The office is quiet in the morning.  All the lights are off on my side of the hall (massive, minimal fuss, white walls, white grid).  Further down, one or two figures tap at their computers, but overall, the feeling is calm.  Outside of these doors, workers have been busy spinning thousands of yards of fabric into fashion--the lights are bright, the talk is fast, and the machines are humming.

From where I sit, I have a clear view of the stairway that leads to the rooftop.  The first morning of work, I happened to look up and for half of a second, thought it was snowing.  In a big factory like this, dust is inevitable, but caught in the light, it looks almost charming--my imagined version of snow in California.

Over the next forty minutes, my new co-workers slowly trickle in.  Some burst through the doors in pairs, laughing and promising to have lunch together ("Do you want to get burgers?" "Oh my god, I have been having fucking DREAMS of burgers"), while others trudge, skip, or glide.  Trudgers: hungover or generally cynical employees--the guy in the black t-shirt and shades who only greets people with a nod.  Skippers: the tirelessly cheerful employees--usually females--who announce they've brought cookies/fruit for everyone.  Gliders:  The few but obvious employees with effortless fashion, who are friendly, self-assured, and always have the perfect comeback to an inevitable morning zinger.

And me?  I'm in full observer/scared rabbit mode.  I come in, greet people as they enter, but usually stay in my own little world until someone asks me a question.  And my own little world is a sad and frantic place.  Because my trainer also has a full work load to complete each day, my training is fast and sporadic.  This morning, no one had time to give me something to do until a full hour after I'd arrived.  So I sorted my emails.  I read about twenty reports with information I don't understand.  I tried to look busy, but ended up checking the news on my phone for a few minutes.

When my trainer does have a few minutes, he slides over on his chair and starts a rapid fire assault of the keyboard.  I've known this guy for a while--he was my boss back at my previous store--and knew that he would be tough.  When he first trained me two years ago, it was a nightmare.  He is so smart, so fast, so meticulous that he made every new procedure he taught me seem like it was supposed to be common sense and that I was just the idiot who didn't understand.  I ended up learning the job very fast, but I still don't think it was worth the constant feeling that I was always on the verge of being disappointing.  Eventually, when I began training people, I walked them through every single step a million times before letting them do anything on their own--I gave them little tests, practice runs with reports, asked them questions, and made a 45 page guide on everything they could ever need to know about our inventory.  I updated the guide every two weeks so they could always refer back to it if they were uncertain about procedures or any other random information.

But now, I don't have the luxury of a slow and thorough training.  On my first day, I went home in a daze.  "What did they have you do today?" people asked.  "I sent out 5,000 scarves" was my reply.  Five.  Thousand.  Scarves.  I took several pages of notes that were only 30% comprehensible, was shown over twenty different reports that I'll be receiving every morning from now on, and then I sent 5,000 scarves to 220 stores.  It was like being pushed into a freezing cold lake while someone above you yells, "SWIM, you idiot".

It's now been four days. Right after I got home, I opened my computer and started on my self-given homework.  Before I left the office, I created some fake reports and emailed them to myself so I could do some trial and error order making without anyone around to see.  I hate asking questions when I feel like I should already know the answer, and I hate the beginning stages of any learning process.  I just want to be perfect for everyone immediately.  So I worked on these spreadsheets, making dozens of stupid mistakes along the way, before I finally ended up making exactly what I'd wanted.  And then I made myself do it three more times so I wouldn't forget.

I am more than relieved that tomorrow is Friday.  I'm not used to dreading work, but I have dreaded every day if this week so far.  I just want it to be over.  And I just want to speed through time until I am perfect.