Eine kleine nachtmusik

01 July 2009

I woke up late this morning, or more correctly, I slept in.

And then I remembered I was having lunch with the president, so I had to get up and iron something presentable. I just grabbed an apple for breakfast, but I was already too late to get a good parking spot, and walking to the metro, I missed the light at every intersection (there were 5 between my parking spot and the East Falls Church Metro). My metro card wouldn't got through (as usual), and as I finally ran up the escalator, I saw my train pull away. The next one (7 minutes later) was overcrowded and had some trouble between Rosslyn and Foggy Bottom. We all waited, squashed together, I hung on to the overhead hand-rail awkwardly, my armpit in some woman's face, someone's briefcase in my back. At each stop we'd all shuffle about to let a few people off, and squeeze together as a twice as many people tried to squeeze on. My stop came, and I had 3 minutes to walk the 3 blocks from Farragut North to the 5th floor of the AEI building, and running up the metro's escalator (in my semi-ironed blouse, pencil skirt and sneakers) I almost missed the music.

An old man, grey curly hair and a great toothy grin, was sitting on a stool, case open, playing Mozart on the violin. His tone was professional, intonation impeccable-- he had no music, but filled the metro and the surrounding block with improvisation on the theme. Cheery, delightful, beautiful.

I caught his eye and grinned. He grinned back and continued to play with gusto.
As I crossed the street at the end of the block, I could still hear: Mozart's Night Music in the DC metro.

Post Script: I ran into the building with another late employee, he looked young enough to be an intern as well. He jabbed the elevator "Up" but just then the doors opened and someone stepped out. We jumped in, and as the doors closed I realized this elevator was going down. I pushed the "5". Nothing happened. He tried the 12th floor. The numbered lights clicked on then went out. The elevator didn't move. We looked at each other and grinned.

"Well, this makes for an interesting start to the day, doesn't it?"

Dictation practice

23 June 2009

Chief Operations Officer pokes head in room-next-door/Temp's office
Temp: What a lovely blue shirt!
COO: It’s green
Temp: No, that’s blue.
COO: No. It’s mint. This shirt is NOT blue.
Temp: I’m pretty sure if we put it to a vote, you would lose.
COO: No! There is yellow in this shirt, for sure, otherwise it wouldn’t be this color.
Temp: Well, in the world of the 8-color crayon box, that is blue.
COO: No, it’s green.
Temp: No, you’re wrong.
COO: Fine, we can vote about it, but it's green
Temp: Well, if we voted at staff meeting it would have to be a secret ballot, but I think everyone would agree that it’s blue.
COO walks out. The temp gives a little chuckle.

For the record-- it could be called nothing but robin-egg blue-- perhaps pushing a pastel teal, but I cast my ballot for blue.

True Story.

Sorry Boss.

At the water cooler

21 May 2009

I work in a real office. In fact, as I pledged the furniture in the directors office (oh, the high and mighty work of the revered intern), I noticed that if I sat in the chair next to the interior window, it would look like one of those close up interview shots from The Office. Exactly like The Office. We don't quite have the caricatures that JB Novak dreamed up, but, from where I sit, there does seem to be an endless supply of the ridiculousness here.

The director of IT walked past my desk the other day, "Did you know I have gills. I do. That's why I wear collared shirts."
I wonder what he felt about the Lox wraps they served in the board room for lunch.

Suzie and David swapped music pirating sites over lunch, and when I rolled my eyes David offered, "We'd be more than happy to share the joys of piracy with you if you are ready to welcome them into your heart."
Seriously. Those were his exact words.

Also, David has recently coined the term "The Mallory Effect" in which I rub off on other people and they start spewing non-sequiturs at passing coworkers.

Apparently my propensity for office ADD is manifest in a running commentary, but at least my comments make sense most of the time.

Today Brian walked in carrying a slightly frosty desktop hard drive.
"Found it! Forgot I stuck this thing in the freezer last month."

Out to lunch

05 May 2009

I sat next to Roy R. Romer today at lunch. He looks much older now than in his Wikipedia picture, but that didn't stop all the important people in the Capital Hilton Congress Room from coming up to say hello. He didn't actually introduce himself to me, he only asked what I did and, no doubt trying to be genuinely conversational, asked this and that about TPR. But I knew who he was because Checker (who's real name is Chester E. Finn Jr.) gave a shout-out from the podium to his old friend Roy, and someone stopped by to congratulated him on his son's becoming another Senator Romer.

Roy R. Romer, by the way, was a congressman, a senator, the 39th governor of Colorado, the superintendent of Los Angeles' Schools, he has a school named after him in the San Fernando valley, and now he serves as the chairman and lead spokesman for Strong American Schools, currently funded by the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation and the Eli and Edythe Broad foundation, which is an initiative aimed at encouraging politicians to include education reform in their platforms.

But really, sitting next to Roy was nothing, I was in fact sitting in front of Checker the whole time, who was formerly the United States Assistant Secretary of Education and currently the president of the Thomas B. Fordham Foundation, who provided the luncheon.

I was there just to take notes on the speakers, but since the Bill and Melinda Gates foundation had been so kind as to provide the delicious and expensive box lunches, I helped my self to a grilled vegetable on tomato focaccia sandwich.

NOTE: Roy R. Romer eats his chocolate brownie with a fork, which is a much more sophisticated way of doing it, especially at a luncheon full of DC's leading lights in the field of education reform. I felt foolish for trying to eat it with my bare hands.

The intern

04 May 2009

(in all her glory)

I stopped on my way out of the office to switch from business pumps to my favorite tennis shoes. Leaning against the water fountain I noticed a sign on the door opposite: "Stairwell." Stairs! Why have I been riding the elevator every day! I slipped through the heavy door and heard it clunck shut as I skipped down the five flights to the ground floor, which is where I found a very nasty-looking metal grate of a door with "Fire Exit Only" painted in large and unfriendly letters. An addendum was stamped beneath: "Alarm will Sound."

Hm.

I ran back up a level to floor 2 and rattled the door knob. Locked.

So was the next door and the next and the next.

Back on the fifth floor, I considered sitting down to think or maybe cry. Then, as I so often do when I'm in need of a bit of cheer, I thought What would Vernon do? and I saw him in my mind's eye doubled over, piddling-- yes, in fact piddling-- at the hilarity of my situation: It was my first week of work and I was locked in the stairwell of 1150 17th Street in Washington, DC.

I swallowed what little pride I had still intact (after a week of interning) and called the office. (Thank heavens I had cell phone reception in that concrete pit.)

"Philanthropy Roundtable, this is Lindsay."

"Hi. This is the intern. I'm locked in the stairwell, could you come let me out."

Bless Lindsay for not laughing while I was still on the line, "Sure, where's the stairwell?"

"Just outside our office, next to the drinking fountain."

"I'll be right there."

She didn't even crack a smile as she pulled the heavy door open, "I think this happens in a lot of DC office buildings-- the doors only open if the fire alarm goes off. I think Lacey locked herself in here too her first week. She's the sort of girl who would try to take the stairs."

I mumbled something about avoiding a fire drill, tried to chuckle and ran for the elevator.

Well, as my boss Stephanie has been reminding me all week-- I am an intern; I can only go up from here.

From my shrinking world

29 April 2009

I walked into my first staff meeting Tuesday, and sat across from a pretty blond, "Hi, I'm Lacey!"
Lacey?
"From Missouri?"
"Ahm. yes."
"Lacey. Hm. We were 8th grade locker partners."
"Woah. Wow. Yeah, we were! How are you?"
We're having lunch tomorrow to catch up on the six years since we shared a tiny upper locker in Jeff. Jr. High.