balding angrily

Jerry may not get a chance to respond; he’s a busy man. He acted puppy-dog hurt when he read the post, but it was just an act.

This morning I went to a meeting to go over preliminary pricing for a multi-million dollar project to which I’m tangentially attached. It was three hours long. I put in the “multi-million dollar” to give a sense of the scale of the project, not to brag. If anything huge numbers turn me off. This meeting was like any other meeting. Everyone shook everyone else’s hand; we traded cards; we smiled; we waited for the client to show up; there wasn’t a single female in the room. As always when he showed up, the client was the best-dressed person at the table. He oozed authority. He had money. The inferiority complex that usually sits comfortably in my perineum began its climb to my stomach. I feel like I’m faking it at my job most of the time, so when I have to represent myself professionally, I always expect the other people in the meeting are going to tear off their human faces, point at me and screech like Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

Architects don’t make a lot of money compared to other professionals. Most people think we do because we have a fancy title, but we don’t. That was the first thing faculty told students and parents at student orientation. They separated the parents from the students anxious to get to the drinking and sex. They said to us, the students, “You will not make money. If your goal is to make money, get out now.” To the parents they said, “Your children will not make money; if your goal is to have them make money, get them out now.” Luckily I have a cool dad that always told me, “Do what you want to do, and the money will follow.” I decided then that not making money is okay, and I stand by that decision. I accept that I will make less than my friends and partner. I am at peace with that. I am blessed to have people in my life that were brought up to be humble, down-to-earth, and sensitive even when they have money, but I am acutely aware of class and hierarchy, especially in meetings where I feel like I’m surrounded by fraud-sniffing, people-suit-wearing aliens.

Then they started with the numbers and the numbers and the numbers and the tens of thousands of dollars for the millwork and the tens of thousands of dollars for the toilets and the hundreds of thousands of dollars for the concrete, and my mind went to another place. I thought, “It’s cold in here. I wonder what that power cord goes to. The top of my mouth feels funny. Is he wearing a burgundy shirt? I like burgundy. I wonder what ever happened to that burgundy shirt I wore that one time. Jeez, that was a long time ago. Why would I think about that? I hope they have cookies after this meeting. Is it okay to ask if they have cookies right now? A snicker doodle. I would kill for a snicker doodle. Or a muffin. A cinnamon-sugar muffin. With apple juice. In the four-ounce plastic tub with the aluminum foil top. And maybe a small pack of raisins. I really miss those small packs of raisins. And peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut on the diagonal. No. Cut straight across. That would be better, cut straight across. And the jelly needs to be in the center of two layers of peanut butter. Peanut butter on one slice with jelly on the other slice is just wrong. People who make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that way are evil. Ooh, and a small carton of milk to wash down the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I wish I were in the cafeteria in the first grade.”

When I hear numbers over 50, my mind turns to bleh.

I don’t mind not making money for doing architecture, but I do mind sitting in meetings where my mind turns to mush. I say this semi-seriously. It’s an aspect of the job that I need to find out how to not do.