About a year ago, I was kind of going through a mental breakdown of sorts. I felt like everyone I knew had an "adult" job — you know, one that people took seriously and required lots of training and responsibility and was going somewhere. I, on the other hand, was in the Never Neverland of professions — journalism.
Nobody argue with me. We all picked it because we don't have to wear suits, we're not tied to our desks and we don't have to work 8-5. Oh, and because it's completely acceptable in my office to pull huge officewide pranks, start rubber band wars and dress up like the boss on Halloween.
Welcome to today. Right now I'm sitting at my desk dressed as a firecracker. We have a speed bump, a sumo wrestler, Shamu, roller girls, Ghostbusters, a pirate and the aforementioned guy dressed up as boss. All the walls are covered with dark coverings, and the doors have black tablecloths over them to block out the sunlight. The lights are off, so the only things lighting the newsroom are strobe lights, orange lights and the glow of our computer screens. We may have worked a collective eight hours today between about six people.
Oh, Heidi-a-year-ago. If only you realized that not having a grownup job is one of the best perks of this profession. The j-school professors never really talk about that when they're discussing punctuation, the inverted pyramid, ethics and the First Amendment. But really, I couldn't handle a suit-desk-schedule job. I'd rather be a firecracker.