Monday morning, 5 a.m. My alarm buzzes. (Well, it vibrates my wrist, being a Google watch, but you get the picture.) In any case, I feel a lurch in my stomach as I climb out of bed. I’ve just had 11 days off and want nothing more than to crawl back beneath the cozy warmth of the down comforter. Plus, first-day jitters will always be a thing. I may embrace change more than most people, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a healthy dose of anxiety over the unknown thrown into the mix.
I’m out the door at 7 a.m., operating under the assumption that the drive to work will take 45 minutes. I’ve traversed this familiar stretch of Highway 12 many, many times since moving to Wisconsin – but never on my way to a job before. It feels surreal.
I panic briefly when I encounter a line of cars at a dead stop on the two-lane road; there’s been an accident involving three vehicles, but luckily, the delay is brief. I arrive at the CheeseGov (new code name!) at 7:50, ten minutes before I’m to meet with HR.
It never occurred to me that there’d be other new people starting that day, but the government is a major employer in Madison, and this is a six-story building with multiple departments. There’s a small group gathered in the lobby – six of us total – and we are taken to the second floor, where we are photographed and issued badges. I can’t help but stare at mine; I’d never imagined myself working for the government before. It’s not a bad feeling.
New hire paperwork follows, and I’m glad I remembered to grab my social security card. I’ve started other jobs without the requisite two pieces of identification before. This time I don’t feel like a dumbass. Once we’ve filled out the forms, our supervisors are paged, and one by one they come down to greet us and whisk us away to our workspaces. Everyone is in a different division and it’s unlikely we’ll ever work together, but I wish them well on my way out. Marcie, my supervisor-whom-I’d-met-in-2022, welcomes me to the team as we step onto the elevator. She pushes a button for the sixth floor, and I’m weirdly proud – is there such a thing as a superiority complex when you’re working on the top floor of a high-rise building? – and shown my cubicle. It’s not in a dark corner like TobacCo, but the view from the top (yesss!!!) more than makes up for that, the capital building glinting in the sun. It’s shaping up to be a beautiful day for an eclipse.
IT stops by to assist me in logging onto my laptop and setting up a printer. There’s a benefits meeting for all new hires, and I am amazed all over again at how generous those benefits are. I’ve had jobs where I had to work there a full year before being eligible for one measly week of PTO. This is most certainly not one of those jobs. I get a ton of time off right off the bat, plus personal leave, plus sick days. Health insurance at a fraction of the cost I’ve paid elsewhere. A pension plan that is fully vested after five years. No wonder Leslie Knope was so committed to the City of Pawnee.
I ask Marcie if there is a time clock. There is no time clock, no time tracking, and it’s about time I don’t have to worry about time. That probably excites me more than the benefits.
On my lunch break, I drive a few minutes to Olin-Turville Park. I find a perfect spot to enjoy lunch, on a bench overlooking Lake Mendota, downtown shimmering like an oasis across the bay. I’m a sucker for a pretty face, and Madison’s a real looker. I will come here often, I think.
On my drive back to the office, the sky is taking on an eerie, muted look. The eclipse is beginning. Marcie stops by my cubicle with a pair of eclipse glasses, and a group of us gathers out front to watch the moon gobble up the sun bite by bite, until there’s nothing left but a tiny sliver of celestial crumbs. As if this most peculiar of days isn’t memorable enough already.
Later, a high-ranking state official wants to meet me. Little ol’ me. We make small talk. If this can happen, what else is possible? I ask Marcie if the governor ever stops by. He does, once or twice a year. I have a good chance of meeting him someday. Holy cow.
Driving home, along the busy Beltline for a short stretch before merging back onto that bucolic two-lane highway with rustic barns and summertime cornfields, I’m half-listening to music, but really just pondering the same two questions over and over again.
How is this my life? How did I get here?
Mark My Words 
Leave a comment