The Twilight Zone

The twilight zone...a.k.a. my new job makes me want to scramble towards the nearest mud pit, or even good old, trusty dusty Quorum Review IRB and hide...  Not that it's bad; its just a little....scary.

A typical day:

 I double check my pits for stains and signs of distress, smooth my eyebrows with thumb and forefinger, brushing away and offending cookie crumbs and wobble in on sky high heels and a tight little number, which I am hoping will place me within the realm of normal at the diva fest going on within. When I enter, I catch whiffs of an exotic perfume from the wide eyed receptionis. With a bright smile, she flicks her dainty wrists in a friendly hello, as the colorful baubles on her arm jingle about merrily. 

I cross the open kitchen, and ping pong table-lounge area to sit at my desk. The walls are blue and orange and yellow. The two executives that I support have glass offices so that I can see in and right through to the turquoise San Francisco Bay. Their offices have enormous flat screen TV's, modern couches and chairs around an artful coffee table, and expansive desks that are bare save their elegant Mac book laptops. 

I try not to give myself a hernia as I work, stressing about organizing for two people when I myself have to have a whole entourage (read: Mom, Victoria, Connor) just to organize myself.

Luckily people are friendly and I need only go around the corner to chat with all the other young, welcoming young twenty somethings. 

Every girl is either beautiful in an asian exotic way, or is Amazon-woman tall, with curly blond hair, piercing blue eyes and such chiseled features you aren't sure whether their many expressions are model shot poses or genuine movements caused by emotion. They look like they just dropped off the set of Sex and the City, with their high waisted, tapered skirts, half tilted detective-esque hats and burberry scarves.

At first I was intimidated by them, wondering when they would notice that a stalky, grandma-hand midget had snuck into their midst. Okay who am I kidding, I am still highly intimidated. One of them came over to me and introduced herself as the director of such and such and then said, "Sweetheart you are going to be on my team soon!" Then she sped on down the hallway in a hustle bustle wave of excitement.

The guys could be fit into two categories as well. They either have the new culturally sexy silver hair that belies their also chiseled yet refined features. Regular George Clooneys. Then the others who work in the creative department have long hair, artsy glasses and accents.

A note on the accents: These accents, possessed by male and female alike, seem to belong more to the category of glamour than any dialect or country. 

When I get bored I peruse the magazines and find nothing noteworthy. I go to the bookshelf and find one on top called "What Not to Wear". This book is hilarious. On one side of the page is a woman who is slouching and looking upset. There is a woman behind her glaring with disgust and distain. Then there is a caption, one of which is: "This dress hangs unnat"ractively from arse, making thighs look wide and calves look like pins emerging from the Lincoln Tunnel." There is an entire section on how to hide "stump legs" and not look as if your ass hangs to the ground. 

After billing $700 dollar dinners, making $1800 dollar plane flights and talking remotely to my boss via blackberry the day ends. 

I emerge from the building and the evening light washes over me revealing real people, dirt and yes even, slovenliness. I relax and dig into my bag for my fifth dose of stress relief...the free office M & M's provided because we make their commercials. I chew and try not to think too much about my new livelihood.