This is a janitor’s closet? I thought it was the break room.

One of the worst things about starting a new job is figuring out how things work. And by “things” I mean “everything.” Your ID card. The time clock. The lunch breaks. The cafeteria. The coffee machine. The supervisor. The coworkers.

Competing with my need to want to just already know how it all works, damn it! is my desire to blend in and not be the Glaringly New Girl: the one who can’t get her ID card to open the door, who can’t figure out the time clock, who awkwardly sits alone at lunch, who enters the cafeteria line from the wrong side, who won’t drink coffee when she knows she’ll be finishing the pot because she can’t figure out how to make more, who bothers her supervisor with a million questions, and who laughs way too loudly at her coworker’s jokes except the coworker wasn’t actually making a joke. Weirdo.

And on top of that is the whole learning-a-whole-new-job thing, so to say that I have been (and will continue to be for at least a few weeks) a gigantic festering ball of anxiety is an understatement. I honestly feel like I might explode with nervousness at any given moment.

But then I’ll be that Glaringly New Girl who exploded all over the office and Jesus, was that a bitch to clean up! 

Oh, girl. I need a Xanax the size of a fucking hockey puck.

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