by Stephanie Anderson
Against all odds and intentions, I somehow got myself a job, and in Washington, DC nonetheless. I have to get up at 6 in the morning and join the army of people in grey suits and blue shirts (tie choice: red or yellow) as they push onto trains and highways.
It’s hard to wake up when the sun is still hiding, and so I look to employ the services of an alarm clock. It having been so long since I figured out which button to hold while pushing the “min” and “hour” buttons, I was utterly baffled by the apparatus at my disposal. No worries, I’m up on technology, so I’ll use the alarm on my cell phone. The problem is that when it goes off, I pick up screaming “HELLO!” and when no one is there, I go back to sleep.
The office I was hired into is a brand new entity, due to the much-appreciated fickleness of the American populous. Setting up the office was done with all the thought and organization of dorm move-in, except the furniture all matches. Something I have noticed is that the Federal Government loves marking its territory even more than dogs do. Whatever it is, it needs a seal. Letterhead is stamped with the name of the appropriate office, and a seal. Rugs are plastered with a big eagle for people to wipe their feet on. Letter openers are embossed in gold, with a seal. Even the trash can in the bathroom has a bird with a big circle around it and letters proudly proclaiming: “US House of Representatives.”
They put me in charge of the computers. Considering my alarm clock literacy and the fact that my grandmother passed me in email proficiency years ago, this may not have been the best decision. But government employees need no legal qualifications- only a title. My coworkers were told that I am the “Systems Administrator,” so each day they come to my desk and request my attention for operating or programming problem. I stop desperately struggling with my own machine, and follow them to their's. “You see, when I move the mouse, nothing happens.” They say, showing me the blank screen. I give them a bewildered look and explain this is a problem beyond my expertise and promise to call a technician to come look at the problem. A few hours later, after I’ve desperately plead my case to the voicemail of every techie I know, the person comes back to my desk and says thanks, but they figured it out. “Oh really? What was the problem?” “The power wasn’t on.”
I meet new people every day. This was something I was a bit nervous about being as I can never remember names or anything about anyone, but here in our nation’s capitol, they simplify things for you. People proudly bear their entire belief system on their lapel. Do you love the president, think terrorism is bad, and believe we should send vast fighting forces to the Middle East and France? A small American flag conveys that message swiftly. Are you desperately trying to spend more federal dollars fighting AIDS in remote island countries? A properly colored ribbon on your left breast will do smartly. Do you want abortion doctors to be tarred and feathered? Silver footprints claimed to be the size of baby’s feet at x weeks after conception will do. There is a lapel pin for each strain of political thought and people proclaim their innermost cares on their collar. Lapel Pin Manufacturers have neglected no opinion. When they bring around their silver on velvet depiction of anarchy, I’ll snatch a handful.
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