I sold my car to fit in with Vancouver’s green aesthetic, and in doing so unwittingly gave away my only safe space to cry at work. At first I felt smug, and superior as I pedalled to work every morning. I’d turn up my nose to the lazy commuters in their 4 door coffins. But the newfound smugness couldn’t make up for the loss of my fortress of saditude. I work in an open-concept office, and now I have nowhere to run when the crushing realization that I live a life of perpetual servitude creeps in. Here are the different techniques I’ve come up with to hide my crippling, work related tears, while remaining smug and vehicle free.
My first cry of the day is during morning inventory. I’ve started grunting like a cold war tennis player whenever I lift boxes. This grunting totally masks the primal whimpering brought on from my boss denying my summer vacation plans. To keep up my eco-smug persona, when Merv in H.R compliments me on my form, I tell him between grunts that I bike to work every day, rain or shine.
Around lunch time I sob into my desk phone and tell my coworkers I’m on a foreign-language call with a “client” in a faraway country. Do my coworkers really know what conversational Hungarian sounds like? I bet it sounds a lot like me crying because the only coffee left in the break room is decaf. When Trish from accounting asked me if I was okay, I told her was on a long distance call to Budapest and should not be interrupted. Trish then told me that she’s Hungarian and that the sound of an “adult man sobbing” meant the same thing in Hungarian. I told her I must have put my google translate on the wrong setting and launched in to a lecture on community gardening to distract her from my tear stained cheeks.
I’ve informed my coworkers that I practice cry-yoga. When I feel my afternoon weepies coming on, I simply take out my yoga matt and wail uncontrollably. While sobbing, I make sure that all discernible words remind those who can hear that I am car free. My ruse is so convincing that three of my co-workers have joined my practice. The companionship has actually started to alleviate some of the sobbing, which is detrimental to my plan, as I’ve told them that crying is the cornerstone of the cry-yoga practice.
If and when I need an extra cry in my day I put a sign on my desk that says “crying for environmental change.” I then let those tears fall freely, while showing everyone just how much I care about keeping Vancouver green.
With these simple methods I can keep the planet green, and still handle my years of emotional baggage brought on from a job that under appreciates me.
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