Morning Commute Frustration Level: Let’s see, what’s the highest level? One level above that.

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The work day started off innocently enough. I got into the offices of the government client at 7:39, nine minutes late for the Important Meeting I Should Not Miss, and sat down to take notes on things that meant barely nothing to me. Tried to look interested and engaged while thinking I am so tired I could drop dead right now and probably still manage to comprehend as much as I’m understanding this moment as a living being. And there was another small voice saying you don’t need to do this. These are not exactly the voices one should be hearing in one’s head the first day one’s boots hit the ground.

When the meeting concluded at 8:30, I was introduced to the government executive from January’s “meet and greet” event, who just happened to be walking by. There she was, the source of all my project manager’s stress from that day, squaring her shoulders for another encounter with me. And what did she say?

“Nice to finally meet you.”

Sure glad I bought a new suit to make that impression.

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Contractor Culture

I was paired up for the day with Mark (not his real name), a contractor on the same project but from a different company. Contractors are everywhere in the government. I met so many people today, and it was impossible to keep track which ones were “guvvies” (government employees) and which ones were contractors. It doesn’t matter, really, at least not to me. All I knew (and all I was constantly reminded of) was that Mark and I were contractors from different companies.

Mark is a good guy. He’s the only person I feel sorry for, because he was my buddy all day long today. Not only did he treat me at Starbucks, he spent hours talking about the project from soup to nuts. It was the first time anyone had given me any idea of what I was going to work on, period. And here was all this information, coming from a guy who didn’t work for my company. Irony? (To be fair, my company probably wasn’t allowed to divulge much about the project to me until I had gained my security clearance. But still, I wouldn’t expect any of my company’s employees to do as thorough a job as Mark did for me today.)

For a short while after the meeting, Mark handed me over to my project manager, Mr. Passive-Aggressive Email, so we could get reacquainted. My manager took me into the breakroom to talk. He first apologized for possibly startling me with his passive aggressiveness, but in his next breath he justified his passive aggressiveness by saying how important it was that I perform well and make our company look good. (OK, but there are better ways to go about conveying these feelings, bud.) Whatever, I said. No worries.

But then came the kicker from Mr. P-A. What was critical to remember, he said, was that even though many people are working on our project team, there are a lot of competing interests involved. I’m avoiding the main details here, but he basically told me to keep my mouth shut about our company, stay vigilant in case someone probes a bit too much, and report to him anything I might hear from contractors from other companies. In other words, I should do my best to support to the uncomfortable working environment that we have created for ourselves.

Eww. Today is my first day of getting the skinny about the job I’ve been waiting on for four months, and this is my orientation? This is what I have to look forward to? Keeping my shields up? Looking out for #1? Loose lips sink ships? So much for pulling together and winning a big one for Uncle Sam. Serve my country indeed.

The Disgruntled Government Employee

The best part of the breakroom chat, though, had little to do with my project manager’s comments. Midway through his talk, an older guy walked into the room, scowling like one of those aged muppets. He sat down heavily behind me with a grunt, then proceeded to start cursing under his breath. One curse after another, punctuated with snuffs and grumps and snorts. My project manager started looking over my left shoulder to see what was up. “That guy is going f-ing crazy,” he whispered, pretty much at the same time as I thought the same thing about myself at that moment in time. I snuck a quick look, and saw that Mr. Muppet was adding wild gesticulations to his curses, flailing the air with his arms to punctuate each dirty word.

Is this what happens after working for the government for awhile?

Is this why guns aren’t allowed in federal buildings?

Contractor Culture 2

Mark and I then repaired to his offices for an intense learning session about the project. Before beginning, however, he gave me his unsolicited take on what it’s like to be a contractor in this environment. Essentially, he gave a very similar story about what it’s like to be part of the contractor culture — with the exception that he added that he didn’t want to play those games. I suppose he could have been playing a game within the game — get the new guy to trust me, then squeeze him for information without him knowing any better — but come on. Mark put it all on the table openly and respectfully while my project manager was all about the politics and the seedy underbelly of corporate oneupmanship.

As the afternoon wore on, it became increasingly clear that this isn’t the game I want to play. Everything about this employer has made me uncomfortable, from their unclear communication to the manner in which they showed interest in my well being. I don’t believe I’m a difficult employee to have on the rolls; just talk to me and make me feel like a valuable member of the team. When these things didn’t happen, I relied on the thin hope that the job, the actual technical writing, would be challenging, interesting and fulfilling. Before I hardly even ventured down that road, though, I was confronted with the realization that even if the work was lovely, I would always be doing it under the shroud of Contractor Culture as envisioned by my project manager (and, it seems safe to assume, a great number of others in my company). I’m not one of these sad, gray government workers, and I have no interest in going down a path with people who need to go to the breakroom and curse.

