The Man Cave

I have been working at Amtico almost a year now, and have survived the year of spending my days in a man cave. I have always enjoyed working with men, but this is my first experience of working with nothing BUT men. It has certainly been an adventure.

Our man cave is carved out of the large reception area of the Amtico manufacturing plant. It’s really nothing much more than seven-foot outer walls, and five-foot inner walls that separate our individual working space, otherwise known as cubicles. There is nothing decorative about our space, save for photos of children and grandchildren that have been photocopied and pinned to the cushiony walls separating us. My space is actually not much different. I have photos of my sons and dogs, calendars, and a few pithy sayings gracing my inner sanctum. I sometimes think I’ll bring something in to make it a little more welcoming and homey, but then I don’t want to become too attached to this place.

Dealing with complaints and claims all day long, tempers can become stretched like tight rubber bands, and occasionally colorful language erupts from behind cubicle walls. Since I work with gentlemen, an apology always follows the verbal eruptions. Most of the time I don’t mind, but every now and then I have to escape for a few minutes while the storm roars.

My belief has been reinforced through working with men that there really is a difference between men and women in how we think, act, and process information. These men think differently than I do, and follow different paths of reasoning and working through problems. For example, one day in a meeting, I was asked to create a computer-generated, interactive form – something I’d never done before, or even considered ever having to do. “It’s easy,” one of my co-workers told me, “it won’t take you more than twenty minutes.” When we met again the following week, I was totally frustrated from spending a total of at least ten hours on this project, and still not accomplishing my task. My boss couldn’t understand why I hadn’t finished the form or why I was having difficulty with it. “It’s easy,” was repeated, followed by, “I don’t see what your problem is.” With that, I got up from my chair and exited the conference room where we were meeting. Ten minutes later, my boiling point down to a mild simmer, I returned to the group. The three of them looked at me as if they were gazing at an alien from outer space, but nothing more was said about the form. Three days later - lo and behold - my email inbox had a message from someone I’d never met, with the completed form as an attachment. Why couldn’t they have gotten this mystery person to work on it in the first place, I wondered. However, I didn’t question, but simply accepted this gift.

A few days later, one of the guys I work with was joking about my walking out of the meeting. “We didn’t know what to think,” he said. “None of us understood why you were so upset.” I replied, “Imagine this, if you can. I bring a ball of yarn, a crochet hook, and a page of instructions on how to crochet a scarf, and place it on your desk. ‘It’s easy,’ I tell you. ‘All you need to do is follow the directions. It shouldn’t take you more than twenty minutes to whip this up for me.’ ” He stared at me, the light bulb of understanding beginning to reflect from his eyes. Since then, I haven’t been asked to do something that is outside of my area of familiarity or expertise, without the appropriate training or tools.

I never knew that guys liked to gossip until working here. I swear that they are worse than any women I’ve ever known. They love a good scandal, and relish the details, replaying them over and over, laughing all the time, while at the same time coming up with wild assumptions of what might have really happened. I’ll take a female gossip session over one of these any day! I have to admit that I learn a lot about what goes on behind the scenes, but I really get tired of hearing the same story repeatedly, always with a new twist or angle added for entertainment, followed by gales of masculine laughter.

On the whole, I like working with men better than I did when I worked with an all-woman staff. The testosterone in the air isn’t nearly as objectionable as estrogen overload. However, there have been times when I’d have loved to have another girl close by when I felt the need to escape the man cave. Thankfully, my wish has been answered. Our new office manager, a female, started working here this week. It’s nice to hear the sound of a higher pitched voice drifting over the cubicle walls, and I’m looking forward to having a feminine conversation every now and then.

Yes, I’m getting adjusted to working in the man cave. It’s a pretty good place to spend my days. That is, as long as there’s a clearly marked escape route!