I certainly don’t mean to come off as unaware of my good fortune.  I do recognize how lucky we are and how bad things could have gotten.  But even before the economy started heading south I felt a sense of gloom about my long-term prospects in the corporate world.  Perhaps it was the lack of options for us working parents with small children that got me started on the slippery slide into full-blown disillusionment. Or maybe it was hearing senior leadership refer to co-workers with the same smug disdain they usually reserved for our clients. Whatever it was that finally pushed me over the edge, there’s no doubt that I’m only one of many facing a state of jobful despair. There are scores of people like me simply collecting a paycheck and lacking passion for their job despite the fact that they love their work.  What’s worse: I’ve realized that my disillusionment isn’t because I don’t feel hope or see potential for companies and their workers to succeed together, but rather, I’m disillusioned because I do.  Call it my Jerry Maguire moment if you’d like but I can’t stop asking myself, “Isn’t there more to life than this?”

*****

It was in May, amidst this tough operating environment where workers give more and get less and with a larger climate of uncertainty looming over the American consumer, that my company’s new management team made an “important” announcement.

“Clearly, we can’t go into 2010 doing the same things in the same way,” they said.  ”It’s time we leverage our ingenuity, initiative and drive to achieve our goals.  In short, it’s time for some change.”

We all leaned forward, hands cupped to our ears in anticipation.

Saying that you want to change things always has the effect of generating excitement, unless it’s abused, in which case it’s just another in a series of empty promises, full of sound & fury but little meaning.

Largely, we all remained optimistic.  New leadership and new vision at the top might actually bring about the change we knew we needed.  Months went by…

And then, one sticky September day change arrived in the form of an email announcement with the subject reading:

“Let’s ‘Dress for Success’: A Corporate Pride Initiative”

(That thudding sound you just heard was the sound of a 400+ foreheads simultaneously banging their desks in frustration)

The email announcement went on to describe the importance of “wearing our corporate pride” and then laid out the plan (with full-color flyers and examples of well-dressed vs. inappropriately dressed workers) for shifting from a semi-casual dress code to a business casual dress code.  Sadly, all of this was positioned as a visionary concept sure to pull us out of our dire economic straights and back into the black.

Oh wise corporate dynamos, what were you thinking?  You went off into your plush corner office for several months while we all plowed ahead under what could best be described as minimal guidance and this is what you came back with?  A new dress code? That is your big idea for fostering change, ingenuity, and drive?  You want us to change our company culture starting with our pants?  With the odds stacked against us and the going getting tougher and tougher, the tough – according to your logic – put on a sharper outfit?

And then came the realization: we are so, totally, SCREWED.

*****

I know I’m not alone in my feelings of worker disillusionment.  Everywhere I go I talk to men and women who are working the jobs of 3 or more people and haven’t seen a raise or even a cost of living increase in more than 2 years. When I talk to these friends about what keeps them afloat, it’s always the same: a steady wage and their dreams.  And those dreams are coming true for some of us – women in particular – who are smarter than Corporate America seems to think we are.  Smart enough to know when to get out, at least.

According to US News & World Report between 1997 and 2004, the number of businesses owned by women grew by almost 20 percent, compared with only a 9 percent increase overall.  While I’m sure our current economy has stifled this growth, I find this to be an astounding figure – a clear message in the form of a single-fingered salute; a message which says: “We will do better than this”.

Unfortunately, it’s a message many companies seem to be ignoring in the face of more recent economic turmoil.  But economic conditions are cyclical and, indeed companies do need to change to retain their relevancy to both workers and consumers alike. But it’s women who are showing they have the will and the smarts necessary to realize potential.  So if economies are cyclical and change is a constant in the universe, and the pillars of the modern American workforce are burnt out, pissed off and planning their escape, then aren’t we about due for a perfect storm?

I think there’s a chance – albeit a slim one – that we can avoid a messy break-up with Corporate America by exercising better communication skills.  After all, most of Corporate America is still run by men and we all know that men don’t understand 90% of what we’re saying.  Perhaps we’ve been talking them to death (like we do…)?  Maybe it’s time we lay it out in a way that even they can understand.

