the slippery slope of suburbia

From big city centres to remote rural offices and the many variations that lay between, we've worked the gamut. As you can see, dear reader, not all administrative worlds are made of the same cloth. And as an administrative professional we need to be flexible enough to roll with the punches (sometimes literally) without losing that bit of us that remains hopefully untouched by whatever cesspool surrounding us.

There is no administrative world as slippery as that which lives in the suburbs. Some of our favourite authors have written extensively on the suburbs, describing them as soul-sucking demons, draining the flavour of the people who inhabit them and assimilating us into the Borg. Yes, we just made a Star Trek reference. Get over it.

The office in the suburbs is a master of stealth, a deadly quicksand in which we often find ourselves trapped. It sneaks up on us while we're busily distracted, wrapped up in keeping our unique urban identity and the pre-packaged individualism that we're desperate to hang on to, despite our move to the B-list.

Because that's what the suburbs are: the B-list of the urban empires. We mean no disrespect. In fact, we're very impressed by the resiliency of the suburbs. Many of them have become little urban hubs of their own, transcending the civic class structure.

Our time in the suburban office was surprisingly long: we hung out there for just over three years, with a brief escape of four months before voluntarily returning to the slow death. We now shudder at that realization; we came close that time.

It all begins nicely, pleasantly and encouraging. We're offered more money than we were making in the urban centre and there's ample parking. Ah yes, parking. Public transportation in the 'burbs still isn't as good as it is in the urban centre, so it's easier for us to get around by car. Increase that carbon footprint.

People seem happy and are welcoming. We have our own cubicle in the maze and we're encouraged to personalize our 'space'. Our cube-mates have visible tattoos so we're not as reserved about showing our own. There are a few young hipsters with facial piercings, too. Edgy.

After a few months we're comfortable and we let our guard down an inch or so at a time. We start to enjoy the extra money we're making and we look into purchasing our first home. Well, our first apartment, anyway. Colleagues are more than happy to talk to us about mortgage rates, lines of credit and using our RRSP for a down payment. Our partner is happy that we seem happy, so we stop asking ourselves if we are happy.

We get to work one day and notice discord among the cube-mates. Actually, we realize it's been there all along, we just didn't see it. The current runs deep beneath the surface, flowing steadily and eroding the foundation of everyone around us. But the surface is still, calm - until our guard is down long enough to notice the faint ripple on the surface that never disappears.

People start to complain about long hours and an even longer commute. We join in, having purchased a condominium in the nether lands of a new suburb outside of these suburbs. We're tired, away from our home for over 12 or 13 hours a day. We used to walk to work.

We can't remember the last time we met our best friend for coffee on The Drive or the last exhibit we saw at the Art Gallery. But we know exactly when we bought the designer handbag at Winners, because it was a hell of a deal according to the director of finance.

Suddenly we know more ways to save on designer goods than we know downtown art studios. The person who looks at us in the mirror has had hair foils and got their eyebrows waxed. We can afford these things now because it's all cheaper in the 'burbs, and we're making more money.

Somehow, despite all of this, we're broke. Emotionally, spiritually and deep within our very being. The thing that made us feisty, unique and fun is almost gone. We look around at our cube-mates and realize that the guy with the lip ring is listening to Coldplay. We wonder how we didn't notice that before.

After a quick call to the cyborg in human resources, we're done. We've given our notice and we're taking the rest of the day off - to find another job. It doesn't take long. We're good.

Then we go home. We take all of our Winners purchases and outlet mall finds and we list them on eBay, feeling the cleanse wash over us. It's like a salve for our spirit. We feel something twisting for freedom inside us, happy to be given room to move again after spending the last three years so tightly bound.

Our partner looks at us and sees the light return to our eyes. He tells us he's proud of us. We're happy again. Okay, so we're still stuck in the condo in the suburb of the suburb, but it's appreciating in value everyday so it's more like a big savings account we can live and cook in.

On our last day in the suburban office our colleagues throw us a big going-away party. There's cake, carbonated beverages and our boss sneaks us out to Aqua Riva for lunch. We share a bottle of wine and get half-tanked before going back to the office, late, where we retire to his cubicle and he tells us how much he wishes he could just walk away from it all. Like us.

We smile, thank him for a lovely lunch and the reference letter.

Then we leave. It was close. We can hear the quicksand sucking air behind us as our shoe lifts from the carpet one last time before we step out the door and into the afternoon sun.


~ Paige