Is this my life?

I have been standing in the same place for the last 8 months of my life…

Monday through Friday of any given week I feel as though I live the same day over and over. Nothing ever seems to change.

I wake at 5:55 a.m. to the sound of a blaring alarm clock, which sits on a bookcase next to my bed. Each morning in an effort to cease this most annoying of sounds I leap from my bed, which has no frame, to the snooze button. Once out of the shock from being awoken from a life I only wish I had, I head to the shower.

I am generally in the shower from 6:00 a.m. to 6:10 a.m. I then brush my teeth and apply personal hygiene products. I get back to my bedroom by 6:12 a.m. to drape myself in a suit and tie. I stopped bothering to iron my shirts or ties. I let them judge me. But I do take pride in the attire I have accumulated these past 8 months.

Once dressed I am ready for breakfast. I lie; I don’t have time for breakfast before I have to hurriedly leave my apartment to catch the bus. Two blocks down from the apartment which I share with a friend from High School, the bus arrives promptly at 6:32 a.m. I arrive at the bus stop 5 minutes before the bus pulls up. With those precious 5 minutes I am able to read the front page of the Wall Street Journal.

Often I am met at the bus stop by a woman who rides all of 8 blocks each morning. This woman pays $2.50 in the morning and $2.50 in the evening for a 16 block roundtrip. I have a company sponsored metro-transit pass, which comes out of my salary at a reduced rate. Most days she sports a Grateful Dead concert t-shirt and feverously inhales Turkish Golds prior to embarking. Her smoke consumes the bus stop and soils my suits.

When the bus arrives I am officially off. I sit in the front row next to a woman who appears to have Downs Syndrome. I know for a fact that this must be a cruel joke life has played on her because she is a receptionist at the downtown campus of a local law school; she also knows how to operate a cell phone. To drown out the sound of the others passengers and the extremely talkative drive I listen to my ipod. As I let the music consume my thoughts I skim through the major stories of the day.

The bus ride takes all of 12 minutes. I disembark several blocks from where I work. In between leaving the warm confines of the bus and the turnstiles I pass to enter the company campus I have 5 minutes left to myself.

As the minutes wane away I make it to the revolving door and enter a large atrium. I am met by scores of others who have found their way to the same destination. I pass through security and grab a cup of water for my ride up the elevator. Once on the 6th floor of Southern tower of ___________ Corporation I pass through yet another set up security check points. It is 6:55 a.m. by the time I reach my desk. Bring it on!

For the next 10 to 12 hours I stare into a flickering computer monitor and produce.

I am a Business Analyst. When posed with the question “what do you do?” I say “I analyze business”. I am clever. But what do I really do?

The first part of my day belongs to answering emails which have been received since leaving my command post 12 hours previously. I must continually check my Outlook account so as to not allow it to crash under the weight and volume of corporate correspondence. In between writing and responding to various emails I dash from one meeting to the next. Often you can find me starring blankly out the window as a collogue tries to justify the need for more meetings. Once free from the morning meetings I head back to my grey cubicle to prepare for statuses regarding my public perception.

At __________ Corporate the motto is “Perception is Reality”. If only they had read Blink (a great work about the follies of impression and perception). What the motto entails the employees to do is to outwardly express happiness and glee. If not, the assumption is made you are under producing, thus qualifying yourself a ticket out. Once I make it through two or three statuses I find it time to head to lunch. Many days I find it necessary to take lunch at my desk, as a way to show I am dedicated to the job I am tasked with. I am not alone. If I do decide to leave the confines of my cube I roam the skyways in search of the perfect submarine sandwich.

Following lunch I block out time to perform my actual job. Most often during this period of time I flip through various websites or constantly read and re-read the DrudgeReport. I also converse with fellow cohorts through inter-office Instant Messenger. What has allowed me this freedom? I have become a master of delegation. I know who to pass along my responsibilities to in an effort to free up my own time. After several hours of passing one set of tasks across the company and receiving the completed work of another set of tasks I send out emails to middle management showing them the fruits of my labor.

As 6:00 p.m. rolls around I pack up my belongings for the day and head out. I generally leave without anyone knowing.I find it annoying telling people to have a great night when I know they won’t. I head back through each security check point and stroll off to the bus stop. This time at the bus stop I am met with a various crowd of people: The homeless with their OCD – the young black men shouting at the top of their lungs in the back of the bus (I don’t think they got the memo about the seating arrangements) – the teenage mothers with their gaggle of children – the obese women who insist sitting in chairs not federally approved to hold their weight - and other young professionals whose heads face the ground as they sit silent in their seats. I finally arrive back at my apartment by 6:33 p.m. Rinse, wash, repeat…

- I actively pursued the career that I currently hold. I did everything in my power to land a spot on ________ Corporations roster. Once I got in I even bragged about where I worked and how much I made. For the first month on the job I told myself this is what I want and I was thankful to be here. I am 23 years old. I work 75 hours a week. I come into work on the weekends. I live inside the grey walls of a cubicle.

Is this my life?