The office is still quiet. In a few hours, it'll be buzzing with activity.
I like coming in early on Saturdays. It gives me time to gather my thoughts/spy on what everyone else is working on. I can even use the coffee machine properly and foam milk for a latte (a forbidden activity during regular hours, apparently the frothing sound irritates Michael. I think he's just lactose-intolerant and taking it out on innocent caffeine-deprived employees).
It's weird to see a space empty of live bodies, and imagine what it could be if different people inhabitated it. It could all be bubbly, happy people. Or it could be filled with just regular people, not a population of tense, tortured individuals. It's like being in an empty house and imagining how different families would have different lives in the space. Hmm. Very philosophical morning. Must drink more lattes.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
Day 5: Post Debriefing
Michelle: Do u think I should call?
Me: U should call if u really want to find out.
Michelle: Sleeping with lecture guy = not smartest move.
Me: Glad we R on same page.
Michelle: I'm calling. Now.
Me: STOP! It's 2am, only lunatics and stalkers call at this hour.
Michelle: Email?
Me: Not when u have 6 scotches running in ur blood.
Michelle: Do u think I should report him to the Architect Association?
Me: Doubt the Arch Association can enforce the 3 day phone call rule.
Me: U should call if u really want to find out.
Michelle: Sleeping with lecture guy = not smartest move.
Me: Glad we R on same page.
Michelle: I'm calling. Now.
Me: STOP! It's 2am, only lunatics and stalkers call at this hour.
Michelle: Email?
Me: Not when u have 6 scotches running in ur blood.
Michelle: Do u think I should report him to the Architect Association?
Me: Doubt the Arch Association can enforce the 3 day phone call rule.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Day 5: Happy Hour
I'm sitting at a trendy bar/pub, waiting for Michelle. We have a post-workday debrief session (i.e. liquid dinner).
She walks in, all shiny hair and fabulous pale skin.
Michelle: 'I say it's a 5: 3: 1 today'
When we're out, we like to estimate the ratio of genders (it's Male: Female: Androgynous). Today's bar is packed with the trendy crowd and its followers.
Michelle, drinking straight scotch, is pouting.
Michelle: ‘I waited and waited. Cursed at my phone. Tried to hypnotize it. It never rang’.
Me: 'Was I supposed to call you? Did I miss your call? Is my phone on silent??'
Michelle: 'Relax, muppet. I'm talking about the guy I'm seeing. It was all happening, and then the telecommunications ceased.'
She drapes herself into the chair facing me.
Michelle: ‘I just don’t understaaaaaaaand, I thought we meshed’.
Me: ‘Who? Who were you meshing with? Was it that guy, John?’
Michelle’s love life is hard to follow. I sometimes have to take notes and draw diagrams to fully keep track of it.
Michelle: ‘John??’. Michelle's eyes are dripping with distain. ‘Peuh! John was out of the picture the minute he told me he was looking at purchasing a condo. In the burb's'.
Fair enough. Burbans are a species we can't understand. Why mow your lawn and sit for 3 hours in traffic when you can purchase a downtown loft?
Me: ‘Say no more'. I pause to take a sip of my bubbly. I know drinking scotch has so much more 'gueule', but I love prosecco/cava/champagne. I'm girly and I embrace it.
Me: ‘So… If it's not John, who is the phone-shy guy?’
Michelle: ‘Remember when we went to the lecture on the future of high-rises last week? Remember the guest lecturer that did the introduction to the main presenter?’
Me: Oh. My. God. You DIDN'T!
She walks in, all shiny hair and fabulous pale skin.
Michelle: 'I say it's a 5: 3: 1 today'
When we're out, we like to estimate the ratio of genders (it's Male: Female: Androgynous). Today's bar is packed with the trendy crowd and its followers.
Michelle, drinking straight scotch, is pouting.
Michelle: ‘I waited and waited. Cursed at my phone. Tried to hypnotize it. It never rang’.
Me: 'Was I supposed to call you? Did I miss your call? Is my phone on silent??'
Michelle: 'Relax, muppet. I'm talking about the guy I'm seeing. It was all happening, and then the telecommunications ceased.'
She drapes herself into the chair facing me.
Michelle: ‘I just don’t understaaaaaaaand, I thought we meshed’.
Me: ‘Who? Who were you meshing with? Was it that guy, John?’
Michelle’s love life is hard to follow. I sometimes have to take notes and draw diagrams to fully keep track of it.
Michelle: ‘John??’. Michelle's eyes are dripping with distain. ‘Peuh! John was out of the picture the minute he told me he was looking at purchasing a condo. In the burb's'.
Fair enough. Burbans are a species we can't understand. Why mow your lawn and sit for 3 hours in traffic when you can purchase a downtown loft?
