Margaret 2m 390
The views of this article are the perspective of the author and may not be reflective of Confessions of the Professions.
“So, what are you going to do when you grow up?”
Fairly easy question, yes?
Well, not so much. I went to school to be an English teacher. Why? Well, love kids…like to read…made sense. But seven years after graduation, I find myself a construction project manager for a firm in downtown Chicago.
I often like to tell others I work at the place that has stolen my soul. And youth.
If ever a lady wants to work in an inappropriate environment, a construction office is the place to be. I hear more about lady bits, one night stands, and detailed descriptions of various sex acts (I will admit some of these things are funny…and sometimes I tell a few of my own)than I have ever wanted to hear. Really guys? First of all, we are at work…sometime-sharing is okay…all the time sharing is not.
I hear (and smell) farting at every turn. Get asked if “it is my time of the month” if I am not super duper chipper, and let’s not forget the unequal pay.
Now, perhaps it is my own fault for working for the same company for almost a decade. Or maybe I shouldn’t have been so old-school about learning on the job and putting in my dues.
All I do know, is that I am more in the business of not stabbing my fellow employees then I am in the business of building offices (which, by the way, is not such a shabby way to make a living).
I feel like my soul gets sucked out of my body on a daily basis and has a mexican hat dance performed on it. And beneath my apple cidar flavored chapstick smile and pleasant “I am just glad to have a job smile”, I really wish my office was more professional. I mean, it is one of the coolest kind of jobs to have.
But then you toss in those stinky, rude, sexist boys – well…they just muck it all up.
Or? Am I the one who shouldn’t be there?
Either way. I like to think my woes are nothing a good dirty martini won’t fix. If martini turns into moonshine jug, well then – we have a greater problem at hand. Or at the very least, a funnier one.