Last week, I had the pleasure of working for Lifetime Television. Day to day, the job was much like any other. I screened a new upcoming show, wrote script ideas for fun ways to promote said show and worked with an editor to get everything to air on time. Same old, same old. However, this particular job was different than ANY other in one very specific way: All week, I was forced to work in a time warp.
The back story:
My first job out of college was working for A&E Television's tape library (it's exactly how it sounds and yes, my title was "librarian") in NYC. Back then, I didn't really understand the corporate world very well. I just thought that a foot in the door meant big things, no matter how small the opening. I am deliriously driven by nature and getting my first job in my field was no different. I did the math and figured that within 2 weeks of working at A&E, every higher-up would know me and love me. We'd all wave "hello" through glass conference room windows or commiserate, sharing Advil, while battling early morning hangovers from the previous nights' work happy hour. I had it all planned out. Until about 3 hours into my first day when reality punched me in the throat and I learned something.
Working people are busy...too busy to care if the new librarian "makes it".
The first days were rough. I was immersed in a world where running to the mail room 27 times before lunch, scheduling tapes to be picked up, and diving into "the racks" for some randomly misplaced, but VERY MUCH NEEDED tape, was considered normal. It was a bit of a let down to know how unglamorous my life in the television industry was, but I showed up with a positive attitude anyway. Hey, why not? Each morning, as I got ready to climb the train stairs for my 2 hour commute to New York City, I'd tell myself that the day ahead of me would be the day some random producer or CEO would declare, "Laura, you are exactly the person we're looking to mold into some crazy sought after, high up, creative position!"
It didn't happen.
After 4 weeks, I started to lose hope. Why didn't anybody care about me? Why were the producers who I thought were so cool always in such a rush to snatch their tapes from my paws and run away without a word? I had been commuting 4 hours every day to this job that was supposed to spur me into an awesomesauce life, but nobody cared. Something was missing. On my way home one night, as the train made it's 22nd stop, it hit me that I needed to spend time in New York without my crappy job holding me down. 4 hour commute, be gone.
I scraped together every penny possible, scoured craigslist for a crappy studio sublet in my price range and set up a viewing for the very next day. My parents were skeptical (with reason), but I was determined. One week later, I moved in to my new (and completely haunted) sublet. Having no cable, no internet, no roommates, microwave, or dishwasher did not matter. Nor did my newly emptied bank account. Four hours of free time every day would be the way that I FINALLY MADE MY MARK! I wanted to have a presence in New York, with or without my stinky good-for-nothing new corporate job.
But, an odd thing happened.
After moving into my sublet, I stopped leaving work when my shift ended. I showed up early and stayed hours later than I needed to. I didn't care if it was a Monday or a Friday. I was there...all. the. time. No, my job duties didn't change and some nights were so unbearably thankless that I wanted to shoot myself, yet I stayed. Later and later. I wanted to make my mark on Manhattan, but I was barely even making time to see it.
On weekends, friends would visit and we'd go out on the town each Friday and Saturday night. Then, they'd leave and I'd wander the city streets, wracking my brain to determine what I could possibly be doing wrong. I was lonely and alone. When I jokingly told a story about eating a sleeve of low-fat oreos by myself in Central Park and my friend hugged me instead of laughing, I knew I was failing. I wasn't making it inside or outside of work.
I totally sucked.
Then, one night while I was working late at A&E, a producer I'd become friendly with asked if I wanted to sit in one of his sessions. It was a quick moment, maybe 30 minutes at best, but suddenly I felt as if the day was worthwhile. I had something positive to write in my diary. The next afternoon, I grabbed lunch with a couple Production Assistants I was growing close with and mentioned the night before. They didn't seem too excited by my excitement, but they listened nontheless.
After that week, sitting in on sessions and kicking it with my coworkers became my way of life. Every day I focused more on what I wanted to do in the future and focused less on the uninspired crappy position I was being paid to do. (Dress for the job you want, not the job you have - that kinda thing) Every person who I thought ignored me in the beginning started coming around more and more often. Most mornings, I'd find notes on my desk or a bag of juicy pear Jelly Belly beans plopped on my keyboard. Had I made some friends in this hell hole?
Yes. Yes, I had.
Eleven months from my start date, I received a call. A Creative Director from MTV was looking for a PA and wanted me to come in and interview. She'd gotten my name from my friend (one of the production assistants) at A&E. I interviewed, got the job and started 1 week (I know, I know...not polite) later. I couldn't believe that I was finally on my way. And my crappy job, with the crappy people got me there.
They were wonderful.
Over the next 6 years, lots happened. I worked with companies for far longer than I worked at A&E and I made it to a good place in my career. It feels good. But no matter where I've worked, I never again felt the same warmness for any place like I did when things turned right with A&E. Something happened to me there in those 11 months. I learned how to be alone, independent, scared and how to push through on my own. I learned how to cope and grow. My friends from A&E weren't easy to come by in the beginning, but some were lifelong (the production assistant who got me the MTV interview was in my wedding!).
That's why it was fully weird to show up back at the A&E building (who now owns Lifetime) 6 years later as a producer one week ago. It was even weirder to find out that my current job would be on the same floor as my first one. And the WEIRDEST to learn that I still knew nearly every face on the floor. What.a.trip.
All week, I struggled to live in the present. I was married, not working at the library. I wasn't 23, ravenous for happy hour plans, or terrified to go home to my haunted apartment. But, in my mind...I was all of those things. Even, if just for random fleeting moments as I walked down the hall to the bathroom. The whole week was equal parts surreal and magical. It was unexpected and yet, so unbelievably fun to experience.
Time travel. I have to say, I really recommend it.