That got me thinking. What if I could write a “Dear John” letter to Corporate America and tell this thug of a mate, clearly and unambiguously what I want out of a relationship and why our current one just isn’t working for me? What if we all did?  Would we really make the change we want to see in the world?

Dear Corporate America -

You may not know me very well, but I’ve been working for you for the better part of 20 years now.  It’s because of our long-term relationship that I am compelled to write this letter and let you know about the serious mistakes you’re making. These mistakes are so unforgivable that I may soon be forced to leave you and join the ranks of my bolder, more entrepreneurial sisters. But before I allow my emotions to carry me away, I’d like to point out your mistakes to you in a way that’s constructive so that, hopefully, you’ll do your part to turn this relationship around, or at least prevent your behavior from destroying all of your future relationships.

Following are the keys to making our relationship work.  They’re pretty easy and there’s only four of them (to keep you from feeling too overwhelmed).

I need…

to be inspired – just a little bit – so that I don’t feel like I’m wasting my life on a venture that’s destined to fail while working for people whose cluelessness would engender my pity if I weren’t so damn angry.  I want to be made to see the potential in what I’m doing – and as a leader it’s your job to show it to me.  Make it clear and make it matter.

the right amount (and type) of challenges to stay intellectually engaged and empowered.  I don’t want to do work that I suck at just to collect a paycheck.  If I wanted to do that, I’d go back to working in food service.  I want to be skilled and I want to learn new things so I can become a better me.  You can and should want that for me as well.

to be treated like an adult. I “get” that not all of us act like adults all of the time (myself included), but I think I deserve the benefit of the doubt.  Didn’t your mother ever tell you that it’s always better to treat people the way you want them to behave?  Besides, when you invite me to be part of the solution instead of treating me as though I’m part of the problem, I’m far more interested in furthering our relationship.

to be compensated fairly for my achievements. We all sell-out, that’s the nature of working for someone else.  Consider compensating me fairly as a form of business insurance so that the next time I get restless about my decision to be a whore – the money doesn’t become the focus of my angst.

As a working mom, I’ve already got a leg up on you in terms of mental agility and a general willingness to embrace risk. Voluntarily turning one’s life upside down to raise children – now that’s some risk-taking!  The ability to maintain one’s sanity while juggling a job, a marriage, and  a 4 year old and a 5 year old who are all simultaneously screaming for your full-attention requires, shall we say a “generous” amount of talent, time & resource management.  These things come easily to me, but I’ve seen how you operate and it’s not pretty.  That means I’ve realized that I don’t need you to be successful.  If I can spend my days solving your problems, my problems and my family’s problems then I can certainly succeed in business on my own terms.

The ideas I’ve shared here are nothing new or terribly revolutionary.  You may be apt to dismiss me or label me as naive, but I know from my highlighted hair to my peep-toe pumps that good business is all about people  - and if there’s one thing we women are keenly aware of it’s people.  It is our sociability that feeds us and provides us with our amazing ability to relate to one another. That power coupled with our desire to do things right and make things better in this world is the reason more and more of us are leaving you and not looking back.

So unless you can turn this relationship around in short order, I see no choice but to move on before you leave me or force me out.  Either way, you should know that I’ll be walking away with more than a severance check and a reference.  I’ll be taking my amazing intellect, my innate understanding of people, and my mad PowerPoint skills with me.  I may not be the last woman you’ll ever have, but I’m certainly going to be one of the best.

Sincerely,

Sam

As we all swapped fire drill stories later that evening, it occurred to me that my days and the kid’s days are not so dissimilar.  Just as Adam and Tabitha endure the indignities of petty playground politics and feeling as though they are being victimized by “the system” (a system whose sole goal it seems is to keep them from having fun) I, too, endure a form of petty playground politics and feelings of helplessness only on a different scale.  Instead of getting sandbox sand thrown in my face, I have the threat of a pink slip in my inbox.

