... how i got here, part one.

: this was the view from my old office.


on the eighteenth floor of a very tall, very fancy, very important building in the midst of our fair, very important city. i had a slightly less important-looking cubicle, though still a cubicle that bore my name, on in the account management department of a big, fancy advertising agency. it was the first job that i didn't get because my dad told me to apply, or because i was otherwise employed and needed money, or because my parents knew someone who knew someone who knew someone, or even because i knew someone who knew someone who knew someone. it was the first real, big chance that i ever took in my whole life - not in the sense that if i didn't get the job, i was screwed, because in fact, i was gainfully employed as a receptionist/transitioning to marketing coordinator at a great little branding firm in charlestown. it was a big chance to take in the sense that, for the first time, i was voluntarily putting my own self esteem on the line. i knew that if i didn't get the job, i didn't have anyone to blame but myself. i was the one who found the original job posting, i was the one who sought out a direct e-mail contact, wrote a killer cover letter and then followed-up. i was the one who spoke on the phone with HR, and i was the one who bought the sharp suit and marched into my appointment all by myself, printed resumes in shiny folder, butterflies in stomach, ready to present myself to the real, big, fancy professional world. i sat alone in their pristine white lobby, on their hip and edgy white leather couch, mesmerized by the colorful images and sounds springing from the commercials that played on various flatscreen televisions scattered about the room. i sat nervously, alone, on that white couch, feeling as if my insufficiency would start oozing out of my skin without notice, blemishing their white couch, forever exposing me as the joke i was, in that lobby, that day. i couldn't help but look up from my resume - which looked so flawless when i'd gently tucked its freshy printed pages into a carefully-selected folder, and now looked grey and scratched in the flourescent light of the lobby - when the click-clacking sound of high heels returned to bounce of the walls around me, announcing the arrival of yet another meticulously-arranged young woman carrying a poster tube or stack of folders oh-so-importantly through the lobby. at the time, they didn't seem intentionally intimidating. in fact, they seemed nice. i foolishly felt some sort of kinship with them, given that i'd put so much thought and effort into assembling my own outfit for this day. in a sense, i was right to detect some sort of unspoken sisterhood among them - they posessed the same confident strut and sported similar knowing smirks - there was indeed something binding them together - they were untouchables. they were a rare breed of female - thought to be extinct, until they are spotted crawling among us. they are the ones who managed to survive junior high, high school, and college without enduring the embarassment of an awkward or unpopoular stage - they just floated on through, ever the same flawless being, characterized by long shiny hair, glowing unmarred skin, impossibly perfect figure, brain just large enough to pass for intelligent, heart just big enough to maintain the same "lifelong" friends from 1st grade... they were the girls who always knew the words to the hottest songs on the radio. their homework was always on time, and was always in the 90% range. they could pass for decent at anything - be it a leap in ballet, a dribble on the soccer field, or a self portrait in art class, even with really goopy paint and big clunky brushes. they were invited to everything, because everyone liked them, because they never did anything wrong.

well, almost everyone liked them. not people like me. i was the girl who looked like an entirely different human from year-to-year because i somehow managed to flip through awkward stages like a rolodex of tissues. i believe it began in preschool, during which i was allowed to wear nothing but dresses, lace socks and patent leather maryjanes. for about two years worth of daily recess, i sat patiently on the edge of the sandbox and watched with envy while my friends played together, knee-deep in dirt in their osh kosh b'gosh overalls, unfazed by their hair, which was tied back in a ponytail unlike mine, which was curled by my mother every day. the next minute i was a freakishly skinny twelve year old with knobby knees, abnormally large shoulders and a giant, mouth full of protruding braces, brackets and neon-colored elastic bands. on the long-anticipated day that i did get my braces off (which i dreamt almost constantly for two years - i was sure that i'd emerge from my mother's station wagon a changed person, that the school doors would fly open and and emit golden light, releasing thrawls of handsome young men shocked by my transformation and desperate to take me on a date), my mother insisted that i wear a "festive sweater" that she'd bought me - a puff-sleeved, fire engine red chenille sweater with giant silver yarn snowflakes dotting the front. needless to say this was the only thing people noticed. the sweater and matching bright red knee socks. ... the next minute i had a horrendous haircut and was trying desperately to fit my body into the "cool" clothes, which for me, entailed begging my mother to drive me to a consignment shop, where i would offer to be a domestic slave in exchange for any article of clothing that had the word "abercrombie" embroidered on the exterior. given that i was dramatically underdeveloped, i would safety pin these articles of clothing to my underwear so they didn't fall off completely, exposing my training bra and my little pony underwear. ... i can't even begin to describe the horrendous images that come to mind when i think of high school.

the untouchables were impossible. the impossible that was untouchable. it seemed as though they automatically inherited some sense of ultimate authority and privilege. they were the ones who determined what their peers should wear, what they should listen to on the radio, what they should watch on TV and talk about in class. they were never questioned, or disciplined, when they pointed fingers at others and laughed loudly or mocked publicly. they never had braces or stringy hair or greasy skin. they never had to ride their bikes to school in a dress or endure an empty desk on valentine's day. they always had plenty to giggle about near the lockers at school, and plenty of sleepovers to talk about in their special area at the back of the bus. they were the girls that grabbed a preciously private note from your hands and read it aloud to your classmates, including your crush. they were the ones who tied your shoelaces together when you weren't looking, and laughed when you fell in front of the entire classroom. they were the girls who spent all night chatting on the phone with boys, then looked over your shoulder during the test. they were the prom queen and the head cheerleader and the class president.

...and lo and behold, here they all were! i wondered if all those "lifelong girlfriends" would ever see each other again before meeting up in hell, but, alas, they do! they meet in the advertising world, on the account management floor. and oops, here i was, putting all my hope and energy into a job that i thought would be perfect for me.

but let's back up. why did i think this job would be perfect for me in the first place? i always wanted to be a hundred different things when i was a little girl... an actress, a princess, a teacher, a lawyer, a writer, an artist... people told me time and time again that advertising was the perfect intersection of all these interests - -