What did you dream of owning when you were a kid? Perhaps a pony?? A pool in the backyard?
These days I find myself dreaming about the oddest things, like a 401k, stock options, and worst of all–to have access to a conference room.
Sometimes I am under the impression that the publishing company I work for is a facade for a money laundering operation. I have no proof of this whatsoever, but the following strikes me as either strange or just plain cheap:
–my company does not provide us a 401K or stock options or any perks or plans whatsoever
–no coffee, tea, Splenda (where it all started) cups, forks, napkins….nothin’ but a water cooler
–no direct lines or personal voicemail
–when my staff asked to update the website that looks like its from the dawn of the web, they told us it was just too much of a “to-do”
and a lack of plenty of other crap that writers and editors should just be able to have. (Is it really that expensive to stock a couple packets of hot chocolate to keep us sane?? You gotta feed the monkeys chained to the typewriters!)
And–no conference room, which seems like a really odd thing to wish for, but as someone who pads her income with a few freelance gigs, it’s crucial.
Though it’s relatively easy to do freelance work at my desk because it appears that I’m just hard at work with what I’m supposed to be doing, there is conflict when I have to conduct interviews during business hours. I work in a teeny, tiny suite with six other people with no nooks or crannies to hide in. So when I have to conduct an interview where I have to ask questions like, “So was there a specific moment in your life when you knew you wanted to dedicate your life to fight social injustice?” it sort of stands out from the normal “And what exactly makes your decorative pillows so edgy?”
Needless to say, I had to find a spot for my “secret” interviews and found this:
And by “found,” I mean turned the corner down the hall. This is my second office.
People grunt at me because I get in the way of their smoke breaks. One of these days… I never thought that I would one day dream of having a conference room. But then again, I never thought I would become klepto for sucralose either.
Confessions Of A Splenda Stealer 