I realize it’s not an original idea – the analog between work & school – but only now do I realize just how much the two environments really have in common.  From the office vixen to the school slut. From the backstabbing middle management snitch to the tattling tot who turns you in for cheating on your test.  Somehow, I’m living my own version of “Groundhog Day” reliving the same routine, day in and day out for going on (gulp) four decades…

*****

In every school there’s always a goodie-two-shoes, student council type kid who’s overly studious and irritatingly supportive of the administration and all their “rules”.  In the workplace, that irritating kid is now the office manager and we are all forced to endure her aggressive adoption and firm adherence to even more “rules”.

Case in point: my company’s recent decision to abandon Styrofoam cups in the break room in favor of ceramic coffee mugs.  Newsflash people:  I manage to overcome my almost overwhelming desire to drink myself into oblivion each night and the next morning, I somehow overcome the most powerful urge to ditch my job and sleep in for a change.  Instead, I go to work.  I think this qualifies me as a responsible adult (well, mostly responsible).  I’ll venture to say that, at least, I’m responsible enough to handle all the demands of borrowing a coffee mug.

But instead of assuming that we’re all responsible adults here, we’re all treated as children on the playground.  You see, there are no less than 6(!) full-color posters featured on the door to the break room, on both refrigerators, over the sink, and two above the coffee maker all designed and displayed by our former Office Manager to communicate “the rules” about borrowing a coffee mug.

Maybe Dick is a bad influence on me.  Or maybe, after all these years spent following everyone else’s rules I’m finally ready to take a stand and rebel!  Whatever the cause of my new found resistance, I’m proud to say that I’ve grown a pair and have happily graffiti-ed (well, I like to think of it as “virtually altered”) one of the most annoying aforementioned posters – the coffee mug FAQ.  I shit you not.

Of course by doing this, I realize I’m now falling into the typical “problem kid” role, but I figure if I’m going to have to relive my school days for the rest of my life, I might as well have a little fun.

Thus one might conclude that I’m wise to the ways of the sales force, or at the very least, smart enough to have adopted some basic sales resistance & redirection techniques.  But alas, my apathy in the face of potential conflict with others (especially those unfortunate enough to make their living on commission) makes me the perfect mark for a sneaky conversational dead-end.

*****

I had only stepped into the store to buy some new eye shadow but the next thing I knew I was sitting down in a make-up chair about to have my eyes “done”.  The make-up artist was a petite, buxom girl in her early twenties with gigantic, perfectly lined green eyes and wearing a tight-fitting goth version of a Catholic school girl’s uniform.  She looked like one of the Japanese anime girls from Dick’s comic books – coltish, young, fierce and overtly sexual.

As anime girl removed my faded eye make up, the pitch began; she extolled the virtues of her company’s “amazing” eye make-up remover.

“It’s, um, like, totally chemical free and all natural,” she reassured me.

“Uh-huh,” I replied dispassionately.

“I have women who come in with really sensitive skin and who use long-wearing mascara and they swear by this product.”

“Hm…Interesting.”

Anime girl never took the pitch to the next level by asking me questions. Her deliver of product features & benefits was informative, but hardly meaningful. I dismissed her.

But then I thought better of being so dismissive.  Perhaps I should use this encounter as a teaching moment for myself?  Such a young woman of her limited life experience would surely be a good place to start building my confidence – an easy mark for a trained sales professional such as moi. I’d be helping anime girl refine her technique.

Predictably, I wimped out on taking a hard stance, electing instead to get my eye shadow and get the heck out of there. Besides, withholding comment could help me score some freebie samples.

Finally sensing my complete disinterest in eye make-up remover, anime girl moved on to another approach.

“You know, you’ve got great skin.  How old are you?”

“37,” I reluctantly volunteered.

“Wow!  You look, like, totally amazing!  You must use a pretty intense sunblock to keep your skin looking like this…”

(Okay.  I admit it. I was flattered.  Everyone likes to be told they look younger than their actual age.)

