New

Everything looks different now. After two weeks, everything changes. 

I'm uncomfortable. I'm walking in heels, which I don't do much. I think my pants are bunching around my midsection. My plum shirt is shear and getting more shear unfortunately. My hair isn't falling the way that I want it to.

I couldn't figure out where to park or where the front is. I end up walking in a gigantic circle around the building and end up asking for help, feeling blood rush in my cheeks. I'm aching to make a good impression. I've been through this before.

The two men who meet me are decidedly dressed down. I cringe inwardly but insist to myself that dressing down wouldn't have been the right choice for me. After what seems like a maze of hallways, I'm slightly woozy from mild claustrophobia and anxiety. I feel trapped. Everything seems bizarre and unfamiliar. The ceilings seem to push me into a slouch. The two men are decidedly cordial and seemingly wholesome, as I notice wedding bands on both of their fingers. I think maybe I can't fit in here. It seems clinical. Too many clean counters. Too many quiet interactions.

Fast forward to today. A month after the interview and two weeks after officially being hired, it's so different. Everyone suddenly has color. Space seems a little bit wider. Nothing is really a maze. I park in the right place. I'm not really caring what way my hair falls or what I'm wearing. It's comfortable. Things don't seem as complicated. I now know what belongs in the fridge with the picture of the psychedelic unicorn. Words like inoculation and plate map don't freak me out as much. Just like with any place, I've found my groove. I've been sassy on multiple occasions.

It's strange how different things can seem addled by emotions, expectations, and impressions.  How much of a difference knowing your surroundings can make. How much having a conversation with someone can change things. Scanning my security card at every door, I feel like a secret agent with special clearance. And it's entirely not weird here to bust out the lyrics to Chumbawumba or TLC or even Kesha while sitting at your computer. 

Maybe it's enough, to think and to have a small place in the world.

"No, I don't want no scrub. A scrub is a guy that can't get no love from me. Hanging out the passenger side of his best friend's ride trying to holler at me."