Oh good grief, I am in suit-hell. No, literally…I am surrounded by dudes (and a couple of ladies) in suits.
It gives me the creeps.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I did my time wearing a shirt & tie every day. Never liked it, but spent my share of time on that side of the professional fence.
Forget the wars in the middle east, Vietnam, Korea, WWII even…real PTSD* is flashing back to the neutral-colored hell of corporate America.
*Public Service Announcement for the Humor-Challenged: this is an intentionally hyperbolic, snarky joke.
So, back to this morning… There I was, sitting in a coffee place getting ready to write (which looks suspiciously like gulping gallons of coffee while browsing news websites, but is – of course – something far more artistic, intellectual and challenging) when in comes the Brooks Brothers mafia.
The entire place fills up and I start to squirm. There’s freakin’ khaki and pinstripes everywhere I look. Battered cargo shorts, a comfy old flannel shirt, flipflops and a scruffy beard are most assuredly not a good way to blend in.
I haven’t felt this out of place since I was fifteen…
That’s the bad news.
The good is that Connor gets a…err, we’ll just call it a “real job” for now and leave it at that. This feeling, the one I’ve got going even as I type this post, is pretty much exactly how he feels on his first day at work.
Except he’s better looking than I am…and pretty much robbing the assholes blind.