Me: ‘Say no more'. I pause to take a sip of my bubbly. I know drinking scotch has so much more 'gueule', but I love prosecco/cava/champagne. I'm girly and I embrace it.
Me: ‘So… If it's not John, who is the phone-shy guy?’
Michelle: ‘Remember when we went to the lecture on the future of high-rises last week? Remember the guest lecturer that did the introduction to the main presenter?’
Me: Oh. My. God. You DIDN'T!
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Day 4: Eavesdropping
Muffled voice: "Honey, I promise this is the last time... I'm pissed too, the boss just really insisted we finish the work..."
Tom is trying to justify his night out to his significant other. His partner is also an architect, but he works at a firm that is more laid-back (read: better pay, better hours, but with boring projects never featured in magazines).
"With that new girl at the office.."
My ears perk up. My brain quiets to focus on his voice frequency. Tom's talking about me!
Super-muffled voice: "She cut her finger and bled all over the model, total amateur... But yesterday was decent. She came up with the final idea."
YESSSSSSS! Recognition. I dance in my head.
Mega-muffled voice: "But Michael hates her the most. She looks a bit like his ex-wife, tall like her. She's going to get plowed."
The pasta drops off my fork. I'm in trouble.
Tom is trying to justify his night out to his significant other. His partner is also an architect, but he works at a firm that is more laid-back (read: better pay, better hours, but with boring projects never featured in magazines).
"With that new girl at the office.."
My ears perk up. My brain quiets to focus on his voice frequency. Tom's talking about me!
Super-muffled voice: "She cut her finger and bled all over the model, total amateur... But yesterday was decent. She came up with the final idea."
YESSSSSSS! Recognition. I dance in my head.
Mega-muffled voice: "But Michael hates her the most. She looks a bit like his ex-wife, tall like her. She's going to get plowed."
The pasta drops off my fork. I'm in trouble.
Day 4: Carbing
My hair feels limp and greasy.
Tom and I worked all night, but Michael didn't come in the office today. Our new concepts and images are neatly pinned on a board next to my desk. They will have to wait.
Spending the night at the office usually puts a dent in my permanent state of dieting. My stomach needs some serious settling, and therefore a huge lunch of carbs is temporarely allowed.
I sit, daydreaming about my lunch options (pasta, bread, noodles, dumplings, rice, cookies) while waiting for the clock to hit noon.
Tom and I worked all night, but Michael didn't come in the office today. Our new concepts and images are neatly pinned on a board next to my desk. They will have to wait.
Spending the night at the office usually puts a dent in my permanent state of dieting. My stomach needs some serious settling, and therefore a huge lunch of carbs is temporarely allowed.
I sit, daydreaming about my lunch options (pasta, bread, noodles, dumplings, rice, cookies) while waiting for the clock to hit noon.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Day 3: Meeting
'TEAM MEETING! BOARDROOM, NOW!"
Instant look of panic and fear in everyone's eyes. Michael is in one of his moods.
I scoop bits of trace paper scattered on my desk, doodles that might come in handy if I'm put on the spot. You never know which sketch will save your job.
I take a seat on an Aeron chair in the boardroom. That's something that always bothered me. Why does the "boardroom" (let's face it, we have no board, it's a glorified meeting room/lunch table) get the expensive, ergonomical chairs, while we minions sit on Ikea swivel chairs? Mystery.
Tom sits next to me with his head down, like we're about to get the electric chair.
‘How are the towers going to meet the sky? HOW??’
Michael is shouting. Michael is always shouting. Rumor is his wife is leaving him, making him nastier than ever, but there's also a rumor that he's always been this angry.
‘Can somebody explain WHO came up with this scheme?’. He takes a pause to stare us down. He came up with the concept, but I'm not going to point that out. I think it's what we call a rhetorical question.
‘I want INTENT! I want CONTEXT! I want MEANING!’
Michael keeps barking architectural terms at random until he throws his 6B pencil on the table and angrily exits, shutting the sliding door behind him (I bet he's wishing there was a regular door to slam).
I look at Tom. All the blood is drained from his face. We have another night of work ahead.
Instant look of panic and fear in everyone's eyes. Michael is in one of his moods.
I scoop bits of trace paper scattered on my desk, doodles that might come in handy if I'm put on the spot. You never know which sketch will save your job.
I take a seat on an Aeron chair in the boardroom. That's something that always bothered me. Why does the "boardroom" (let's face it, we have no board, it's a glorified meeting room/lunch table) get the expensive, ergonomical chairs, while we minions sit on Ikea swivel chairs? Mystery.
Tom sits next to me with his head down, like we're about to get the electric chair.
‘How are the towers going to meet the sky? HOW??’