At the end of the day, Mark set me up with my own government-issued laptop chock full of interesting documents to study and work on. While he copied files, I sat and stewed in my juices as I considered how I had reached this point and what I was going to do about it. At that moment, I got an email from a potential web design client whom I had gently rejected a few weeks back because of my new job. He knew I was busy, he wrote, but could he just have a little of my time for a quick question or two?

It was incredible timing. Without missing a beat, I tapped out,

Hi, Dave,

Of course I remember our conversation, and yes, I would be happy to assist you on a consultation basis. In fact, I am in the process of extricating myself from my new job, which is proving not to mesh with my idea of a right livelihood, and I will therefore be available in the near future to help as much as you need.

Dan

And so began the beginning of the end. I parted ways with Mark, jumped on the Metro and headed home, knowing that I had a letter of resignation to write when I got there. As I made the long journey back, it started to snow, bejeezus style. If I had any reservations left about leaving this job, the last half hour in the blinding snow pretty much took care of them.

The letter is now signed, sealed and delivered. I’m going to sleep well tonight.

Don’t Know Where I’ll Be Tomorrow.

After waking up from a nap this afternoon, I checked my email and noticed a message from my project manager. Apparently, he’s not happy I couldn’t show up for work today:

“I’m not sure you know how much pain we have gone through to get you in here or how that effected [sic] our image with the client.”

Waitaminnit. My employer went through pain to get me assigned to this project? Pain? And this herculean effort on their part reflected badly in the client’s eyes somehow?

Exactly how is that my fault, assuming that this is the passive-aggressive message intended to lay fault that it appears to be? Because here’s what I’ve done so far in your service:

• Signed an employee agreement

• Bought a new suit, shirts, ties, and shoes

• Driven 200 miles twice for meetings that lasted less than one hour and could have been accomplished over the phone or online

• Made a third 200-mile journey to participate in a successful 10-minute “meet and greet” session with the government executives

• Updated my resume and prepared a portfolio of past work to meet the company’s specifications

• Reported for work for an entire month, during which time I did nothing but improve my skills on software products that could potentially make me a more valuable employee

• Offered to provide assistance in any way to other project managers if they had any non-sensitive work that I could do

• And, just in case you forgot, I hung around my house, unpaid, for the months of November, December, and January, while I waited for your company to put me on the payroll. (You want to talk about pain?)

Is there something in the above that has caused me to become such a yoke for you to bear?

How could my mere presence have caused such problems? If I had done some substandard work that damaged a project, it might make sense. But I haven’t been allowed to do anything resembling project work at all for this employer yet.

So who’s to blame for this pain and this negative effect on the client? Is it possible that the client isn’t comfortable with my credentials, or perhaps they are concerned that I am not capable of doing the job properly? Well, if that’s the case, is that really my fault? I have done nothing  but honestly represent my skill set, experience and capabilities as a technical writer. Could it be that Grizzly Adams, my interviewer way back in October, didn’t do a good job of interviewing me? (He really did a bad job of it. In hindsight, I should have been more wary about this company after they offered me employment based on one poorly delivered interview.) If I’m not a good fit for the client’s project, I’d put the onus on Grizzly (i.e., my employer) for judging that I was.

But perhaps the key part of my manager’s statement was this:

I’m not sure you know

You’re right, friend: I don’t know. I don’t know anything, because nobody’s told me anything. I didn’t know this information was available for knowing in the first place, so I didn’t know I could even ask about it. The communication in this company is nonexistent at worst and stilted at best. I’ve learned more from this one passive-aggressive line than from any previous discussion about the state of things.

What else? Oh, yeah, they want me to show up in the client’s office in downtown D.C. at 7:30 tomorrow morning for a meeting. If I do the math correctly, that means I’ll be getting up at 4 a.m. to get to this meeting on time. The suggestion is pretty strong: I should attend this meeting, sore throat be damned.

Looking forward to my second full day with a badge. Not.

Evening Commute Frustration Level: Elevated. This was not a good trip. It’s a bad sign (literally) when the first traffic alert billboard you see, at mile #168, says, “ACCIDENT EXIT 150 EXPECT DELAYS”.

This morning’s commute: 5:47 – 7:27 (100 minutes)

Morning Commute Frustration Level: As low as humanly possible. I frickin’ love Fridays. No jams whatsoever and hardly any slowdowns.

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They said it would never happen. And, after a while, I started hoping they were right.

