January 19, 2001


I said *yes* to the Upstairs Job.

(I can actually hear you right now: half of you are applauding, while the other half of you are screaming. Frankly, I'm doing a little bit of both myself, tonight.)

I will be the Executive Administrative Coordinator for the Northern Region. Granted, it doesn't have quite the cachet of "Executive Ass" -- or Queen of the Universe, or High Priestess of Whup-Ass, or Jedi Master, or Director of the Vibe -- but it'll look hella impressive on a business card, don't you think?

(Or on a résumé.)

I start next Wednesday. I spent some time this afternoon with Jim, and he understands that I am going into this new position with equal amounts of optimism and raw, unadorned, just-shoot-me-now trepidation. I think what finally convinced me was him saying "No one will be happier than I am if you decide to stay and work for me, but no one will understand more than I do if you decide you can't." He understands, also, that right now I'm viewing this new job as a stopgap measure. Temporary to start. A *career experiment.* If it works out and I love it and I'm good at it and we mesh as an employer/employee team ... great. 

If not,  then at least we gave it a shot.

After careful deliberation, the office I've chosen is not the much-ballyhooed window office -- nor is it my former Isolation Booth -- even though both were available. It's the large corner office at the very far end of the Corporate hallway, upstairs on the fourth floor.  And yes, it has a window.

It was only after I'd made my decision -- both about taking the job and about which office I wanted -- that a co-worker pointed out the obvious. "You do realize," he said, "that you've picked the one office that's furthest away from Franz?" And it's true: not only am I four floors above him, but I'm also on the complete opposite side of the building. The only way I could be further away from him within the Totem Pole, frankly, would be if I sat on the window-cleaners' scaffolding outside my new office window and dangled my legs over the edge. (Which, of course, I may have to do if he ever decides to visit the fourth floor.)

It wasn't a conscious decision. But it's sure as hell a symbolic one, isn't it?

Have a great weekend, everybody.

P.S.  Think of it this way: for those of you who have written to tell me how much you'll miss hearing about Franz  --  especially the fudked-up woman in Chicago who says she actually LIKES the guy ("But you know how there are some really despicable characters that you can't help but sort of like? root for? albeit secretly.....Hannibal Lechter?")  --  this way Franz will at least be making an occasional *cameo appearance* here on FootNotes.  Sorta like David Duchovny on 'The X-Files.'  That's something, isn't it?

P.P.S. Thanks to Wally, Joel, Sally, Kathleen, Lisa, Gena, Julie, Joel, Clint, Vince and especially {{{{Chrissss}}}} for the job title suggestions and other invaluable contributions to tonight's edition of FootNotes. I'll send you each a *molecule* of the Koala Bear Plate.

one year ago: snobbery
two years ago: the happy panda toaster [before david KILLED it]

throw a rock