Illegal Immigrant

I'm gonna fail my Corporate America green card test. I just don't belong there, and I think folks are starting to pick up on it... First day on the job I was issued a Blackberry and Netbook. Some say, "Oo fun, new toys." I say, "No. These shall become my paperweights." I don't like knowing that at any given moment someone from work can reach me. It's just too involved. I still don't know my work number.

I live in a padded cubicle with walls of gray. I've yet to decorate because I can't figure out how to stick anything to the walls. Push pins fall out. Am I supposed to use tape? Rubber cement? Needle and thread? I might just start a cross stitch project on the wall to my left for kicks and giggles. I find the mazes of cubicles confusing. (Story to come.) It's like I'm in my own duller version of the last half hour of the Shining every time I feel my way back from the mail room.

All work and no play makes Mellie a dull girl.

My ID card (that must-be-on-your-person-at-all-times-to-enter-parking-deck-elevators-and-stairways)'s holder is stained with chocolate. It's gotten in the crevices and without the aid of a toothpick...It's not coming out. This is not something one would classify as "professional." I don't even know how it happens. Ok, I'm sure a part of it has to do with keeping Virginia College swag chocolate in my purse, but still.

My wardrobe is atrocious. I have shiny shoes. I don't wear heels. Business casual doesn't exist in my closet. I have one suit and it's what I wore for my interview. My dress pants are the same I've had for Lord knows how many years. Yes, I got new work clothes when I started working at Lewis Communications, but guess what. That was in January. And wearing wool pants and heavy sweaters is simply not acceptable in Alabama June. Sadly, I've yet to make enough money to go all What Not to Wear and get myself appropriate Spring work attire. Until then, I look like a frumpy house frau. Except for my nails, which are, more often than not, purple. Again...not something usually deemed "work appropriate," especially when they chip and I'm too tired to fix them.

But here I am, in it for the long haul. So somebody grab me some sensible shoes and a pencil skirt, and I'll do my best to conform.

Eh.

Maybe.

Probably not.

Coming Soon: "A Comedy of Errors: Tales of a Comfortably Awkward Girl"