42nd street and Lexington

A brief trip to Corporate America this morning reconfirmed what I knew was true all along.

I. Don’t. Want. To. Return. There.

After giving my ID to the uniformed man behind reception and making my way through the turnstyle, I stood and gazed at the elevator options. 1-12. 14-26. 27-40. As I read each set of numbers, I could feel my soul slowly slipping out of the bottom of my high-heeled job interview shoes.

Yes, I realize this happens to everyone when they return from an exciting vacation where they’re outside every day, galloping up glaciers and frolicking with colorful sea creatures. But really, there’s gotta be another way. Even if I do end up working for a company that supports the capitalistic world of consumerism in which we live, can’t it be somewhere that doesn’t ooze commercial carpeting from every long, overly-lit hallway?

Today I was thinking back to my job in San Francisco. If a visitor could make it past the dogs slobbering on their pant leg at the front door, they were welcome. That’s my kind of security, and the kind of company I’d like to work for. Do those places exist in New York? I’m sure they do, and I’m going to find them.