“Thanks. I just use Oil of Olay with SPF30.”

I looked up and saw a faint glimmer in her eye.  Through clever questioning, I had just given her an “in” to my consumer psyche – a “sales clue” as it were.  It did not go unnoticed.

“We make an outstanding daily moisturizer with SPF45.  It has a Chinese wild mushroom extract that’s been proven to brighten the skin, increase moisture retention and fade sunspots. It’s great for Florida. I’ll put some on you so you can see what it feels like.”

She dabbed a small amount on my face and gently patted it into my forehead, chin & eye area.

“The best part about our moisturizer is that you only use a very tiny amount.  So you can get a lot more mileage out of it – unlike the store-bought brands which require a heavier application to get the benefit.  In the end, you actually spend less on our product.”

I remained silent, waiting for her to go for the kill, “Would you like me to set some of this amazing moisturizer aside for you?”

She never did.  Instead, she moved back to working on my eyes and I began to relax and let my guard down.

“Do you use a shadow primer?” she asked.

“Yes…”

“What brand?”

Hm. Unexpected. Now she’s back in the game!  Seems she wants to up the ante and go for a more confrontational approach. Touché anime girl!  Asking me to name a specific brand is a direct challenge. She wants to engage me in a game of name dropping as a show of her superior product knowledge. If she wins, I must defer to her expertise by buying her products.  If I win, she backs off and I leave with my favorite green eye shadow (some freebies) and my self-esteem intact.  Thankfully, when it comes to make up, I’m no slacker. I knew I was up for the challenge.

“I use Laura Geller’s eye shadow primer.”

Anime girl stopped in her tracks.  Her stunned expression quickly dissolved into a smile.

“Laura Geller?  You use Laura Geller? So do I! That stuff is so good. I’ll totally give you that one…”

Check & mate!  Score one for Sam!

Newly confident, I relaxed again and enjoyed the silence as she worked on my eyes without throwing anymore pitches my way.  A few minutes later anime girl passed me a mirror. To my amazement, my finished eyes looked incredible…and I was sold.

*****

In retrospect, anime girl wasn’t such a naive young lady after all.  While her motives and approach were appropriately transparent for a salesperson, it was a stroke of genius to agree with me on the superiority of a competitor’s product.  With my ego falsely inflated and my guard down anime girl finally uncovered the key to selling me an entire palette of 4 eye shadows, a new brush, and mascara  - all to the tune of $75 and all while making me enjoy the experience of lining her pockets.  Once she figured out how to feed my ego and keep me sitting there, she let her products and her make-up application skills do the selling for her.

While I may not be sold on all of her company’s products, I’m definitely sold on my sparkly new eye makeup.  More so I learned that, when it comes to sales training, there’s nothing I can teach my learners that they can’t learn from being customers themselves. Knowing how to read people and discern their motivations is a gift, but one that can be developed over time and with lots of practice.  Hopefully, in time, I will develop the gift to outwit clever salespeople   – but first I’m going to have to figure out how to outwit myself.

Samantha,

 

I was just going over my key log and I see that I had a desk key assigned to you when you sat downstairs.  That key was never turned in.  Do you still have it?

 

Thank you,

 

P. Tripper

It’s been about a year since I sat in that desk.  I don’t even remember having a desk key.  So I innocently responded:

Sorry, I don’t think I have the key.  I believe I may have left it in the lock on the overhead bin when I moved upstairs last year.

 

-Sam

Then things got ugly…

Samantha,

 

We have a strict company policy that states that all keys must be turned in and never left behind at your desk.  I need you to go downstairs and find the key as soon as possible or I’ll have to notify your manager of this policy violation.

 

Technically, the key is assigned to you and you are responsible for it and the cost of replacing it should it be lost or stolen.

 

P. Tripper

Ooh!  Big, bad Office Manager lady just whacked me with the big sticks: Policy, Violation & Manager!   Now I’m shaking, timid, crouching on the ground – awed by the terrific power she wields…

I apologize.  I wasn’t aware of the company’s policy concerning desk keys.

