Everything You're Doing, I'm Doing in Heels!

That Tina Fey line perfectly captures my mood while I'm at work. When guys are rushing past me in the parking lot to get into the building in the morning or impatiently hovering behind me while I'm walking down the stairs. (These are the same guys who, while wearing comfortable tennis shoes, insist on taking the elevator up a floor.) I feel like this when I have to run errands after work - clomp through the pet store carrying the heavy litter, navigate my way in the aisles of the grocery store, pump gas and clean my windows. What I love about heels I also hate - they make everything more of a statement, and it's impossible to be subtle or quick and efficient in them.

Last summer, while I was in the middle of a meeting, we had an earthquake. Other states/people made fun of us after the fact, because apparently it was a wee baby earthquake, but since we'd never had one of that magnitude before, it was a big deal to us locals. I was taking notes and clicking slides while the important people were talking. All of a sudden everyone's chairs started rolling about uncontrollably and the projector started swaying dangerously from the ceiling. Everyone was like, "Is this an earthquake?" "Does anybody feel that?" while we were still in the middle of it. I calmly logged out of the computer I was using and got my coffee cup. Of course, I was wearing heels.

Since I've never considered having to move about suddenly in an emergency situation, I don't plan my outfits very well. Sure, I can totally walk/run/jump over dead bodies in heels, if I have to. It just struck me in that moment of shaky-shakiness where no one knew what was going on (because we just don't HAVE earthquakes here) that this might be something I should prepare for in the future. I considered this as I watched one member of the meeting immediately jump up to claim possession of the doorframe (which I've since been told will "cut you in half"), as people contemplated hiding under a desk ("you'd be crushed"), as I crowded with others down the stairs ("which will chop you up"), and nervously looked at the WORST, most unnecessary artwork ever - a giant stone sculpture suspended over the entrance to the building.

I've always viewed my day job as temporary and I've always tried to separate myself from it. Comics and design are what I love, what I get excited about, what I think of myself doing out here in the world. But every morning I still get back in to my car for the long commute and clomp back into the building, heels echoing off the hallways, to start another day at work.

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