Eat my Crocs
Don't get me wrong. I like my new job ok. I like my new boss even if I don't like that creepy Rush Limbaugh wanna-be who works with me and who plays progressive jazz and the blues on his computer many days to the point of making me want to go "postal." (No offense to any postal worker who's reading this.) I have done a good job being professional and evasive and not even screaming like an Eduard Munch painting. But today something happened that really bothered me.
I work at a place of higher learning, and Monday brings the review board that all educational institutes must endure for accreditation. Since I am not in a position of power, I just do what I'm told and help out as much as possible. So when my boss, the absent-minded professor (AMP), asked for us to show up today, Saturday, the 3 of us were more than willing to help do anything to support him in his efforts to prepare for the visit. As the 2 other men in the department arrived earlier than I did (because I was somewhat grumpy and out of sorts for having to go into work on Saturday, especially on a day where my college kid came home for the day), I showed up around 11 for 4 hours of work. (Never mind that I don't see a $ of overtime until I've worked 40 hours of it. May take a year. (This is where the pity party comes in. I'm not really whining. It is what it is.)
So after the 4 hours of filing and copying and doing whatever I could do help out the AMP, I'm in his office where we're saying our good-byes and thank you for coming in. We sit down, with 2 other people in his office who are also helping him, and he says (in the nicest way possible), "You know Monday is an important day so let's all be our best. That means no clogs." I couldn't believe he not only said this, but that he thought he had to say this to me.
I am almost 49 years old. I was a teacher for many years and, yes, I dressed up for Open House and Parent conferences. I only wore jeans on designated "spirit days" along with the school's colors. I even wore panty hose. It was the 80s. For almost 2 decades after that I was an editor for a medical textbook publishing company and worked with doctors from across the world. I dressed appropriately during the 80s and even when "business casual" came about in the 90s, I did my best to dressed nicely if not casually. Ok, so I went from panty hose to knee highs, but I still washed my hair, wore make-up, dressed in outfits that were coordinated and even made fun of the occasional memos that the authorities thought had to go out about the difference between "garage cleaning" casual and "business" casual. And when I went to medical conferences and "worked the booth," I wore suits to meet with the doctors. When they came to the company to work on their books, I dressed nicely. I was, after all, AN ADULT.
So there I am, almost 49, after 3 decades in the work world, listening to this man tell me not to wear my Crocs to work. I had absolutely no intention of wearing my Crocs on Monday for "show day." I had even picked out the outfit I would wear to impress the powers that be (PTB) that day, and it was a dark green faux suede SUIT. Did you read that? A FUCKING SUIT. My navy blue Crocs would clearly not go with it, and yes, I do own a nice pair of comfortable black shoes. And all I could think was, "I promise not to wear my Crocs if you promise not to wear the pair of pants you own with the broken zipper." Or "I promise not to wear Crocs if that pompous conservative asshole doesn't play his friggin' jazz and blues all day." And "I promise not to wear my Crocs if that research resident, whom we all like, doesn't wear his terribly ugly pair of large-wale cords the color of baby shit." But instead, I just smiled and said, "Of course."
Damn, I'm growing up. If I can keep my mouth shut when someone tells me how to dress, don't you think I know how to dress professionally? And my zipper works!