 

I’m working remotely today.  Would it be possible for you to go downstairs and look for the key?  Or, I can look for it on Monday?  Is there any identifying information on the key?

 

-Sam

Like a spree-killer who’s grown tired of the taste of blood, she backs off.  But not without inflicting a final, albeit pathetic, blow.

I’m in the office today and flooded with work.  It can wait until Monday.

 

The key number is XXX-XXX-C

 

P. Tripper

Notice the words “I’m in the office today…”?  This is a dig at what she perceives to be my cush working from home arrangement.  Little does she know that I’m down a kidney and a pint of blood to score a work from home day.  And then there’s the continuation of the previous dig, “…and [I'm] flooded with work.”   Uh-huh.  It’s obvious to me that she’s got a lot of work to do today given that she’s inventorying desk keys and writing threatening emails.  I’m sure when she’s done with all that she’s got some baby seals to bludgeon and a rain forest to burn.  I don’t know why she doesn’t just say it outright, ”I’m very busy and important.” 

Who knows?  Maybe she’s smarter than I am.  While I’m off writing another mocking blog post about my workweek she’s probably saved the company well over $1.50 in lost keys while simultaneously reminding everyone with hiring & firing authority of her role in maintaining fiscal restraint; and in these tough times it’s all about the bottom line.  

*****

I wrap up this week’s adventures in the workplace with relief.  Despite my misgivings I, and we, made it through yet another week of career day-dreaming, thankless cubicle life, and pointless interactions with over-zealous support staff.  I think this calls for a drink and a single-finger salute!  Hip-hip-hooray!  Hooray for Friday!

If you asked me to pinpoint the moment when I first stood out as different from the rest of the pack, I couldn’t name it.  I’m not sure how I ended up with the creative rep.  My wardrobe isn’t particularly showy or interesting.  If people are judging me by my cubicle decor, they certainly wouldn’t see anything creative going on there, either unless “hodge podge” has been misconstrued as “creative” by people whose only cubicle ornamention is a collection of dirty coffee mugs and empty Mountain Dew bottles.  Since my team leader has made it clear that enthusiasm and creativity are not valued traits in employees I make an effort to remove flair from my work.  I’m really at a loss to explain how my flair is showing. 

But now that I’ve been outted as having flair, I’m thinking I should just embrace the rep and own all the quirky stereotypes.  Looking out a the sea of beige flooring and the grave yard of soulless cubicles surrounding me, I see no better place to start flashing my eccentricities than in my cube.  The temptation to decorate the hell out of my cubicle is oh-so-alluring.  I can’t afford to  go decor crazy at home, but in my little prison cell?  Heck yeah!  I’m thinking mid-century modern…or, maybe Hollywood Regency.  Or, maybe I should I go full-on asian zen? 

Here’s my inspiration from DiddlySquat.com.  This blogger/Cubicle Decorating Genius cleverly uses an Ikea picnic table cover & inexpensive accessories from Target & Michaels to great effect. 

BEFORE…

Before: Blah & Bland

 

AFTER…

After: Chic & Cozy

As they say on HGTV, "great accessories really make the space."

 

Then  again, maybe I’ll just eff around with all the uptight geeks here and work on morphing my image from quirky, frustrated artist to complete nutjob…

 

And in case my insanity isn’t entirely clear, I’ll add a few of these…

Bad news: In the event of layoff, this person's got some significant move-out time. Good news: They'll have plenty of Pez to snack on while they pack up."

 

Finally - an answer to the question, "Who do I have to screw around her get some freakin' Post-it Notes?"

 

"For the cubicle prisoner who likes to feel he's on a tropical island..."

 

Clearly someone who thinks of their job as being 'in the can'.

 

Send me a photo of your cube if you think you can do better than these folks.  Consider yourself warned: it’s going to be tough to top the bathroom cublicle guy…

*****

If I could afford to leave this cubicle grave yard and seek out a new fantasy career what would it be, or better yet, what would I be? 

