Patricia about the horror of the first days at a new job

Patricia van Liemt is a radio host, writer and mother of Maria (12) and Phaedra (9). Every Friday she writes accurate, honest, funny and above all recognizable columns about her life and motherhood.

A new job feels like a new jacket that was actually just a bit too expensive and whose receipt I accidentally threw away. In other words: I suffer, with a very long ‘ij’, from the imposter syndrome† You know it, the completely overwhelming feeling that you think ‘but I can’t do this at all’. A feeling that hangs like a heavy cape on your so-called hero shoulders during the first few days.

First day

Today is my first day at the office. The space feels dry and the handshaking moment has been elevated post-pandemic to a silent do-it-or-don’t-do it. Everything feels awkward. I am also still unwell. Day two. That means a super plus tampon and sanitary towel. I take it for the bloody insecure and also opt for dark blue pants.

The office has recently been renovated and I see all kinds of small ‘cubicles’ aka mini meeting rooms where I can hide if necessary. I walk past a department where four people á la The Office trying to have a conversation over their screens. I suspect it is about the wide range of tea assortment.

This one also left a deep impression on me. This morning, between changing three different first-day-to-the-office outfits and finally a safe period pants, I had already reached my coffee tax at home meaning I’m at the mercy of weak tea for the rest of the day.

Also read – ‘I changed jobs so I could spend more time with my daughter’ >

Awkward silence

I came in during rush hour and even though the imposing coffee machine was doing its stinking best, it took a while before I could fill my cup with hot water. stood next to me a someone from a department. To break the unwieldy silence between us, I quickly searched for a coffee machine joke. Where I am normally the purveyor of the short silences, my humor hormone completely stagnated this morning. All I managed to squeeze out was a small office smile with a tiny bit of air exiting my body through my nose.

Rather than leave an indelible impression on this new colleague, I asked, “Do you know where the tea is?” The whole sentence, but especially the word ‘maybe’ I found such a disappointing choice of my own. Tjeez Lowies. And his answer to it wasn’t exactly a confetti shower either. “There,” he said, pointing to 8 different drawers. ‘Thank you’, was my reply and I walked towards it unsure. Thank God the second drawer hit. An oasis of tea bags stared at me. Completely taken by surprise, I looked for something without theine. It was chamomile tea.

Overcompensate

It didn’t get any more Bridget Jones this morning. At least that’s what I thought. While this morning I had imagined that I would make my entrance into the office like a rock star, ending up in a shy person with a cup of chamomile tea.

Well, apparently you also overcompensate at 43, because I heard myself say to a slightly older random colleague that I have a tattoo on my back with Sympathy for the Devil† I think he just asked where I lived. OK. Embarrassing.

Breath in breath out.

Tomorrow is day two. Then I can put in a normal tampon and know where the tea is.

A little better every day.

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