August 22, 1999

YUPPIE (YOUNG URBAN PEST):
The Rebel Freelancer Joins the Rat Race (aka Stumbling Upon the Unwritten Rules)
By Leo Alcalde

Okay, first things first. I'm 28, so that doesn't make me too "young". (Makes you wonder who came up with the name for my column.) Secondly, I'm a writer by day and musician by night. I've lived in the city since I was born, so while green landscapes are fine for vacations, grey concrete and urban squalor is more my kind of thing. Then of course, I love to whine. Some of my friends call me cynical, but deep down inside, I'm an optimist. I complain because I hope for better. Pest? Maybe to some. Urban? Definitely. Young? At heart, I guess.

Welcome to my profane little world.

* * *

For about 8 months after I quit my last magazine job, I was freelancing. It's a nice big word which meant working out of my parents' house and basically getting sick of home cooking, while trying to eke out a living by being a literary slut. It also meant watching TV till 3 a.m. and being able to sleep till noon everyday just as long as I met my deadlines--- which I crammed for anyway. I dressed for work the way I saw fit (which is slobspeak for shorts and towel around the neck a la jeepney drivers). And I got to enjoy the benefits of renewed ties with a family who for several years only got to see me when I was asleep--- or if I'd declared myself absent from work.

What's the point? Two months ago, I returned to the fold. I was offered a job that was up my alley--- in fact, which seemed challenging, the pay was good and the prospective boss knew her stuff. Problem? The hour-and-a-half commute from my Quezon City place till Makati. AND I had to wake up at around 6 a.m. if I wanted to get to the office b y 8:00. But it seemed a small price to pay, all things considered. Except that maybe I hadn't realized how set in my ways I'd become in my time away from the corporate world. Imagine my surprise when I was slowly made to realize what exactly the unstated rules in our office were.

I found out:
1. I couldn't wear sandals.
2. I couldn't have pictures of my girlfriend on my desk.
3. I couldn't place pictures on my computer's wallpaper, either.
4. Neither could I eat at my desk… after all there was a canteen in the building.
5. I had to wear a shirt and tie or a barong.
6. I couldn't play music in the office.
7. I couldn't leave my desk untidy since the owner of the company has this habit of roving around after office hours just to look at people's desks… (Believe it, baby.)

The irony of it all is, I work at a magazine--- which is supposedly a place bursting with creativity and uniqueness--- and here I am being told (quietly) to bury my identity as an individual and be a part of the pack. PFAH!

I've read those management books which stress that the true treasure of any company comes from the creativity of its individuals, and that ways must be found to foster that creativity. I've digested the 101 Ways To Be A Better Manager manuals and have yet to find any of these brainy authors say "Make sure you people all have the same computer wallpaper. This is the way to have great ideas in the workplace."

Of course decorum is important. You gotta look decent in your plush aircon office, but looking down upon leather sandals? Of course the people who own the company own all the computers and the desks and can dictate what they want to see (and have the right to peek at what you're writing by email, to boot)… but I'll be darned if any of these owners understand what it's like to create magnificent words when you're holed up in Dilbert-esque cubicles, dressed like the guy beside you and watching the clock tick.

So. Am I following those rules, you ask? Dream on.

I've always had a problem with authority figures and rules placed on my head by invisible higher-ups. And I don't believe in conforming just so your place in the company is secure. The hell with that. I wear short-sleeved shirts, my crumby green jeans with chlorine stains and my Converse sneakers to work. I have two framed photos of my girlfriend on my desk, not to mention the screensaver I made using her pics adorning my office computer. My desk holds a chaotic pile of papers, which I refuse to clean up after a day's work is done. (I clean up only when my mess reaches a critical mass--- that point when I absolutely cannot get anything done unless I fix my surroundings.) I bring out my Discman and play CDs all day thru my computer speakers (which I smuggled in from home since most of the computers in the office don't have soundcards or CD-Roms)… but I keep the volume at a level where only my cubicle mates can hear. And I plan to go to the office tomorrow wearing sandals.

What's the worst punishment they can give me? Send a memo that goes straight into my 201 file? Hold my salary? Scold me in front of the crowd? FIRE ME? After two months of this Makati gig, I would actually LOVE to be fired right now. So I can laugh any reprimand that'll come my way. (How immature.)

But you see, my point is: You want me to work for you? Allow me the freedom to be me. After all you hired me for my uniqueness, and not my conformist way of thinking. Take away some of these stifling rules and see what vibrant people you have working for you!

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