Pennsylvania Humanities Council

I’m not quite sure what has changed within the last couple days or weeks, but suddenly I am feeling like a fish that is attempting to walk on concrete as I go through what has become a pretty consistent routine for me.  The early-morning sun is not quite as inviting as it once was, the subway has lost its previous luster, and even picking out a work-appropriate outfit is not quite the same.

Before the start of the summer, I was so looking forward to what an adventure it would be to take public transportation and be able to navigate the city without access to a car, a personal loss I have always deeply felt since leaving my vehicle-dependant hometown.  I knew from the minute that I stepped onto the El, with its strange smell and horror-movie lighting, that I wasn’t in Kansas anymore, but at the time that was okay.  I was so excited to follow the yellow-brick road down to my own personal Emerald City–a job! real people! autonomy!–but suddenly Kansas is looking pretty darn good.

I love to people-watch, which is part of what made riding the subway so fun.  It is a veritable explosion of hugely different kinds of people, a characteristic, I have come to find, that is generally associated with the Market-Frankford line.  Spending my commute observing has now become a pastime that I dread but cannot seem to drop.  If there is something to stare at, I tend to stare.  I just can’t help it.  Before, all these funny little things that I saw people doing on the subway made me want to be an anthropologist and my fingers itched for a pen.  My senior thesis would go by so quickly if this were my subject!  Now I am so disgusted, so totally grossed out by all the things that occur on the train.  It pains me when my bare skin brushes against the scratchy blue fabric that covers the metal seats.  The sound of people blowing their noses, coughing, or any other type of bodily function makes me cringe.  I walk the 3 dirtied blocks between my office and the train stop, and I practically jump out of my skin every time someone manages to sneak up on me (and given how busy Olde City Philly is, I’m surprised I haven’t needed a pacemaker).

Like I said, I’m not quite sure what has changed.  I suppose I miss the protection that comes from sitting in your car and being able to lock the doors…the way I can turn on the radio and not have to worry about how I look if I want to sing along to some Alicia Keys.  I won’t listen to my iPod on the subway because I’m too afraid to spare such an important sense; I won’t move my arm from over the opening of my bag because I’ve heard of so many people whose belongings were taken by someone who randomly reached in to snag something.  I basically look at everyone now as a potential ninja who may steal the $5 in my wallet and my TrailPass that I use to take the train.  It’s no wonder that people walk around urban streets with that world-weary look on their face.

When I’m walking around Philadelphia, I know now that I look like I (somewhat) belong.  Men advertising tours on busses have stopped asking if I would like a ticket for one, and I get frustrated with tourists who are clogging the busy sidewalks.  I’m proud that I can get around comfortably.  One thing I’m not quite as proud of is how I have started to interact with other people…or rather, how I have stopped interacting.  I look straight ahead when a homeless man asks me for spare change, not even acknowledging his existence; even in general, I tend to not look at people as they pass by the way I did before.  This morning, I rushed to catch the elevator, putting in my hand to stop the closing doors, to no avail.  “It just isn’t worth it” a woman next to me said.  I heaved a sigh and said in what was probably a rather cold voice, “Apparently not,”  and I turned away to wait for the next elevator.

When I was first looking at colleges, I ventured into NYC with my cousin to stop by a few schools.  It was another world to me.  The streets were dirty and packed, and people would brush by, touch, without even acknowledging it.  Out of habit, I smiled at everyone I saw because that’s how it is where I’m from.  I’ve now learned that that kind of friendliness is a lot easier (and less strange) in a place where there are not so many people.

Now I’m one of those impassive and hurrying people, and it kind of makes me sad.  While I still offer the occasional “bless you” to someone who sneezes and say “excuse me” as I brush past someone, there are times when I just can’t be bothered.  It makes me feel a little jaded.  I’ve always been an idealist, but this summer has made me wonder if a part of that has died in me.

These changes feel especially stark when I go back home.  A couple weeks ago I went back home, and my Dad and I went out for ice cream.  A family next to us began talking about what kinds they might get, and threw a couple comments our way.  With my arms crossed over my chest, I smiled and turned away.  This made me pause.  “Ever since going to Philly,” I remarked to my Dad, “I am just not very nice anymore.”  “The big city will do that to ya” my Dad replied.

While this has been my latest summer struggle, my walk home from work today reminded me that I don’t have to be a completely transformed from a suburban girl to an urbanite, but rather that my summer will more than likely result in some kind of synthesis of the two.  Yeah, I might go back to Ohio and drive like a real jerk, but I’m also still that girl who will smile at people I don’t know.

