I like taking my shoes off and sitting in my chair with my feet under me. Maybe they smell, maybe they don’t. Don’t care. Why? Because this little piece of info sent to me the other day put things in perspective. It’s from a blog called Phila Lawyer (philalawyer.net), friend of Tucker Max.
Twenty six is a rotten year. You’re not an adult by any stretch, but you’re way past college jackass. None of the things you really want to say, think or do are acceptable. Every day’s another exercise in suffocating what you’d been for the last decade. For some it works; for others it’s futile – the live wire of adrenaline you lived on since Junior High can’t be unplugged, boxed and stuffed on a shelf. The current in your head builds, relentless, voracious, demanding to be fed. It pitches tantrums while you sit silent, staring at off-white walls and monitors, the low hum of florescent bulbs hissing through your ears. Adjusting’s futile; it’s too clinical, antiseptic, mechanized – the photographic negative of everything your body’s craving. The mind rolls to where you ought to be… On a speedboat rolling through a jungle river, taking notes for a National Geographic article on Nigerian warlords… Driving cross-country in a beaten up Volvo, warm air in your face, stealing a drag from the cigarette of an impossibly built brunette in the passenger seat… Sipping a Heineken and eating crackers, watching the buildings disappear under the wing of a plane to Anywhere But Here. That Ben Harper tune’s on repeat in your head… “I believe there’s a better way…” Flight, movement, some sort of juice – blessed stimulation of any kind. Is that too much to ask?
I am pretty sure it all pertains not only to being 26, but post college, pre-everything else. Before you give in, before you quit fighting it, before you wake up one day and the only excitement you’ve had in two weeks is your Starbucks ‘treat’ on pay day. The only personal things I have in my cube are these ‘motivational The Office’ posters from a calendar. They used to make me laugh but the reality that I sit here every day for 8 hours answering stupid emails, formatting presentations, and updating the vacation calendar made me so bummed out I don’t even turn my cube light on. There they lurk in the dark behind my monitor, without privacy screen because you need management approval to have one, their ghostly outlines taunting what’s left of my own go-getter spirit. “Hey, remember how you used to pick out your outfit the night before and make a nutritious lunch? Now you wear whatever was the least wrinkled on the floor and bring dry cereal in the bag that came with the box. You arrived promptly at 7 am and did email follow ups then checked company stock price and news. When was the last time you made it here before 8:10, followed by checking Hotmail, Bookspace and Myface, CNN, ABC News, ESPN…whatever helped you numb the sadness that your inbox was empty, rendering you helpless until an email arrived. Good people are passed over for jobs they deserve and are quite possibly already performing while the dumber, cynical, less-educated are riding high on seniority. Remember your energy? Yeah, gone, all spent frowning at the dumb shit people say and your stomach isn’t going to grow that ulcer all by itself! Nice enormous wrinkle between your eyes by the way. You’d be lucky to remember to walk the dog before you pass out when you get home, drooling in the one chair you own. Good thing Big Lots had that sale, otherwise you’d be drooling on that ugly brown carpet your landlord didn’t replace when he found out he was renting to a sucker. Remember dating? Yeah, the guys your age want to date 19 year olds, or thanks to the cougar movement, your mom. Have fun wasting your best years sitting alone with your dog drinking whatever was on sale and eating stale tortilla chips. By the time you are cougar age the fad will have passed on your older, flatter or fatter ass and you will be all alone. Hopefully you earned that MBA so at least you have a good job. Wait, the company paying for the MBA revoked education benefits because the union getting a fantastic deal went on strike and drained all contingency money out of the company budget? Well, I am sure you don’t mind going back to Wal-Mart. I’m sure they knew you were kidding when you told them to ‘suck it!’ when you left 20 years ago, high on the promise that education got you somewhere in America. And in about 5 years you could probably be a supervisor, but this time knowing more than the college kids there that still believe that dreams exist. Just don’t punch them when they tell you to suck it. They’ll be back…”
Damn, those are the meanest posters ever.