I Wore A Wig To The Office and Other Reasons Why It’s All So Weird
The most fascinating fact about office environments is that no matter the city, industry or stature of the building — it’s basically all the same.
The people I mean. The people. They are all clones developed by the same manufacturer of bullshit.
The daily meetings in the morning usually start at 9 am or 9:30 am. You go in and take a seat as you flash a half-assed smile to the person who will be sitting next to you.
Once the proceedings are underway, you pretend to listen intently and timely jot down what you think is worthy of note.
You do this in order to give the impression that you are somewhat invested in all the background noise around you — when in fact you are lost in a vacuum of thoughts that take from the shores of South Beach to the awesome sex you had that morning.
You wonder if people can smell how good it was.
Once its all over, you head to the pantry for coffee, holding the donut that came out of a box that someone brought into the meeting. Because it’s LA — you’re the only one munching on it.
The wig on your head feels really tight and just as you’re about to leave the pantry for the bathroom to figure out why the hell you have a tension headache — you hear a voice praising the hair on your head.
You turn around and smile. “Thanks, but it’s actually a wig”. You smile and she is taken aback. She’s white. She expected you to explain how you got your hair to coil like that and whether or not it takes 24hrs or 48 hrs to get all of them disciplined enough for public display.
You assure her that wigs are great and maybe she might want to look into it. She smiles with acknowledgment and the two of you head in different directions.
You get to the bathroom and adjust your wig. It looks good but feels like shit. Oh well, beauty is pain.
You walk to your assigned cubicle and take a seat at your temporary desk. You’re a temp going through the motions of inheriting a new environment while also observing whether or not you might be a good fit.
You’ve done this before — many, many, many times. As you sit there logging into your computer — you are listening to the procedural conversations, phone calls, and energetic chatter.
It’s all woefully generic. Gossip about an employee who is still on vacation and will eventually return to a deceptive lair coupled with a stern warning from management, an ex-employee who left a mess that those left behind and racked with envy and bitterness have to seemingly clean up and managers who are annoyingly doing their job a little too well — at the expense of those who obviously don’t enjoy doing their jobs.
You sit there and watch people pass by. Then you get up to walk back to the pantry for fill up your water bottle and they watch you pass by.
Lunch comes along and the habitual cliques come together for the daily pilgrimage to wherever it is they go. You go to the cafeteria and again, it’s familiar.
The trays, the food, the open space playing host to an army of robots that get the exact same thing every time as they navigate through the maze of choices that are replicated weekly.
We return to our posts and sit out the rest of the shift. My wig feels better but I am still self-conscious. I am convinced that I was the topic of conversation among the workers who are constantly searching for new material to try out for happy hour after they clock out.
How else can you survive the torturously mundane practice of the office?
Nobody is happy or sad. There is no real connection between the inside and outside world. The task at hand is the only unifying force and even then — the hierarchy in place is overtly implemented.
But in the end from the top of the food chain to the bottom — every single soul is held captive by the black hole that suspends the haunting concept of the office.
My wig was a challenge but I intend to wear it again but not at the office. It was all too weird and stifling and frightening.
I think I will wear it for my next audition. Whenever that is.
The point is — I’m never going back to that place ever again.