I’ve said I would love to be a writer – which is absolutely true.  Writing is my cardio.  But assuming that writing never manages to pay me a living wage or burn off my plethora of ass fat (and so far it hasn’t in either case), maybe I should try something else?  How about being a massage therapist, a farmer, or a chocolatier?  I mean, what’s not to like about massage,  bacon, and chocolate? 

Then I read this great article from the Sunday Style section of the NY Times about Plan B careers and thought twice about going into massage or farming:   What’s Your Backup Plan?

As for being a chocolatier, I refuse to believe that there isn’t any future for me and chocolate.  We have so much history together.  Besides, the world has yet to appreciate the life-changing, orgasmic power of the dark chocolate coconut daiquiri truffle I will someday invent.  Got your attention now, didn’t I?

The more I think about it, the more I think losing my job might not be the most tragic thing to happen to me.  I’m not really cut out to be corporate material, anyway.  I’m too cynical to tow the party line and disdain anything that smacks of real responsibility.  My idea of being a strategic thinker is planning what I’m eating for lunch while I’m finishing my breakfast cereal.  Besides, life is too short to be spent locked away in a cubicle.  If I get laid off , I think I’m going to have to pursue one of my many “dream jobs”.

Being highly insecure, I’ve mentally set aside several jobs that I think could be “dream jobs” for me.  I had to choose several because I’m terrified that if I actually pursued any of these jobs, I would suck at them or not love them enough to become good, thus turning them into a nightmare.  But of my stash of dream jobs, there is one that I think I might have a natural talent for, that I would really love doing, and that doesn’ t require me to do much more than I do already - which is be my acerbic self.

What is this perfect dream job you ask?  It’s to work for my favorite ecard source – Someecards.com.    Ever since Dick introduced me to their site, I’ve felt a kinship with the artist/authors.  I think my bitter, highly inappropriate perspective requires that I work with a group of like-minded individuals and the someecards people are just my gang.

Inspired by this week’s someeacards newsletter, I decided to take a stab at designing some of my own ecards.  I call them Bitch-ecards (and yes, I know that’s weak and contrived).  Check ‘em out.  And, if you’re looking to hire a bitter, highly inappropriate person to write for you please consider the following as an audition for a spot on your team.

Samantha’s Bitch-ecards

For the kids…

For on the job…

For your spouse…

For after the lovin’…

Crappy image quality aside – what do think?  Should I pursue my dream job, or keep my day job?

As an Instructional Designer (ID) I’m very passionate about the quality of the materials I produce.  I’m particularly obsessed with ease of use when it comes to designing for adults.   Why is usefulness so important, you ask?  Indulge me for a moment, please…

(Cue dreamy, wavy lines and flashback music)

You’ve just attended a great training class for your job.  During the class you received a snazzy binder or workbook and at the end, your instructor passed out more goodies - ”tools” to remind you of the lessons learned in training, as they support your newly enhanced performance back on the job.  These tools were in the form of a mouse pad outlining the steps of a crucial process, a wallet-sized quick reference card with important phone numbers on it, a 15-page stapled quick reference document, and a glossy tri-fold brochure which you know must’ve cost a fortune to print. 

Sound familiar?   So, tell me, which of these items did you actually end up using on the job? 

The harsh truth is, inspiration dries up quickly, changed outlooks don’t always equal changed behaviors and all of those tools I mentioned above, probably either ended up in a trash can, a recycle bin, or a desk drawer.  That’s because grown ups are super picky.  We have to be.  Our lives are too complicated to agonize over everything we need to do.  We really only have the time and energy to embrace whatever tool gives us the quickest, easiest way to get from A to B.  As IDs, it’s our job to know this about human nature, and allow this knowledge to inform our design process. 

