Back on the chain gang...

The first week at a new job is always bizarre.

Yes, that’s right, you heard me correctly... I’ve finally been successful in my bid for gainful employment, and as such, I have begun my latest term of indentured servitude... But alas, fear not my faithful constituency (yes, both of you), I promise to remain just as irregular about my posts now as I was when I was suckling from the governmental teat and spending the majority of my days in my underwear. After all, my devotion to laziness knows few (if any) bounds...

So, the first week at work... It’s a tough course to navigate. You don’t know anyone, you don’t know where anything is, and you really have no clue as to how things are going to go. For instance, are you supposed to just innately KNOW where the humor boundary is? The humor boundary you say? Why yes! I reply, and since I’m really conducting this dialog with myself, I in fact ask as well! (ponder that one for a moment why don’t ya… on second thought, DON’T... it’s not nearly as interesting as I tried to make it sound).

Anyway, the humor boundary is that razor thin line that exists in any workplace… that hairline distinctintion that delineates the precise location where one goes from being a harmless, amusing cad, to being labeled an obscene, offensive jerk. It’s an important distinction to make (especially for those of us who use humor as a defense mechanism), and it can vary significantly from office to office. In fact, it wouldn’t be overstating the matter to say that knowing where the humor boundary lies can shape the entire arc of your tenure at an organization. Take, for example, “dead baby” jokes. They’re not usually MY first “go to” funny, but for some, they can be an effective ice-breaker. And when used in the right environment, they may score you a key to the executive washroom faster than you can say “shameless and horrific misuse of an unconscionable tragedy.” But try them in the Neonatal Ward of the Dana Farber Institute, and you’re more likely to get looks of derision and a first class ticket to a desk in the boiler room.

Ok, so that’s a bit of an extreme example (and “dead baby” jokes are after all a bit dated and cliché), but you get my point... every office has their taboo subjects, the things you just don’t say, and the places you just don’t go. The trick is figuring out what those are. Even in normal conversation you have to watch yourself. At home, among your friends, you know what topics are “hot buttons,” and you can avoid them easily enough (i.e. never question the relative intellectual capacity of the average NBA player in front of my older brother). But at a new office, it’s a blank slate... you just don't know... say the wrong thing (in front of the wrong person), and you could wind up making your life more than just a little bit difficult (i.e. think fourth circle of hell minus the polka music).

Now I’m not saying you have to change who you are, I just think you have to exercise some common sense. I mean, if I was mopping floors at the Vatican, I certainly wouldn’t strike up a conversation with the pope on the sanctity of gay marriage... and it would probably be a REALLY bad idea for me to say what I think he’s overcompensating for with that hat.

Now, that being said, let’s recap...

What have we learned here? Well, I am no longer a burden on the average taxpayer... I have put way too much thought into adapting to my new environment... and of course, most of today’s NBA players have the I.Q. of a garden slug...

Oh, and one more thing... unless someone here at the office opens the floodgates by breaking into a string of first-rate “Helen Keller,” “one-armed Polak,” and “what do you call a guy with no arms and no legs” zingers, I’m not even going to THINK about telling that joke I just heard about the midget, the stripper, and the three-legged dog.