Michael is shouting. Michael is always shouting. Rumor is his wife is leaving him, making him nastier than ever, but there's also a rumor that he's always been this angry.
‘Can somebody explain WHO came up with this scheme?’. He takes a pause to stare us down. He came up with the concept, but I'm not going to point that out. I think it's what we call a rhetorical question.
‘I want INTENT! I want CONTEXT! I want MEANING!’
Michael keeps barking architectural terms at random until he throws his 6B pencil on the table and angrily exits, shutting the sliding door behind him (I bet he's wishing there was a regular door to slam).
I look at Tom. All the blood is drained from his face. We have another night of work ahead.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Day 2: Grey's
I got out of the office early today. Early enough to catch Mr Dreamy/Steamy date the pool of interns and perform medical miracles.
I don't know what Doctors say about Grey's, but if there were a TV show about an architecture firm, it would either be wildly misrepresented or mind-numbing boring.
Mind-Numbing Boring (based on Reality):
Camera pans to intern. Intern clicks and clicks, changing the number of drawings at the bottom of each page. Her screen shows drawing 6 of 80.
Camera pans to architect #1. He is red-marking an 80 page specifications document. Every few minutes, he shakes his head and grumbles "F-ing idiot intern!" and scribbles on the page.
Zoom on screen of architect #2, sitting at his computer. He is drawing a detail of an expansion joint. Tiny little lines represent insulation, metal plates, sealant. Click Click Click.
.....
Some of the misrepresentations of architects can be found here.
I don't know what Doctors say about Grey's, but if there were a TV show about an architecture firm, it would either be wildly misrepresented or mind-numbing boring.
Mind-Numbing Boring (based on Reality):
Camera pans to intern. Intern clicks and clicks, changing the number of drawings at the bottom of each page. Her screen shows drawing 6 of 80.
Camera pans to architect #1. He is red-marking an 80 page specifications document. Every few minutes, he shakes his head and grumbles "F-ing idiot intern!" and scribbles on the page.
Zoom on screen of architect #2, sitting at his computer. He is drawing a detail of an expansion joint. Tiny little lines represent insulation, metal plates, sealant. Click Click Click.
.....
Some of the misrepresentations of architects can be found here.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Day 2: Chatting
Me (chatting illegally at work): I am pretending to look busy: I'm zooming in and out of a drawing. You?
Michelle: I'm writing an email over and over again.
Me: Work-related?
Michelle: Nope. Trying to come up with best break up email EVER.
Me: Hall of Fame best?
Michelle: My eloquency and choice of verbs will put all other break-up emails to SHAME.
Me: Is this to flush Tim-the-Tool?
Michelle: No, he got the second best email 2 weeks ago. This one is for Clingy-Clay.
Me (hearing footsteps coming towards my station): ...
Me (recognizing the sound of Michael's leather soles on the concrete floor): gtta go!~
Michelle: I'm writing an email over and over again.
Me: Work-related?
Michelle: Nope. Trying to come up with best break up email EVER.
Me: Hall of Fame best?
Michelle: My eloquency and choice of verbs will put all other break-up emails to SHAME.
Me: Is this to flush Tim-the-Tool?
Michelle: No, he got the second best email 2 weeks ago. This one is for Clingy-Clay.
Me (hearing footsteps coming towards my station): ...
Me (recognizing the sound of Michael's leather soles on the concrete floor): gtta go!~
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Day 2: Sponsored by Caffeine
The whole office knows of my finger-slicing incident. It was hard to deny after the secretary found the first aid kit ripped open next to my desk, with a blood trail retracing my exact steps.
My eyes are bloodshot, my breath is questionnable, and the only thing keeping me from collapsing is the gallons of coffee Tom has been brewing.
Michael grabbed the panels and model and left, without a word. Can't be sure he appreciated the all-nighter.
My eyes are bloodshot, my breath is questionnable, and the only thing keeping me from collapsing is the gallons of coffee Tom has been brewing.
Michael grabbed the panels and model and left, without a word. Can't be sure he appreciated the all-nighter.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Day 1 (very late): Modelling
Tom is babysitting the large format plotter, hypnotized by the print head going back and forth, and the presentation panels slooooowly revealing themselves. The plotter cannot be left alone; it's like boiling milk. If you step aside, the paper will jam, the memory will fry or the ink cartridge will self-eject.
I'm in charge of the physical cardboard model. Usually, I'd use the laser cutter (nifty little laser does all the work for you), but tonight the machine is (of course) down.
I'm really not that much of a handy person, I stand more on the computer-savvy side of things. I'd rather draw on CAD than by hand; and the same goes for cutting tiny little pieces of cardboard. That said, I've made progress... Perhaps 80% of the pieces are cut and neatly piled on my table?
