Quiddities Dev, Inc.

“It’s really easy,” Mindi assured me, still blinking sleepily from behind her purple-framed glasses.

“Er,” I said.

“You just push down on the thing. So you can make coffee in the morning when you come in. The fish come on in the morning, too,” she said. She plugged in the cord laying on the floor and a shoebox-sized lamp on the table lit up, illuminating the scrolling image of otherwise motionless tropical fish.

I think I’m going to like working here.

I consider myself a jack-of-all-trades, master of none. My name is Desiree and I just turned 20 years old. At 17 I began a quick and dirty tryst with university life in upstate New York which, a year and a half later, my wallet could no longer support. With high hopes for a bachelor’s degree dashed for the time being, I returned to my birthplace: Santa Cruz, California. I took a sales position with a large, generally loathed financial institution which I will not name, except to say that it begins with a “W” and ends with “ells Fargo.” I have been an inventory manager, bank clerk, recreation program coordinator, barback, quality assurance consultant, waitress, and perhaps a few others I am forgetting.

My most recent misadventures take place in a local coffee shop. As the morning shift barista, I zone out over grinding coffee and pulling syrupy shots of espresso, delighting sleepy customers with delicate garnishes and exquisite milk foam art. My managers have wrought from my novice attitude a fierce appreciation and respect for the coffee bean. I eschew all that is Starbucks (Starschmucks is more like it!) and corporate mass-produced coffee, refusing to let touch my lips anything falling short of true caffe espresso. (Well, unless I happen to find one of my old Starbucks gift cards from my former manager lying around, and then I pretty much have to use it because, well, its free.)

As I settled into the Quiddities office on my first day, I sipped what I had poured from the french press into one of the earthenware mugs. The beans had been pre-ground. Upon detecting a hint of oxidization, my eyes narrowed in suspicion.

I wrote down on a post-it: pick up fresh coffee. Buy grinder for office.

My desk is nestled between a purple wall and an elegant privacy screen, tucked away with the other employees who bat on their keyboards and sip coffee or tea. Everyone has headphones plugged into at least one side of their head (this seems to increase productivity; I am anxious for my new pair to arrive in the mail) and leafy plants peek out from around corners to say hello. Happy, verdant foliage wiggles in the breeze from the air purifier. It’s a lot different from what I’m used to. There’s no stomach-turning smell of machine grease coming from a workshop, or curry from a kitchen; no hurried customers hovering around cash registers; no aprons, nametags, clattering dishes; professional dress codes to regulate one’s choice in high heels; suicidal managers losing it over a line that goes out the door.

“You should also turn on the fountain when you come in. Just plug it in. Oh, and you have to refill the water when it runs low.” Mindi looked at me. “You’ll know when it’s running low, it makes a noise that’s not quite as soothing as the sound of trickling water.”

From what I understand, I am to be a combination receptionist, gopher, personal assistant, office administrator, and laid-back friendly people person. The matriarchs of the office entrust me with various tasks and I do my best to complete them. (Today, it meant teaching myself how to file business property taxes. Before that, operating a french press.) I have had some help from my predecessor, Margaux, but for the most part, the knowledge that I’m going to have to wing it is looming overhead.

“Looming” isn’t a very good word to describe it. Without someone to watch over you the whole time a new job can be challenging. Personally, I would rather be peacefully adrift in the unfamiliar sea of office administration than locked in the prison of corporate sales quotas or stuck in the pit of customer service. I have always enjoyed being helpful to my coworkers and taking good care of my customers. Now I have a place where I can do all that without compromising who I am. No taking out the extra piercings in my ears, no covering up the visible tattoos, no censoring of the goofy jokes, no restrictions on sipping four-shot lattes. Rather than being programmed to handle a little responsibility someone else’s way, I now have much more to be accountable for–but I get to be myself.

So, Quiddities, I guess what I’m trying to say is thanks for having me. It is my sincere wish to be a cheerful, tattooed, quirky flower in your fragrant bouquet of workers so that we can all do glorious web design together. I look forward to working with each one of you.

And to Margaux: fare thee well in the big city, you bustling urbanite theater goddess. You shall always be my partner in crime.

Cheers.