But too often we don’t and this brings me to my point.  I’m always surprised at what other IDs consider to be a “job aid”.  My colleagues, knowing my penchant for every detail of my designs, have taken to previewing their work to me to get my opinion and make changes before the boss catches these flaws.  Inevitably, I’ve found my biggest critique of other people’s work is that they’re bombarding the learner with too much information.  

“Shouldn’t my the learner have all of the information from the program at their finger tips?”, they ask expectantly.

“No. They should have only the most critical information at their finger tips.  If they want the rest of it, that’s what the workbook/participant manual is for.”

As if this response isn’t obnoxious enough, then I really pursue full-on a**hole status by sharing with them my definition of an effective job aid: 

“A job aid is any quick reference tool which succinctly captures essential information needed for a specific system, process, policy or procedure in an easy to read format.” 

Just when they’re reluctantly nodding in agreement, I continue with my description of a what typical job aid should look like:

“A quick-reference job aid should be no larger than a double-sided 8.5 x 11″ sheet of paper, and no smaller than a 4″ x 6″ sheet of paper, color-printed on card stock and laminated for durability.  If multiple job aids are required for a training program, each one should be printed on a different colored card stock (i.e., color-coded) for ease of use.”

Then I throw in:

“For the record, a job aid is NOT any of these things: 

• A multi-page stapled document that requires the user to read extensively

(People don’t want to play “Where’s Waldo” to find important information when a customer or colleague is screaming at them on the other end of the phone)

• A double-sided 11 x 14″ anything

(In a cubicle that’s 3′ x 5′, an 11″ x 14″ sheet of paper looks like floor to ceiling wallpaper)

• A mouse pad

(Do people still use mouse pads in the age of optical mice?  I don’t think so.)

• A single-sided document of any size with text so tiny an ant would have to squint to read it

(Just because you can make it all fit on one page doesn’t mean you should)

Then I summarize with:

“If the take-away tools for your learners can’t fit it into a standard desk drawer, if they require more than one thumb tack to hang on a cubicle wall, or if they require longer than 60 seconds of scanning to locate vital information, then it’s not a job aid – it’s a job impediment.”

*****

Usually people are surprised to see so much passion expressed for something so mundane.  As much as I joke about the monotony of work or slogging through my day, the truth is that I enjoy the challenges and I really appreciate the opportunity to make someones life a little easier – as corny as that sounds.  

Besides, life is short.  I think we should all be passionate about something other than our real jobs as moms & dads.  Staying engaged – passionately engaged – is just a good way to ensure some balance in a life that tends to swing in rhythm to our children’s ever-changing needs, as our own needs get tossed aside.   There’s no shame in admitting that it feels good to rise to the challenge of nurturing your creative interests while you nurture a family.  The shame lies in denying your inner designer the chance to break free – even if it is just a job aid.

Paycation Planning

As far as I can tell, paycation planning is all about blood, sweat and tears.  Oh, and being robbed by travel providers.  This phase is dedicated to all the painful detail work and organization that will, hopefully, result in a relaxing vacation.  Typical tasks in this phase include:

• calendar coordination amongst multiple people – some of whom are far too young to have their own lives yet
• arguing with family over which sorta, kinda nearby relatives you’re going to hit (or skip) on your trip
• route planning – aka, Why the hell do I have to go to Newark via Denver?
• And, my personal favorite: being mugged by hotel, rental car companies, and airlines who shamelessly nickel and dime you when they’re not busy scrutinizing your footwear or your Oil of Olay for potential weapons

The Execution

I chose the word execution on purpose because after all the stress of the planning phase, you’re usually ready to kill someone.  But if you were successful in the first phase, this is the point where all the planning either 1) pays off or 2) gets shot to hell by some small, but crucial detail you overlooked. 

Once underway, a typical paycation involves recklessly spending money in the name of fun by acquiring tacky, overpriced crap you’ll never see, touch, smell, eat, wear or use again; things like cheap, plastic coconut-shell shaped branded cocktail glasses or neon green t-shirts that say “I got f’d up in Cabo!”.

