Everydaystranger

It’s now over a week since I started my new job. I’ve made it into the office approximately 3 times – today is not one of those times. The snow that killed us before Christmas and then at New Year has hit again, and this morning it took me an hour to drive 2 miles. The distance to the office is 9 miles. I gave up and came home, where I am contentedly working courtesy of my Blackberry.

So far, I really enjoy the role. It’s strange being in an office. It’s stranger still being in an office that requires business attire. I haven’t worked in a place where people wear Proper Business Clothes since 1997. The clothes have changed – thankfully there are fewer shoulder pads and the big chunky earring phase has passed – but I have to say, there’s something to having to clean up for work. For several years I was based from home, so wearing anything apart from pajamas during the day was a stretch. The past 10 years in general I have worked in the more hardcore engineering areas, where it’s cool to be the most casually dressed as your technical status means you can buck convention. “Why yes, I AM wearing a shirt with Big Bird on it, however I can show you the network design so you shall therefore overlook the large yellow aviary on my apparel!”

Only now the company I work for is not only a little bit dressy, but I am a manager, too.

I find this has an impact into not only how I dress, but how I work as well.

I felt that old feeling again on Monday. On Monday I had to go into London for a meeting with a director (and Londoners, you don’t get to bitch about the snow any more. There was no snow whatsoever there. We still have over a foot of the damn stuff. We win.) There I was – high heels. Sheath dress. Jewellery and even makeup. Clearly something was all right, as two construction crews called out to me, so there’s always an occupation to be had servicing the lads.

But while walking to the office there crept that feeling, that ache that I have often had. There I was, walking to the office in a Burberry coat and Prada gloves (neither of which I bought but were gifts I feel nervous about wearing), while dressed in a dress from Next (which I did buy on sale for £30, because I am not posh and posh things confuse me). Clothes to fit the occasion, maybe, but not clothes that are things I am used to. I don’t belong here, something inside me said. I’m not qualified, I can’t do this. Not even in nice threads.

Rubbish, another part of me replied. You’ve been doing exactly this kind of work for 5 years now! There’s nothing new about this apart from the company name, you can do this! It’s not about your clothes, it’s about you.

I’m honestly a nobody, my insecurity stated stubbornly. I’m a fraud. I’m hopeless. What if I fuck up?

And my stronger, therapatized self jumped in again. Everyone fucks up. You’ve fucked up before, you will again. People make mistakes. You’re here because you can do this, someone believed in you. Don’t go down this route.

I know that at work I give off the image of being very tough, very doesn’t-suffer-fools-gladly, very decisive and organized and (so I’ve been told) very ruthless. All of those sound so unlike me, and yet maybe that’s just it – maybe we are different people at work than we are at home. I’ve been battling this view that I am one person while working and another at home, but maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be. We can’t spend our lives being dogmatic at the workforce and then coming home expecting the dictatorial styles to be supported with our spouses and kids (You want me to do the dishes? Then ask me, don’t pull out a sodding org chart that shows I am required to do this under the project terms and conditions!) Likewise, if I took all the mushy goo I have about the twins to the office, I’d be the laughing stock of my team, because the Softer Side of Sears does not a good manager make.

I stamped down my insecurities. They have their place, and that place is to remind me that I should not ever take this position for granted. And for the most part I don’t. Telecoms is an industry in flux, as the early part of 2000 showed. Put it this way – of Alastair and I and his brothers and sisters-in-law, 5 of the 6 of us worked in telecom. Of those 5, 4 of us were laid off and 1 of us had their contract cancelled. We’re all back in telecom with other companies, but not a single one of us take these roles for granted. We all remember being unemployed.

I am going to work hard at this job. I know this. I want to prove to the company and to myself that I am the right person for the job, that the insecure little girl who grew up with nothing has worked her ass off to get somewhere.

And in the meantime I’m going to accept that maybe many people have a work and a home persona and that who I am at work is ok, even if the pragmatism should be checked at the door when I leave.

-S.

PS – the lucky socks have found homes. One pair is off to Melody and the other pair off to Lani. I hope both of them keep us posted with their progress and at some point, send back the socks to go to the next recipient.

PPS – my girl who cannot spell things properly alerted me to the fact that my Twitter account – long dormant – had been hacked and I was apparently promoting designer handbags or some such shite. I’ve taken back control of my account and re-activated it, and can be found here, where I will be occasionally writing 140 characters or less about things that are amusing, since I am the kinder, gentler (hopefully more amusing) me.