By MARGUERITE ALCAZAREN DE LEON

DISCUSSED: Unnecessary Security Measures, Not-Actually-Very-Questionable Clothing Choices, Life Compromises

Sent: 7/20/2010 8:19 AM

To: ALL

Re: TOXIC Manong Guard @ Employee’s Entrance

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Dear All –

Today marks the 365th day since I began employment as copywriter for this institution’s Corporate Communications Department. I confess that this is quite a feat for me, as this is the longest I have ever gone without seeing my job go down in flames, since graduating in 2007.

My default response to unpleasant occupations is to run away. The fact that I have not yet bolted means that my current job is actually quite tolerable. And this is in spite of the fact that my previous stints have been freelance, whereas this one is a stuffy, big-time business-type thing. Yes, it has been a considerable challenge adapting to corporate culture—the daily commute, the required “classes” for new hires (such as “Cultural Sensitivity Training”), the co-workers who listen to Taylor Swift without irony—but I have managed to do so, and I have more or less gotten the hang of it. I really have.

There is, however, one nit I would like to pick: the Toxic Manong Guard at the Employee’s Entrance.

The dick to whom I am referring to is the Manong Guard, the beefy one with the scowl, the one who checks our bags whenever we clock in. While all the other Manong Guards across the company complex are amiable, courteous Emilio Aguinaldo look-a-likes, this one is a surly pug of a man. The nice Manong Guards are stationed at areas with high visitor traffic, and while I do understand the need for decidedly attractive, friendly personnel to tend to the folks who supply this institution with money, do we, the employees, deserve a Manong Guard of a less evolved breed? Does the fact that the Employee’s Entrance is a dimly-lit shaft set in a humid, dilapidated portion of the hospital’s underground parking area warrant an equally disheartening gatekeeper? No.

It’s bad enough that he’s a grump. You trudge to work at 8 AM, fueled just barely by an Enervon and an 8 oz. coffee, and with the thought of the day’s assignments stretched far, far out before you , the first person you come across has to stare at you with unquestionable contempt, his heavy-lidded eyes saying, Hate your life as I hate mine, Random Employee.

What’s worse is that he’s a pro-active grump. A person’s toxicity, after all, is gauged by how he makes himself difficult to deal with, and Toxic Manong Guard is one difficult SOB. His signature move is to delay your entrance to the main building for whatever inane reason he sees fit for that day—having an ID slightly cracked by time, bringing in fast food take-out, listening to your iPod. He’d make a show of walkie-talkie-ing some other Manong Guard and informing him of your heinous crime, after which the other Manong Guard, annoyed that Toxic Manong Guard is walkie-talkie-ing him for no good reason, would just bark at Toxic Manong Guard to call the manager of your department and explain the situation, and after Toxic Manong Guard does so, glaring at you as if you had taken up his precious time and not the other way around, your manager would tell him Huh? So what? Just let her in.

Despite all his sighing and tsk-tsking, it is quite apparent that Toxic Manong Guard delights in his ability to suck out all the joy from your morning. A knack for the proverbial power trip, if you will.

Now, while it may seem that he chooses his victims at random, I’m afraid that this is not, or at least no longer, true. And this is why I have sent this memo to all of you today.

Considering that Toxic Manong Guard loves to home in on people who don’t fit his idea of the perfect employee (i.e. just another impeccably polished cog devoid of distinguishing features), the  fact that I am anti-uniform makes me his most prized target. At least once a week, we have a tiff over what I’m wearing. He has even mastered the look of judgment—head to toe then toe to head, his eyebrows raised in scorn.

Technically, I don’t wear the company uniform because Human Resources has yet to drag me to a fitting. That’s the standard, legit excuse I make. But once I do get my own set, I still wouldn’t wear that polyester crap with the fake cowl and the big ‘decorative’ buttons. And Toxic Manong Guard knows I wouldn’t, because my apprehension is already apparent in my loose interpretation of what non-uniform office wear is, so he aims to give me shit for it whenever possible, his thoughts likely along the lines of Boy, this bitch doesn’t get it. She went corporate! She deserves to be given a hard time if she doesn’t comply with protocol. Non-conformity is so 90’s.

But here’s my point: It is true that my outfits aren’t business attire in the strictest sense. I don’t like pinstripes, pencil skirts, pumps, or pearls. I don’t like flesh-toned stockings, ruffles, collars, tucked-in shirts, or thin leather watches. I hate make-up. That pulled-in, put-together, lady-like look makes me queasy. But I do not go out of my way to look like trash, either.

Instead, I have taken to wearing slacks, tanks, shirts or shirt-dresses, and cardigans. Since I like walking to work from the bus stop instead of taking the jeep, I wear flipflops, but I do change to the pair of flats stowed away in my office, if I have to interview someone or if I have to attend a meeting. Adequate and unremarkable, comfortable but not slutty—that’s the closest to ‘office’ I’m going to get, and I truly believe that it’s close enough. Also, considering that I like a hint of slut in my get-up most of the time, my sartorial choices for work are already a significant effort on my end to look unlike myself.

Thus, I really believe that Toxic Manong Guard has better things to do with his time than berate me week after week about the fact that I am not hot, itchy, and constricted. It’s not like I go to work in boxers and a hoodie. I look neat and presentable. Hindi ako mukhang dugyot. No higher ups have ever drawn me aside to tell me I should get my shit together clothes-wise. And besides, I am not an overtly visible minion of this institution; I spend most of my time holed up in our 18^th floor office, so much so that my boss has taken to addressing me in her emails as ‘Cave Girl.’ I’m a copywriter, demmet, not a flight attendant.

The reason why I have been able to avoid quitting this job for a year now, in fact, is because I have successfully assimilated myself into this institution without using self-torture. It is one thing to respect the rules, and another to be their bitch, after all. I’ve conformed just enough not to be seen as some angst-ridden anarch, and I’ve also breached protocol just enough not to feel like I’ve sliced n’ diced my soul. And not only does this strategy up my longevity, it also allows me to be good at my job. I can’t write when I’m not comfortable. I can’t come up with quality work when half of me is busy wondering why my life has gone to doody.

This memo, then, is a proposal of sorts. I move, dear cohorts, that Toxic Manong Guard be relocated to a station far more suited to the rod up his ass. Such as the loading dock, say. Or the basement 3 storage area. Or at least anywhere where I won’t have to run into him and be chastised for my striking resemblance to a human being.

And this isn’t just for me, you know.  This is for all of us.

During today’s lunch break, I will be posting a Petition for Detoxification by the corkboard nearest the Employee’s Entrance. If you are attuned to my sentiments, please do not hesitate to sign it. And if Toxic Manong Guard starts getting pissy that you guys are loitering by the corkboard, and I’m pretty sure he will, I enjoin you to tell him to shove it.

Thank you very much to all of you, and have a good day.

Sincerely,

Cave Girl