Chapter 4: A Very Snooty City, MA

This organization was my oasis. I liken it to a kind of panacea. Reasonable compensation, excellent benefits (including ample vacation time), convenient location, quality product. All in all, this was a healthy organization. Coincident with my employment was the adaptation of email. I didn’t realize the difference this was going to make in terms of lessening my anxiety. It’s amazing how traumatized one can become when being paged and phoned a thousand times a day. I was receiving electric shock therapy on a daily basis and I didn’t even know it. Email enables you to have carefully crafted and professional correspondence with others. There is nothing more annoying than some ding-dong leaving a long-winded voice mail, paraphrasing—in every possible way under the sun—what could be said in a sentence or less.

This new opportunity not only afforded me the chance to work on the other side of the fence (I was now considered a print buyer, rather than a print seller), but I could do it without all the pandemonium. In the cube farm that was to become my home for the next 5 years, all was perfectly silent but the clickety-clack of fingers and keys.

We developed something called a workflow. We created a large diagram, constructing every facet of a project’s life. From copy to design to print to mail – a well-oiled machine, it was. Checklists + Signatures + Responsibilities = Good Planning. How elementary. People actually started projects when they were supposed to, much to my bewilderment.

At times, I felt spoiled. On what might qualify as a bad day, all I would have to do is unearth a memory from New Jersey and I would soon chuckle to myself, shake my head and sigh. I took secret pleasure in listening to the endless complaints of my old work mates, those not fortunate enough to escape. “She said what? No!” I would lend a compassionate ear to my old pals, smiling shamelessly on the other end of the phone.

While I continued to drink from the cup of the company’s sweet nectar, I got my ass kissed by every printer in town. It was sheer delight. I received tickets to sporting events and was treated to elaborate meals at la-dee-da restaurants. I sat back as the sales reps tripped over each other, competing for my attention. A more perfect professional existence, I could not imagine.

My small department would make secret plans to take a day off and drive to New York City to catch a Broadway show or schedule a tour of Fenway Park. All events were followed by cocktails and lounging.

After several years had come and gone, I began to grow bored. It was also around this time that the great Dot Com Era was born. My boyfriend worked for a large, worldwide technology operation and along with him, I enjoyed many over-the-top luxuries, all at the expense of his clients. If my work environment was an island paradise, the Dot Com Era was Nirvana. There was no end to the joy we experienced at this time: pricey hotels in mid-town Manhattan, hundreds and hundreds of dollars in meals and booze, private parties, you name it. It was an endless celebration.

Overnight, we had become super snobs. Long gone were the days of hanging out at the local pub. No, no, no that was too dirty. God forbid we have to slum it at the Sheraton. Rent a Honda Accord? Are you out of your mind? If it didn’t have a trendy edge, it wasn’t going to get our patronage. Fresh limejuice in my cocktail, please. The snobbery was infectious. We tried to contaminate our non-dot com friends who would have been perfectly happy to hang out and play pool. We forced this lifestyle on our poor families who just wanted an affordable meal and good company. If it wasn’t top tier, it wasn’t happening.

These technology companies, which popped up like weeds in Boston, employed young, energetic techies (and poseurs) and paid them unheard of salaries. Those lucky enough to work for a company that went public found themselves in a position to retire before 30. Rumors circulated about 25-year-olds who wrote checks for half a million bucks in real estate transactions.

Magazines like Wired, Fast Company, Business 2.0, and Industry Standard were suddenly everywhere. Everyone was outfitted in various shades of Banana Republic grey. A sleek, full-of-yourself look was in vogue, and also necessary in order to accomplish what the dot comers set out to do: Take Over. Teams of them would jet off on sales pitches spouting their “We Know Best” rhetoric to the highest levels of brick and mortar operations – companies that had years of consistent and vigorous profits to show for themselves. The objective was to do what ever it took to convince them that their enterprise would soon be obsolete without the addition of an online operation. The buzz was everywhere and phones were ringing off the hook with terrified CEOs who were desperately battling to have online presence before their competitors. To be fair, I must say that these techie teams were not outright lying. They sincerely believed that the corporate world was changing and that they were in the unique position of being an integral part of this change. Cold sales calls were unnecessary. In fact, some potential business had to be turned away.

Strategies were built, frequent flier miles were accumulated, bullshit was slung, deals were made, and guarantees were doled out. It was all very glamorous and fast-paced. In the midst of the hubbub, programmers and designers burned the midnight oil, trying their best to out-do their dot com rivals. Overpromising client partners paced the halls, wringing their hands over bandwidth problems and other unforeseen snafus. Contractors gutted out old warehouses, making way for this new wave of business. What was all the rage this morning was archaic by afternoon. It was both exciting and scary, and I think we all knew, in our heart of hearts, that it had to slow down.