Every afternoon as I walk down Chestnut Street, there is a man with long curly gray hair playing the guitar and the harmonica at the same time, while also singing.  Even on the hottest of days he is always there.  Grappling with doing what you need to do to get by in an urban environment doesn’t mean that I have to act like I am impervious to an unfortunate truth like homelessness or poverty.  So while everyone walks by without looking twice at the homeless man who can play two instruments at once and also sing (that seriously takes some skill), I stop and drop a dollar into his guitar case.  ”God bless!” he calls.  It’s my third time giving him money, and every single time he sounds so surprised that someone stopped, noticed him, and bothered to give him a dollar.  I turn my head and smile and keep walking.  He may go use it for drugs, an umbrella, a cup of coffee…who really knows.  It just makes me happy to consciously embrace my natural naiveté, that unblemished belief that maybe you’re helping him to feed his kid, or just get by.  It’s what keeps me hopeful that we are capable of a more thoughtful, empathetic and united world.

P.S. Despite my philosophical romanticizing, I am still afraid of homeless people.

Working 9 am – 5 pm five days a week really makes me think about my schedule and what a stark contrast my current one is to my schedule during the school year.  I have transformed from a typical college kid—staying up pretty late, whether its doing homework or other “extracurriculars,” and dreading waking up in the morning—to a veritable old woman, feeling semi comatose as 10:30 pm rolls around.  But luckily some things never change, because I still dread waking up early; I wasn’t meant to function at 7 am.  During the school year, we stop and start all day and most of the night too, listening in class for a couple hours or completing a problem set, and then we break for awhile, maybe take a nap, eat some typical college kid food, or go talk with suitemates (or ideally, all of the above) before going back to another hour or two of work.  Though we don’t always like it, this kind of lifestyle affords us something that I am beginning to really value: making my own schedule.

I am a very routine-oriented person, but this 9-5 thing and me are not jiving.  I may not like the initial shock of waking up at 7 am every morning, but once I’m up, I’m ready to get things accomplished, so I like going into work early in the morning.  However, there are certain days where my attention span just isn’t there, and I know it.  If it were the school year, I’d shut my book with a sigh and head to the gym to regroup.  I can’t do that in an office.  I am forced to stay at my desk and try my hardest to pay attention, though this usually turns into me shopping online (hey, at least I’m honest!).  And every day by 3 pm, I have already mentally checked out.

Me by 3 pm...minus the hairy hands and married man part

It is just that time of day for me where I stop functioning at a high level, and I need to take a break.  I’m sure after reading this, it sounds like I am barely ever productive, but I promise I am.  When I’m on, I’m on.  But when I’m not, I’m really not.  If I could make my own hours, or rather, operate on a schedule that adheres more to productivity than it does to a fixed work day, I would get to work early, potentially go home for lunch (impossible with a one hour commute, unfortunately), perhaps work for another hour or two then head to the gym.  I tend to be much more productive in the evening, so I would ideally pick back up around this time, and after a couple hours I would then finish out my evening with a chocolate turtle and good magazine.

But as I lay out my ideal schedule in my head, watching myself really maximize my time during the day without feeling guilty about wasting company time (like I am right now…), the sharp needle of reality pricks my little dream bubble: I am an intern, and this just isn’t how it works.  And yet I don’t feel guilty, because I’ve seen others around the office do the same.  I pass by cubicles on my way to the water cooler or to grab a handful of pretzels, and someone is looking at facebook, or shopping online.  At first, this filled me with a sense of belonging.  I’m not alone!  But my second thought was, this is such a waste of time!  If I’m not being productive, I would rather go be unproductive at home.

Companies like Google allow this kind of mentality.  You are given a set of tasks that you are expected to complete by a certain time, and you do them, and you better do them well.  The rest is yours to decide.  You could bring your dog to the office, you could take a break at some point in the day to go to the gym; there is even in-house day care.  While these may sound like hugely expensive perks, I would imagine that they really help maintain a high level of productivity.  This general business model where employees utilize time as they see fit is called ROWE (Results Only Work Environment).

According to several studies, the average worker “wastes” anywhere from 16 hours to multiple days in a week.  And because of that, we are forced to work longer hours.  I am going to go ahead and say I wasn’t meant for that!  I’m not sure anybody really is.  Granted, I do know a few people who have said they enjoy an office job and working 9 – 5 (should I just assume they’re robots?), but the bulk of people who I talk to really hate it, even if they love their job.

This makes me want to do one of four things: become a writer and work at home, marry rich, find a place to work that uses the ROWE method or start my own business so that I can go to the gym at 3 pm simply because I want to.

Read the New York Times article that talks about this stuff too.  It makes me wonder if perhaps the American working world is transitioning into a new era.  Given that I just spent a good chunk of company time writing this, I certainly hope so!!

Time Wasted? Perhaps It’s Well Spent (NYT)