One of the hardest parts about starting a new job is establishing your identity at work. That is to say, short of handing out a personality resume to everyone, how do you convey who you are to an entire group of new people? As they say, you only get one chance to make a first impression.
First and foremost, you should always be cooler than your predecessor. In my case, that’s not too hard. Not because I simply exude coolness, but because my predecessor was a real asshole. I know that because the entire group still complains about him on a daily basis and when I asked one of the girls what his primary malfunction was, she was like, “well... he was an asshole.” Fair enough.
Aside from not being an asshole I’ve found it a bit difficult to separate myself from this guy though. He was fired so suddenly that all his shit is still at my desk. I can’t clean it up because I don’t know where to put it, and I don’t know what is necessary and not. Plus, in my first week, no one showed me to the supply closet so I had to use all of the dude’s pens and note pads and shit. It’s like moving into a dead guy’s house then wearing his bathrobe around.
I’d be sitting in a meeting and notice someone staring at me in contempt then I’d realize what they’re thinking, “Isn’t that Danny’s red fine point Pilot pen? Man that guy was an asshole.” Sorry. If you’d show me to the goddamn supply closet I’d get a red pen of my own. Until then I have to use this piece of shit pen with all the teeth marks on it.
Secondly, you have to capitalize on every opportunity to show something about yourself. If you screw that up, good luck ever recovering from it.
In order to get to work everyday I have to drive 15 minutes to the parking lot of the Titans football stadium then catch a shuttle to the office building downtown. It’s not nearly as inconvenient as it would seem, but clearly not entirely convenient. On a side note, the shuttle is the most depressing place on earth. In the mornings you see everyone sitting there all quiet and pissed off like, “I can’t fucking believe I have to go to this shitty-ass job again. I hate my boss, I hate my coworkers, I hate my life. Quit staring at me, new guy, before I kill you.” In the evenings it’s just as depressing. You see the looks on people’s faces like, “I hate my fucking husband, I can’t believe I have to go home to his lard ass every single night.” Or you’ll occasionally see some dude and you know he’s thinking, “I can not wait to stop at BP on the way home so I can kill an 18 pack of Keystone Light tonight then make some bad decisions and call in sick tomorrow. I hate this fucking job.” Once a week I find myself on the same shuttle with a woman who has no capacity to shut her mouth. The other day she cornered some poor woman in a conversation about breeds of dogs. Breeds of dogs! That’s a subject like 0.23% of the population cares about. I could see in the silent woman’s face that she was thinking, “man, I wonder what would happen if I just jammed this pen into her jugular; would she keep talking?” I thought back to her, “actually, it’s the carotid artery you want to puncture, dumbass.”
At any rate, back to my identity. You can pay to park closer to the building, it’s just that the stadium lot is free. Your other option is to ride a motorcycle, which you can park in the building parking garage for free. One day I asked how you go about getting a parking pass for a 2-wheel vehicle.
“You just register it with HR. What type of motorcycle do you have?”
“Oh, I don’t have a motorcycle, but I was thinking about getting a scooter…” I knew I was an idiot before I even completed the sentence.
“A scooter??? Hahahahahaha! You want a scooter??? Hahahahaha!!!”
It wouldn’t have been a big deal if everyone, including the women in the group, didn’t own or weren’t in the market for a motorcycle. One of the girls even rides a crotch rocket. A crotch rocket! I honestly have considered getting a scooter simply for the fuel efficiency. Now I can say definitely that I’m the only one thinking about fuel efficiency at the office.
Then, the other day one of the guys sent around an e-mail with a link to a website where you go on, fill out some questions, then the website tells you what kind of car you are. Most everyone else was like a Mustang or a Ferrari or some shit. I went on and filled out the stupid survey and I was a Mazda Miata. A Mazda-fucking-Miata! The description was like, “you love the freedom of the road with your hair blowing in the wind. Everyone thinks you're cute, blah, blah, blah…” What the fuck is that???
To be fair, most of the questions were pretty goddamn ambiguous like, “what tool would you be more comfortable wielding? A sledgehammer or a scalpel?” I spent like 10 minutes thinking about that one. On the one hand I love doing demo work and tearing walls out and shit. On the other, I have an eye for details and prefer the finish work. How the hell was I supposed to know that was the difference between a Hummer and Mazda Miata??? Everyone got a good laugh about that one.
http://www.tomorrowland.us/sportscar/
I may very well be cooler than the old guy, but I’m pretty sure he wasn’t the human representation of a 4-cylinder, 2-seat convertible that was popular in the 80’s.
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