I keep cutting, with my metal straight edge and my Olfa knife. The site pieces are the most difficult, because the cuts are longer and the straight edge can't shift.
I position my fingers as far apart as possible to hold the straight edge...
I push down on the Olfa knife...
I drag the knife quickly to get a clean cut...
And I cut off the tip of my finger! A whole chunk of skin/nail!
"MY MODEL!!!!!!!"
Real architects don't care about bleeding. They care about their blood staining their white models.
I'm in charge of the physical cardboard model. Usually, I'd use the laser cutter (nifty little laser does all the work for you), but tonight the machine is (of course) down.
I'm really not that much of a handy person, I stand more on the computer-savvy side of things. I'd rather draw on CAD than by hand; and the same goes for cutting tiny little pieces of cardboard. That said, I've made progress... Perhaps 80% of the pieces are cut and neatly piled on my table?
I keep cutting, with my metal straight edge and my Olfa knife. The site pieces are the most difficult, because the cuts are longer and the straight edge can't shift.
I position my fingers as far apart as possible to hold the straight edge...
I push down on the Olfa knife...
I drag the knife quickly to get a clean cut...
And I cut off the tip of my finger! A whole chunk of skin/nail!
"MY MODEL!!!!!!!"
Real architects don't care about bleeding. They care about their blood staining their white models.
Day 1: Not Spinning
It's 6:30 pm. I once had hopes of hitting the 8pm spinning class, but I was clearly delusional.
Michael just held an emergency meeting to announce that:
1) Our scheme for a mixed-use tower (designed by him) reeked and was unnaceptable
2) He was meeting the client tomorrow at 8:30 am (damn those early meetings!)
3) He needed us (myself and Tom, an emo Brit) to come up with a new design, new presentation panels, new model.
And then he stormed out of the office (probably to go to a spin class).
Michael just held an emergency meeting to announce that:
1) Our scheme for a mixed-use tower (designed by him) reeked and was unnaceptable
2) He was meeting the client tomorrow at 8:30 am (damn those early meetings!)
3) He needed us (myself and Tom, an emo Brit) to come up with a new design, new presentation panels, new model.
And then he stormed out of the office (probably to go to a spin class).
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Day 1: Shrinking
“Why do you stay at this firm if you believe it is the source of all things evil?”
This is what my baby-faced shrink asked me today. Why I stay at an architecture firm where there is a lineup to go cry at the bathroom. There was also an episode where my boss (Micheal, Grand Poobah of Evil) threw a coffee mug at my cardboard model and I didn't sleep for 4 days.
It’s really hard to take a shrink seriously when he has rosy cheeks and baby fat, but his office is right outside my work and I somehow feel that if I don’t get professional help, I may crack.
‘My plan is to stay there at least 2 years. MOB has a very good portfolio and this can help raise my profile. I think I just have to suck it up for another 21 and quarter months.'
Babyface is scribbling on a notepad with a face of disapproval. I may pay him a lot... But I doubt he'll tell me what I want to hear (ie: "Most amazing plan known to mankind, this is utter genius!).
MOB is where I work. “Michael Owen Brown”. My friend Gen told me it’s NEVER a good idea to join a firm named after the principal. Agglomerations are acceptable (Saucier + Perotte, KPMB, Skidmore, Owings & Merrill). Firms named after one principal are a banner for self-centeredness. I try to elaborate on the subject with Babyface, but my time is up. He doesn't want to hear my rambles if he's not excessively renumerated to do so.
This is what my baby-faced shrink asked me today. Why I stay at an architecture firm where there is a lineup to go cry at the bathroom. There was also an episode where my boss (Micheal, Grand Poobah of Evil) threw a coffee mug at my cardboard model and I didn't sleep for 4 days.
It’s really hard to take a shrink seriously when he has rosy cheeks and baby fat, but his office is right outside my work and I somehow feel that if I don’t get professional help, I may crack.
‘My plan is to stay there at least 2 years. MOB has a very good portfolio and this can help raise my profile. I think I just have to suck it up for another 21 and quarter months.'
Babyface is scribbling on a notepad with a face of disapproval. I may pay him a lot... But I doubt he'll tell me what I want to hear (ie: "Most amazing plan known to mankind, this is utter genius!).
MOB is where I work. “Michael Owen Brown”. My friend Gen told me it’s NEVER a good idea to join a firm named after the principal. Agglomerations are acceptable (Saucier + Perotte, KPMB, Skidmore, Owings & Merrill). Firms named after one principal are a banner for self-centeredness. I try to elaborate on the subject with Babyface, but my time is up. He doesn't want to hear my rambles if he's not excessively renumerated to do so.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)