Today, the last working day of February, three and a half months after I started the process, I received my security clearance. My boss and his boy came over to my cube this afternoon to give me the good news. For the first time, I saw my boss smile, and he even extended his hand in congratulations. My fellow employees all smiled, too, and I’m pretty sure they all looked at me differently — like they could trust me with their secrets, or something.

All I could think was, shit.

I went into D.C. to get my official badge. Walking around the Federal Triangle trying to find the right building in 40 mph winds, I could have sworn that I was feeling a cold coming on. Now that I’m back in my car and stuck in traffic, I’m pretty sure that yeah, that’s a sore throat developing. I’ve been worried sick about how I would fit into this job, and now, four months after I signed my name on the employee agreement, I am literally getting sick. Should I be reading anything into this?

Evening Commute Frustration Level: Guarded. I’d been getting accustomed to beating the afternoon truck weigh station jam near exit #154; it was a little disappointing to see that it had already formed when I came through that area yesterday. Weather also played a role; it dampened the cruise-control portion of the trip north of Richmond. Other than that, though, it was a pretty standard journey.

This morning’s commute: 5:49 – 8:04 a.m. (135 minutes)

Morning Commute Frustration Level: Guarded. Yesterday’s miracle didn’t duplicate itself; the jam returned, albeit not until exit #158. Still, it took 55 minutes to drive those last 10 miles.

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(End of the work day)

I actually worked today. Not on anything I was hired to do here, but on something I’ve tried to do on my own for ages: build a web database project. I got so involved with it, I didn’t spend the usual amount of time messing around with alternate activites like this blog. If this job, when it gets rolling, could hold my interest as much as the personal work I did today, I could actually enjoy myself here. But I’m not holding my breath on that one.

Evening Commute Frustration Level: Ridiculously low. I know that leaving at 4 p.m. is a good thing, but this was almost embarrassing.

This morning’s commute: 5:47 – 7:50 a.m. (123 minutes)

Morning Commute Frustration Level: Up and Down the Ladder.

OK, so here’s how my morning commute usually transpires. I enter I-95 at exit #80 in Richmond. With few exceptions, I experience cruise-control-quality commuting until around exit #143. At that point, traffic bunches up because of an influx of employees at the U.S. Marines base at Quantico at #148. (The exit ramp/shoulder is occasionally clogged with a mile of cars.) Sometimes, everyone comes to a full stop during these five miles. I don’t make a big deal out of it because speeds usually pick up again at #148 until somewhere between #152 and #158. My exit is #166. The variable in this equation is where in the “150s” the jam will settle in. Since it can often take 60 minutes to go those last ~10 miles, every mile without a backup can be a savings of at least 10 minutes. A couple of times, the jam has held off until #158; I’ve been mighty pleased whenever that’s happened. There’s never been a time when I haven’t gone full stop in the 150s.

Today, it looked like I was in real trouble, despite one of my earliest departure times ever. Way too many vehicles entered the scene around #120 (Fredericksburg), and then we hit a dead stop at #127. Gah. Exit #127 is in the middle of frickin’ nowhere. At this point, the Frustration Level was at Imminent (i.e., “Danger of Spiralling Into Freak-Sweat”). I was facing the prospect of the longest morning commute ever, which would in turn lead to a late afternoon departure from work and, possibly, the longest afternoon commute ever. The thought of turning around and going home even flitted through my mind. Heck, I was still closer to home than work at #127.

I moved at a glacial pace up to #143 — passing two flat tires and a fender bender, all accompanied by the pretty blue and extremely distracting lights of the Virginia State Police — and then started to move tentatively forward without excessive braking. Still expecting the worst, I raised my eyebrows slightly when exit #148 at Quantico didn’t grind us all to another halt. I was perfectly happy with 30 mph, and my Frustration Level was upgraded to merely Elevated.

And then a miracle happened. There’s no other way to describe it; it was like half the cars on the road simply disappeared. I blew past #152 and #156. At Potomac Mills at #158 — the fail-safe gridlock point – I got a good look at the vista ahead of me gasped. There were massive gaps of open roadway as far as I could see. So there I was, quite near the point of giggling as I flew up I-95 at 7:30 a.m. at 78 mph. It continued all the way until #163, where things slowed down to a still acceptable 50 mph or so, and then I was at my beloved #166. Frustration Level eliminated entirely.

To top it off, one of my coworkers told me when I got in this morning that there was a 22-mile backup on I-95 because of an accident in downtown D.C. A jam of that length would begin at about exit #156. I must have missed it by only a few minutes. The lesson here, I guess, is to keep expectations low — which is something that hasn’t been a problem for me when it comes to traffic in the Washington, D.C., metro area.

