I work here.

Today was my first day at my new job, which went pretty much as I expected: meeting a bunch of people who promptly turn around and call you by the old assistant's name, setting up your voicemail, endless forms from HR, trying to find the copy room and walking into a closet. You know, the usual. I am the second team assistant and the other assistant and I are both giddy with the thought that there will be two of us and we will each have a partner for support, coverage, comisseration and gossip purposes. My handler is a very good trainer and she's super sweet, but today was one of her days to leave early for class, so I was on my own for the afternoon. Still, I was able to get a lot done. It's amazing how many skills are transferable (positive spin). If you allow yourself to think about it, it's downright depressing how if you can work in one corporate office, you can work in any corporate office. Cogs in a machine, baby (negative spin). It's like being a nanny. Every mother wants to believe that her little darling is special, but I'm here to tell that if you've changed one poopy diaper, you've changed them all. Then all you have to do is sing some mellow songs, say, "vvvvrrrrrmmmm! open wide for the airplane," make some funny faces, and you can call it a day.

I was writing just then about being a nanny, see, but if you thought I had reverted back to talking about my career as a secretary, well, it's understandable.

At one point late in the day I went on a trip to find the supply closet (cavern). This office is much, much bigger than my last one. Currently the company occupies two floors of a Midtown skyscraper and they just pushed into a third floor. I was wandering around with a stack of file folders in my hands when it became apparent I was never going to find Ali Babba's cave on my own. "I'm lost," I said to a man who I didn't recognize from my team.

"What are you trying to find?" he asked me kindly.

"The supply closet."

"See that man with the purple shirt at the end of this hallway? Go towards him, it's on the right hand side before you reach his desk."

"Thanks," I said, and then as an afterthought, "I work here," as if the guy gave two shits whether I was off to fill up my big purse with Post-It notes and pink Highlighters. He didn't say anything, he was pointing at my shoe. Oh no, I'm not going to fall for the old 'your shoe is untied' bit. I happed to know for a fact I was wearing pump heels.

"Um, there's a big sticker on your shoe," he said. I looked down and somehow my Visitor's Pass had gotten off the lapel of my over coat and onto the sole of my shoe and I had been dragging it around the office. I wondered why no one on my team had said anything to me, then realized it was probably because they couldn't remember my name yet. "Great," I said, peeling it off my shoe. The guy winked at me. People sure are friendly here in Oz. "I work here," I yelled over my shoulder as I set off to pilfer the supply cavern- the sign outside the door read "Staging Area" and I half expected to see George Bush in a flight suit when I walked in.

One thing I have forgotten is how strange it is to have no idea what the people around you are doing. I'm sure when I started at Die Bank I didn't know what was going on beyond "ya know, they finance Real Estate. And stuff." Now I'm working in a different kind of finance and the jargon mostly goes right over my head. And it seems everywhere I look I'm seeing tiny numbers and arrows, often times scrolling. They could be trading cupcake futures and I would have no idea. I'm just blissfully making my photocopies ... say, let's go for a 1 --> 2 doubled sided offset collation job with automatic stapling. It's the copier of my dreams, people! I won't ever let anyone say a word against that copy machine. I won't. Also, I've noticed that the more important you are in Oz, the more computer monitors you have. Some people have the double monitor. Some people have the triple monitor. One guy has a triple monitor with a fourth screen clamped on the side.

I have one monitor. And not a chance of blogging at work.