The Return

You’re back home.  The house smells kind of funny and it’s weird having no dog around to greet you at the front door.  Your posse is exhausted, but as parents, you have no choice but to spend the next 3 hours unloading and unpacking about ten times the amount of stuff you left home with. 

Of course, if you actually managed to detach from the rat race while you were away,  you now hesitantly fire up your computer to prescreen the horror yet to come, a ritual also known as checking your office email.  Usually there’s a ton of routine stuff and two or three bombshell messages that are so staggeringly bad that you briefly strategize a plan for faking your own death.  When you finally do drag yourself back to work, you spend the first day smacking your forehead against your desk wondering why you ever thought you could truly get away from it all. 

Vacation may be over, but you’re still paying for it… 

*****

Like many people, I have more than my fair share of family paycation horror stories.  I’m sure my mom and stepfather thought they were the ones paying for the trip, but my recollection of events implies that the payment was spread evenly amongst us. 

My family’s paycations were unique in that we never really “went” anywhere.  For some bizarre reason, we would spend 3 weeks a year driving from fabulously interesting Southern California , a mere 30 minutes south of Los Angeles, to Dullsville, Oregon, Notevenonthemap, Idaho, or worse – anywhere in Utah – home of all the white people.  It was like my folks went out of their way to find places that no one else wanted to visit.  Regardless of the ultimate destination (although the word destination seems a bit generous…) our annual roadtrip always included a stop in Vegas.  The trip to Vegas would’ve been great had it not been the gritty 70’s/early 80’s era Dan Tanna-esque Vegas.  You know, the good ‘ole adults only, non-family-friendly Vegas.  Being under age in Vegas back then meant I spent my paycation time either hanging out in a cheap motel room with my baby brother watching TV while my folks stayed out gambling or going to nude reviews all night long, or it meant hanging out in the midway at the Circus Circus hotel with one roll of quarters allotted for several hours of G-rated entertainment, which, in reality, only provided about 3.57 minutes of gaming fun.  Between the sentence of solitary confinement in Vegas, to the ultimate death sentence of third row minivan seating before the days of rear air conditioning or DVD players, my paycations were complete and utter misery, lacking a journey or a destination.   Thank God for Judy Blume books and the Walkman. 

Aside from our stays in Vegas, my famiy was way too cheap for hotels so we would usually sleep in the minivan at roadside rest stops.  Occasionally, driver exhaustion and body odor would force my parents to spring for a $29 single at the Motel 6 – my brother and I being smuggled into the room under blankets or stuffed into my stepfather’s military issue duffle bag to get the cheapest rate.  

Describing my childhood paycations to my husband and friends nowadays, I’ve likened them to the movie National Lampoon’s Vacation but without the wacky fun of the dead aunt on the roof rack.  Worse, I realize now that for the amount of money my family spent driving around on these pointless odysseys we could’ve actually gone somewhere – maybe even somewhere interesting.  I mean, no kid wants to return from summer vacation extolling the virtues of exotic Corvalis, Oregon.  No offense, Corvalis, but for that same $3k, I bet I could’ve had a hell of a time in sleep-away summer camp or visiting every amusement park, museum and mall in Southern California.

I’d like to think that I’ll never fall into the trap of dragging my children on dull travel adventures in the name of family fun, but I’m sure we’re destined to repeat history.  Already, Dick and I are formulating a plan for a one week roadtrip culminating in a visit with relatives the kids don’t know in a place where visiting relatives are the only source of entertainment.  Surely, that plan is frought with potential for misery suitable for many future therapy sessions.   

Upon further reflection, I guess the merit of my childhood paycation experience is that, not only can I recognize things that aren’t fun, I also have an amusing set of travel annecdotes primed for entertaining others way more than the paycations themselves, ever entertained me.  Of course, there’s also the bonus of being able to play the “guilt” card on my kids in the future.  What better way to counter complaints about their misery than to share one of these stories about being slowly suffocated in the back of a minivan for 3 weeks.  I suppose that alone is worth all the paining, the pining, and the paying.