Evening Commute Frustration Level: Surprisingly Low. Where was all the afternoon traffic? It was raining outside, which leads me to suspect that folks who left work early in D.C. couldn’t get out to my neck of the woods until after I had already hit the road. Either that, or I just had a little dumb luck. Either way, I’m not going to complain about getting home at 6:10.

This morning’s commute: 5:47 – 8:04 a.m. (137 minutes)

Morning Commute Frustration Level: Elevated. I haven’t been doing this long enough yet to accept a post-8 a.m. arrival following a pre-6 a.m. departure. I want a reward if I’m going to rush out the door before even the birds are awake.

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Someone wasn’t thinking clearly when they designed I-95 South near Woodbridge, Virginia. At that location, a truck weigh station is on the west side of the highway and the entrance ramp for the HOV lane is a little further down on the east side. The result during evening rush hour is that you’ve got 18-wheelers merging into heavy traffic on one side of the road and a serious dose of impatient HOV lane drivers (who have just luxuriated in 12 miles of smooth driving, poor sods) on the other side. I choose the middle way, er, lane well before I reach this stretch; unfortunately, most other drivers don’t. We end up with a bunch of jockeying around for the “fastest” travel path, which of course means nothing since we all end up going about 7 mph anyway. I can’t help but think, though, that if we all stayed in our original lanes, we’d at least go faster – maybe 12 mph. Any driving speed that’s faster than I could achieve using my legs is welcome. Is that too much to ask?

Tim Ferriss’s The Four-Hour Work Week  is my audiobook at present. It’s not helping my morale as I prepare for another eight hours of struggling to focus on self training. In the book, Ferriss attacks all my flashpoints about work: fear of asking for what I want, fear of not earning enough favor from the boss, fear of not earning enough to support my family, fear of looking stupid when I finally get my clearance and don’t understand what they want me to do because they don’t have time to provide me with any support, and so on. The overarching theme that I’m taking from this book is that I’m afraid of taking charge of my life. And that, of course, is a realization not easily accepted. I’ll write more on this as I digest the book and (hopefully) take steps to get over myself.

Last Friday’s Commute Frustration Level: Low. Leaving at 10 p.m. eases the pain of a 100-mile Friday commute. (I stayed late to meet up with some family who were in D.C. from out of town.) Still, there was a rather shocking amount of traffic volume at that time of the evening. Doesn’t anyone around here stay at home? Maybe they’re all getting their yayas out after the snowstorms earlier this month.

This morning’s commute: 5:45 – 7:50 (115 minutes, including coffee stop)

Morning Commute Frustration Level: Low, considering it was Monday morning. The usual blockages (exit 148 and 158-166) reared their ugly heads, but most of it didn’t dip below 20 mph and there was only one full stop. Plus, I was listening to a good audio book (more on this soon), so I didn’t really care all that much.

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So I’m still on the bench, waiting for a security clearance so I can get on the field and so some real work. I’m approaching three and a half months now. Will it happen this week? How much do I care? While I appreciate getting a paycheck, I am starting to get frustrated with the fruitlessness of driving 200 miles per day to provide no measurable benefit to my new employer. If training is all I am allowed to do in the service of this company at this time, I could just as easily (more easily, actually) sit and train myself at home. It would be hard enough making this trip on a daily basis if I was a making a positive contribution; the way this job is starting, it’s really a challenge to stay upbeat.

Evening Commute Frustration Level: Low. Leaving the office as early as possible is not only good for avoiding the worst of the rush hour, it also does wonders for my morale.  The only problem with this scenario is that I end up hitting Richmond’s rush hour as well as D.C.’s. There was an accident in Richmond that ruined my chance for setting a new evening commute record.

This morning’s commute: 6:10-7:50 a.m. (100 minutes)

Morning Commute Frustration Level: Low. Thanks to the federal government, more people work at home on Fridays. Consequently, I like Fridays. I like working at home even more, though…can I get my telecommuting job back?

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In yesterday’s mail, I received an advice slip for my first direct deposit for this job. It’s not a full paycheck, but it doesn’t matter; it’s the first time I’ve gotten paid since the teaching job wrapped up. What a beautiful thing, getting paid. Considering I’ve probably put a few hundred bucks into this effort (business clothing, gasoline, coffee), I may now be back to even on this investment. Throw in a couple recently concluded sales on eBay, and I’m darn near profitable for February.

It’s Casual Friday! Whoohoo! I never used to see much value in this relaxation of the dress code; it’s pretty hard to dress down from the bunny slippers I used to wear on every other day of the week. Now that I have to wear a tie and grownup shoes from Monday through Thursday, though, Casual Friday looks like a beacon of comfort in a sea of stuffiness. Today, my neck revels in its freedom.

