on you wearing a beret to work, so I’m going to just dream about that from now on.
I don’t know how sentimental it really is, more like an observation I’m trying to make seem deep and original. You know. Like I do. AND I VERY WELL MAY ROCK A BERET, kid!