Tomato, Tomahto

From my cube, I can see across the alley into another office building. The whole first week of training, it was empty and the lights were off in there, so I didn’t really give it any thought. Today, though, there was activity. First, movers brought in scores of really nice, comfortable-looking chairs. Then, the same movers brought in piles of beautiful work stations — wood-tone desks, warm-colored cube walls. After lunch, a small group of people came into the room. They had clipboards and ink pens and big smiles on their faces. And best of all — they were grown-ups! Real, bonafide grown-ups. Not only were they all clearly over the age of 30, but they were well-dressed in their spiffy business-casual attire! (Note to self: STOP using the word spiffy like it’s still a compliment!)Oh, how I longed to work with these people. I watched them intently and wondered how it would feel to be sit next to any of them, knowing that they probably are not going to be discussing how hammered they got over the weekend. I felt confident that even if I wasn’t as sleek and fashionable as they were, they wouldn’t reject me just for wearing chinos to work. Hell, two of them were wearing chinos Right Now!

During our “lesson” for the day, the trainer asked us the proper way to type numbers into the data base. I raised my hand and politely said, “Using the 10-key pad.” The cool kids all looked confused and waited for an explanation.

“Uh, yeah,” the trainer said, “Um, no one calls it a 10-key pad any more. I don’t think anyone has said 10-key pad in at least five years. We need to be working from a common lexicon so we are all on the same page.”

“If it’s not a 10-key pad, what is it?” I asked, truly curious.

“It’s the number pad. 10-keys were free-standing adding machines. Not part of a computer keyboard. Your answer was, in essence, correct. However, for the sake of clarity we’re going to be calling it The Number Pad.”

(Note to self: You can NOT actually die from mortification.)