Conundrumed

A quick Google search of "oxymoron business casual" results in around 10 pages of most likely people ranting about the booming business world and all that it entails. I choose not to add to that list, since life is already full of oxymorons that no one seems to rant about. Like nondairy creamer.

As you can probably tell, I had to go to a "business casual" dinner yesterday for the program I'm doing during the summer. At work I quickly googled "business casual" to see exactly what it meant and if it would be throw-on-able in 15 minutes. Khakis - which I no longer have and button-up shirt - all unironed. Which left me with 2 choices: a leotard or a dress/skirt.

I arrived and realized that most everyone had read no further than the "business" in "business casual" and there I was, bright magenta toenails exposed exposed in a sea of suits. It was only when we had broken up into smaller groups that the lowly liberal arts interns came together and I realized that they were the ones who had seen the "casual" in business casual. Ah, HERE were my people! The girl with the patterened Keds shoes and the boy with the cape! And since misery likes to hang together, during the crucial, life-changing "networking" session we had, we just sort of milled around together like farm animals waiting to be called to dinner.

In the meantime, we carefully reviewed a packet we were given about how to be a stellar intern. A large section of this was devoted to dress and to eating at business meals. And while the packet would impart such important, inevident advice like "Do not dunk your food into a beverage" or "Never call attention to the dining mistakes of others or be overly apologetic about your own," it also left us hanging with recommendations such as "dress for the position you want." What if you're working at a bank but really want to be working at Starbucks? Should you still dress like a barrista? Huh? What then Mr. Business Casual?

And so the rest of my "business casual" dinner went without anything else unusual. Aside from the tasteless chicken being served on plastic plates with plastic cuttlery, it was nearly like eating at home with my now-solid "network" of people around me.

So it's now that I think I'll laugh at my 12th grade art teacher's prediction that I would one day work in an office. Maybe. But since I am currently using quotation marks around every word remotely associated with the business world. As if it were a different language. "Deutche Bank" translates into dumplings.