Now that I’m two years out of college, I want to share some of my learnings from the glorious nation of corporate America.
With respect to my career, I have learned:
That in case of a fire emergency, my entire office building would burn down with everyone still inside… But at least we’d be working until the very last monitor melts.
- That our civic leaders p
rovide the best fodder for lunchtime conversations. Current topic of interest: Mark Sanford’s love letters, which are still a smidgen more topical than Sarah Palin’s antics (I’m pressing ’snooze’ on this alarm) and Dick Cheney’s underground puppet show in Langley.
That even though my boss could (hypothetically) have the management aptitude of a monkey, the social capacity of a deaf-mute hyena, and the brain of a T-Rex hopped up on acid, I would still have to answer to him/her.
That it is possible to eat an entire box of Cheerios, a pound of grapes, a cookie ice cream sandwich, plus four cupcakes, all in a day’s work. As a snack.
That it only takes one time before you’re known as “that” guy, or “that” girl. Trust me, you don’t want to be “the girl who eats meatballs for breakfast”, or “the girl who eats four cupcakes as a snack”. Not that I know from personal experience…but I’m just sayin’.
That sometimes you have to stick it out in your crappy job, because it’s a recession and some career dreams (eg. circus journalist) are just unrealistic. And yes, in this economy, the unrealistic part is more “journalist” than “circus”. So, if you know of any openings in the circus… hit me up.
But most of all, I hate the smells. I hate the smell of wet, grimy New York after it rains in the summer. I hate the salty, sweaty smell of people standing too close in the subway. I hate the smell that sneaks up on you, all of a sudden, as you turn a corner and oh!, that is nasty. New York is full of these unpleasant surprises, where pigeons can grow to be as tall as man, and the alley behind a seafood restaurant can force passersby into wind sprints.
However, above everything else, I love the chatter in the city. I love the crazy people talking to themselves on the subway. I love the snippets of conversation I hear while walking by couples, like “I never should have done that”, or, “But I trade debt securities for a living”. I love the passion of New York City, with all the yelling and the swearing and the impassioned, vehement debates (”He was talking about Bristol, not the 14-year old!”). I love how you can have enlightened conversations about everything, from the Iran election to the latest A-Rod debacle.
Whether we like it or not, we live in a world where classical music and Jane Austen are seen as culturally superior to “Boom Boom Pow” and Agatha Christie. Our society favors the New Yorker over Us Weekly, Italian wines over Franzia, and opera over Oprah. A line is drawn between “high” culture and “low” culture, based on some ephemeral idea of quality as defined by tradition, or reputation, or, more likely, some really old guys. Many of us have accepted this order, convincing ourselves that we too are high class: the smartest, most accomplished, and best-looking scholars and future leaders of America… the creme de la creme. Why then, should we debase our exceptionally-gifted minds with the crap of the masses? Why should we indulge in tabloid reading and Britney Spears?
So here’s a new approach: instead of trying to find intellectual ways to justify consuming pop culture, why not embrace it? Don’t sneak your Cosmo behind The Economist at the gym. Don’t pretend to channel surf on Flavor of Love. Don’t be embarrassed that you know all the songs on the Miley Cyrus CD. Almost everyone is affected by pop culture: we all know who Brangelina is and who K-Fed is not. We all know the words to “SexyBack” (they’re not hard…). So instead of fighting it, belt out “See You Again” unashamedly. Indulge in a little Flava Flav… and follow up with a Sandra Bullock TBS marathon. Enjoy the undeep, unanalytical, unintellectual publications like InTouch Weekly, filled with uncompoundable compound words.
Remember that cute guy in college? The one who sat behind you in class, was mildly awkward, but probably very nice? He’s the guy you’d never think about going out with before, but now… well, you’re thinking about giving him a chance. You start to look at people in a different way: old friends, work friends, and friends of friends… how would they look in your wedding photo? You begin trolling around Facebook to find out if the cute guy in college is still cute… and finally agree to be set up by your mom on a date.
Along my usual route, I sidestep many of the treasures of New York City. Outside of 53rd street, there is always at least one food product that has made its way into the road. One day it looked like a tub of mac and cheese. Another day, it appeared to be some kind of chili. My curiosity never gets me too close to the mystery slop though, mostly because a pack of pigeons is constantly steeped in the mess, devouring its breakfast. The sight of winged rats picking at day-old mashed potatoes is both horrifying and humanizing: horrifying because it’s gross, but humanizing because it makes me glad I’m not a pigeon. (I did some research, and my pigeon aversion is justified: urban pigeons only live for 3-5 years on average. I’d guess that obesity contributes to their short life span as much as reckless taxi drivers.)
By 7:09 AM, I reach my shuttle stop on a corner outside of a McDonald’s. The shuttle picks up every day at this corner, to drive all us Manhattan-based employees into New Jersey for work. So at 7:10 AM, I climb into an unmarked white van and sit uncomfortably close to co-workers. The shuttle driver weaves through West Side highway traffic, honking, cursing, and checking text messages. One shuttle driver managed to swill a gulp of Listerine and spit it out while still navigating the road. The passengers hide our fear by making small talk about the weather and swine flu, although more than a few can be seen with their eyes closed tightly, just hoping that it’ll all be over soon. 
We always think that if we work hard enough, we should be able to live a comfortable existence. We may not be rich, but we won’t be living in destitution, either. But Shipler points out that any one of the following factors can obstruct our socioeconomic mobility upward: poor health and health care, bad decisions (drugs, alcohol), environment (inadequate housing, violence in the community), race and ethnicity, and lack of educational opportunities, just to name a few. Some of these derailing factors are self-inflicted, some are the results of traumatic events or abuse, some are perpetuated by our institutions, and some are just the results of bad luck.
And if it’s in my self-interest that this man deserves something like healthcare, then what about people who I never see? What about the people who sew my clothes, pick my vegetables, and fix the roads over which I drive?
So, here is the rationale behind my distaste for accounting. Over the past two years, I’ve worked in corporate finance at a large firm, where I’ve had to learn a lot of accounting. I’ve been enlightened to the wonders of debits and credits, account receivables and payables, controllership, compliance, FASB and GAAP. It is about as interesting as it sounds. In general, the accountants that I’ve worked with are very nice, diligent people. But the actual job is dreadfully boring: balancing the balance sheet, reconciling accounts, and performing audit checks. By the second week of learning about proper T-accounting, I was ready to wring someone’s neck with an argyle sweater vest.
In the end, just as lawyers, bankers, or salesmen are necessary, I know that accountants are necessary. Madoff, Stanford, and other Ponzi schemers (like Gabriel from Gossip Girl) might have been stopped if they’d been scrutinized by some badass accountants. We need accountants to make sure our scummy salesmen aren’t recording fraudulent trades. We need them to tally up how much TARP money is being thrown at strippers in the club. We need them to confirm that our financial statements are accurate, so we can determine how to best price our cotton socks.