I once saw this day of the week mislabeled Causal Friday. Would such a day be followed by Effected Saturday?

That’s all I’ve got so far. Rumor has it that bagels exist somewhere.

Evening Commute Frustration Level: Guarded. Weather was good, and I got home before 7. But why was it stop-and-go traffic all the way down to Fredericksburg? Doesn’t anyone realize I drive a Toyota Prius? I apparently have issues with low-speed braking, people!

This morning’s commute: 5:45 – 8:05 a.m. (140 minutes)

Morning Commute Frustration Level: Elevated. The Frustration Level for today could also known as “Yellow” because I really needed to pee during the last 30 minutes. The main reason for Elevated status today, though, was due to the fact that the final miles of my commute, mile markers 158 to 166, was packed with traffic and I never saw a reason why. Give me a reason, and I’d be fine with it. “Too many cars” is not a reason. I want drama. At least give me a state trooper idling on the shoulder.

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As I suspect most new employees feel, I was wound pretty tight when I started this job a few weeks ago. Ready for anything to be thrown at me, I brought and prepared all the materials I figured were important, I sat up straight and looked professional, and I was poised to respond affirmatively at a moment’s notice to anyone who wanted to address me. Even though I didn’t have anything to do because my security clearance wasn’t complete, I knew it was always best to be honed and ready to strike at my supervisors’ bidding.

Now that I’ve been sitting here for a few weeks, though, I’m finding it pretty hard to keep my guard up. The self-training effort I’m making is definitely a good investment of my time; it increases my skill set on software that I haven’t been able to explore, and it hopefully keeps me looking engaged with my computer during these long days of waiting. However, there’s an irresistible wave of complacency settling in, suggesting in siren-song fashion that I will never do anything at this job but watch training videos. (And resuscitate this blog.)

One of the managers came in this morning and started discussing the results of her meetings yesterday at the government client’s office. Unfortunately for me, I’m not part of her team; my job remains to sit and wait. I couldn’t help but overhear the anticipated scope and pace of the work ahead for her team, though, and I began to feel a thrill of fear as I realized that there will soon come a day when my feet will be put to the fire just as her team’s feet now are.

Problem is, the wave of complacency has put me in a state of drowsy torpor. Will I be able to regain the fire of those first few days when the time comes for me to perform? I expect I will, but not before I experience some shock from the transition away from these lazy days of training videos. I’m not looking forward to the day when the shock treatment begins.

The commute is the most remarkable part of this job so far. It’s almost exactly 100 miles. I get up at 5 a.m., hit the road before 6, and usually make it to my office inside the Beltway before 8. I’m already getting pretty adept at anticipating the traffic patterns heading into Washington. The first hour is usually a breeze — people in their right mind (a group that apparently doesn’t include me) don’t commute from Richmond to Washington, so there’s hardly anybody on the highway that early. I set the cruise control, dial up NPR or an audiobook, and enjoy my coffee. It gets a little more unpredictable once the inhabitants of D.C.’s far-flung suburbs start merging their way onto the road. There’s often a slowdown at the Marine base at Quantico and some volume-related stop-and-go crud in the last 10 miles. Most of the time, though, I pretty much fly right in.

Getting out is the conundrum. While I can choose the time I leave home in the morning, I can’t just bolt the office whenever I please. I can leave a bit ahead of the biggest afternoon rush if I get an early start to the day, but there still are a lot of people trying to get home even at 4 p.m. In other words, getting home is a crapshoot. It’s taken me anywhere from 110 minutes to 3.5 hours to make that return trip. Suffice it to say, I won’t be sticking with this job long if I have too many of those three-and-a-half-hour jaunts.

So that’s where things stand. I’m drawing a paycheck, but that’s pretty much all I’m getting from my new job.

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Since commuting on Interstate 95 is going to eat up a large chunk of my mindshare, I’m starting a regular commuting report on this blog. Here goes today’s report.

Last night’s commute: 4:12 – 6:25 p.m. (133 minutes)

Evening Commute Frustration Level: Elevated. Last night was my first attempt at leaving the office early (I still put in my eight hours, natch), and it wasn’t as beneficial as I expected. Still, getting home before 7:00 makes me feel like I can have a relatively normal home life during the week.

This morning’s commute: 5:55 – 8:00 a.m. (125 minutes)

Morning Commute Frustration Level: Elevated. Tried to leave a little earlier than usual, but the end result was no different. The backup started at Exit 156 today, the worst I’ve encountered so far. (The best exit for me to take is #166.) Waking up earlier than 5:00 is anethema to me, so maybe I can streamline my morning routine a bit.