The Tower

Leap Day

February 29, 2012, 6:30 AM

I'm so excited. First, it's Leap Day! Although once you get to know me you'll quickly realize it is only a calendar correction thingy and not indicative of my leaping ability or even athleticism. That's because – I have none. I'm a leggy six-foot blonde with hair to my waist, and based on comments I receive, apparently I have an athletic build, whatever that means. But I can say this – going by personal experience – a supposed athletic build does not mean one is an athlete. Or even moderately coordinated. I consider it a successful day if I make it to bed without falling off my heels at least once, not walking into the revolving door at the corner coffee shop for my mid-morning fix, or, if we're getting picky, not creating a small fire in my kitchen. I recognize cooking has nothing to do with athleticism, but if you see how I cook, well...

It's also my first day of work in a real job! How cool is that? Although, does that mean I have to work twenty years for the company before I get my 5-year service pin? That would be unfair.

Since graduating last year from the University of Maryland I have been doing the whole retail grind. It didn't take long for me to realize that retail is not for everybody. People can be so rude and they don't even care. Just one example from my lifetime of examples during those months, I had a "lady" (feel free to replace "lady" with whatever descriptor you want) at Readmore Books who tried to get me fired this past Christmas Eve because I wouldn't tell her what would be on sale after Christmas. I tried explaining to her I couldn't tell her because management wouldn't tell us – for this very reason – not to tell the customers. So she threatened to call the district manager on me. Eventually she just stormed off and I spent the rest of Christmas fuming and not being very Christian-like. So for those of you who treat cashiers and floor salespeople poorly, remember they're people too and are just trying to do their best. Oh, and shame on you. Change your ways.

Over the past nine months I've sent out so many résumés to corporate America I'm fairly certain the US Forest Service and/or Greenpeace will be visiting me soon to discuss the havoc I have wreaked on our biosphere and some poor unsuspecting forest. But the good news is, after deforesting half of Maine, I landed a job as a junior mechanical engineer with The Flynn Group, a $500M per year construction company based in Washington, D.C.

Fortunately I live in Gaithersburg, which is just a hop, skip and jump away from the office. No relocation required. After spending all last week making practice runs both in my car and on the subway to my new job, including several ill-fated car trips early in the week to certain parts of the city that ... well ... don't ask, I found out that it's about an hour subway ride from the Shady Grove stop in Gaithersburg to downtown and that was definitely the way to go. When it took me three hours to end up hopelessly lost in southeast Washington (Siri!!) while I was trying to get to the building in northwest Washington, I finally got the message.

In addition to the dizzying amount of traffic circles to navigate, just contending with traffic in the entire metropolitan area on a daily basis would mean you are a masochist to drive downtown. Although, I guess the very fact that there is so ... much ... traffic it stands to reason that the Washington, D.C. area is full of ... masochists. And politicians. Yeah, draw your own conclusion.

Because today is such an important day, I may have taken just a bit too much time putting my outfit together and now I'm late. But I think it was worth it because I'm going to be rocking a black pencil skirt with a pink cowl-neck top and sharp black blazer.

"Crap, where's my flower? Pascal, did you hide my flower again?" I ask the snoring bundle still firmly reposed in my now tossed bed.

Pascal groans, slowly rolls over, cracks open a heavily lidded hazel eye, and lazily watches me tearing the top of my dressing table apart.

"Pasc...," I start accusingly, and then I see it sticking out from beneath a recently discarded cute Diamonte headband and my favorite little black dress – the light purple hair flower clip I use at least once a week. Sorta my own Percy branding thing.

Oh right, my name is Persinette Joyce, but everyone calls me Percy. Except Mom. I know – what an odd name. Dad wanted Mary. Mom said that was way too plain and wanted something uniquely exotic. I think she might have gone overboard with that sentiment – so Percy it is.

I grab the hairclip, brush back a handful of thick hair on the right side of my head and clip the flower in place. Heading for the stairs I hear a disinterested sigh and see Pascal roll his head and nestle into my – and now all his – pillow. You would think he didn't have his own.

Bounding unsteadily down the narrow stairs to our small living area I shout over my shoulder, "See ya Pascal, wish me luck! I'll be back tonight," a few choice words trailing behind me after I make the sharp turn down the last three steps and catch the railing post flush in my ribs.

I throw on a lavender wool coat, grab my keys and purse, and dash out the door. As I'm charging down the steps outside my rented townhouse I hit the unlock button on the key fob to my clunker of a car. In seconds I'm grabbing the door handle and practically rip it off the car door. That's because it had immediately relocked. I quickly put two and two together.

"Really? Today? Of all days?" I ask in exasperation.

The car doesn't answer back. Wisely.

I grimace and hit the unlock button again with added emphasis.

The horn starts blaring wildly as my car begins to put on quite a flamboyant light show on this very dark, very cold morning.

I know what you're thinking. No, I did not hit the alarm button. I clearly hit the unlock button. You see, the key to the earlier sentence is very cold morning. That's because my car is cranky in the morning, and on top of that, it doesn't like the cold. As if any normal person likes cold mornings. But my car is just a prima donna. Albeit an aged one.

I crush the unlock button with my now very pissed off thumb and the alarm shuts off. Right before it goes nuts with unlocking and locking the doors like a string of firecrackers going off. So now trying to open my door has basically become a game of Russian Roulette because I don't know when it's locked or unlocked.

I sigh.

All the coolness of this Leap Day is gone.

With this start to my first day of work in the real business world, how's the rest of my career going to be? I'm really trying to believe there's a silver lining here and all will turn out well, just like Mom always tells me. Grabbing and tearing open the door just as it unlocks for like the fifteenth time I hear her voice in my head, "Now Persinette, things happen for a reason, but everything always turns out all right."

Mom is incredibly insightful. She has an understanding of the world that borders on psychic, if you believe in that stuff. And naturally, Mom is usually right – things end up turning out okay – trumping dread and despair and making her look like the Oracle of Delphi.

But today's quickly shaping up to be a foretelling day for my new career. That's right – to answer my previous question – the long and short of it is – not too good.

Mom isn't always right. Even a borderline psychic mom.

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