Becoming an adult - 1 bus ride at a time

I had my first day of being a grown-up on Friday. I wore a pair of party pants from freshman year for the occasion.

This month I got a real job -- not the kind where I work on-campus or wear a blue swimsuit and yell "no running." I did not think that I was hired at first, because I talked a lot about shoes at the interview and mentioned to my prospective employer that I was a "flip-flop girl," which doesn't sound like a very professional thing to be.

Amazingly, they decided that I would be an asset to their press-relations department, and I started four days ago. It's just an internship, because people do not like having flip-flop girls around for longer than three months -- especially during colder seasons, because we have to wear regular shoes and it makes us cranky.

Anyway, it turned out that I didn't have any real work clothes for my first real job. I have a pretty nice skirt that I wore to the interview, but I got bleach on it when I was cleaning the bathroom. That's why I had to sport the party pants, which still had a three-year-old vodka-and-cranberry stain on the leg. It was pretty exciting that I still fit into them, even though in putting them on, I got the zipper stuck, and thus did not get to pee for several hours.

The office where I work is located in Pioneer Square. At first, I was enthusiastic about the idea of being a commuter who travels Downtown to work in a building with an elevator -- we don't have elevators at the waterslide park where I lifeguard during the summer. I discovered, however, that being a commuter really just means that I have to scramble around to borrow a U-PASS and ride a bus that smells funny and has lots of people who talk to themselves on it.

What makes up for it is that I get my own desk and computer, where I sit and act busy. On Friday, I had to read a lot of old press releases and issue stances, so that I will know the ropes when I start producing some propaganda of my own.

I work with a number of really friendly women, who, incidentally, do not wear party pants to the office. They invited me to lunch, but I was afraid if I ate or drank anything it might shorten the amount of time until I needed to use the bathroom, which I couldn't do until I got home and cut my pants off.

I am worried that I am going to spend more money working Downtown than I am going to make. There are so many stores there, which sell items like pants without vodka stains, and I like shopping almost as much as I like vodka. I had fun going to the stores and saying, "I need these pants for work," because for my summer job, I didn't wear any pants.

I do miss having a whistle, though -- except people do not usually run in office buildings, anyway.

When I was leaving the building, I had my first at-work chat-about-the-weather-with-a-stranger-in-the-elevator experience, the ultimate rite of passage into adulthood.

Now that I have entered the gainfully employed sector of society, however, I wonder if it is really a club I want to join. I do not want to become a person who lives for my lunch hour and understands that Dilbert comic strip.

Moreover, I am not certain that I am qualified for membership. I have had a hard enough time just trying to dress the part.

I think being a grown-up can be amusing, though -- I get to say things like, "Can you believe this rain?" to people in elevators. It seems to me that adulthood is a nice place to visit -- just don't expect to see me moving in any time soon.