At work, I walk in and holler at people, literally. Don’t worry, it’s expected of me.
I work a hybrid schedule at my office, so there aren’t many people around on the days I work onsite. However, the few people I engage with, I engage with loudly. That’s the culture of my workplace. There are some very loud people. There’s also lots of laughing at volumes most people would consider inappropriate for a professional workplace.
And gossiping.
And “child pleasing.”
And “girrrrrllll-ing.”
I want to fit in so I speak at excruciatingly loud decibels, too, “girrrrrllll-ing“ it up with the rest of them.
I feel it is important to mention these are not work-related conversations. I am all for being chummy at work. A workplace can feel like a family and my company definitely operates that way. It even bears mentioning I am also loud by nature. At home, at bars, socially, I am a loud mouth, outgoing and over the top.
At work, however, I check my volume at the door. My colleagues may have the right idea though. We’re often told to bring our entire selves to work. That’s what they are doing. Good for them. However, I feel like I should be able to get work done without closing a door, donning noise-canceling headphones or scoping out a quiet area to concentrate.
The first time I heard the shrilling, I thought it was the exception. I was hired during COVID, so I spent much of my first year working remotely. When I went onsite, I immediately noticed the volume, but I just thought people were happy to see one another in person after being apart for such a long time. I was wrong. It was loud. Always.
So loud Zoom calls can be heard through the walls. I’m talking about the person who’s in the office three doors away, not the people on the other end of the call.
So loud when I call a person on their office phone, not only can I hear them through the telephone line, I can also hear their booming voice permeating through the office walls.
So loud our CEO has come out of his corner office a few times to see what was going on. He politely asked about all the fun he was missing. What I think he wanted to say was, “This is a workplace, not the beauty salon on a Saturday morning.” I’m putting words in his mouth, but you get the idea.
Before I became loud, I was told I wasn’t vocal enough. “You’re so quiet. You keep to yourself,” was the critique. I was pushing out great content and lifting up a lot of work, which people loved. I introduced several new campaigns and helped roll out several new products. Socially, however, I wasn’t cutting it. I wasn’t loud enough.
So, I started code switching. Once or twice a week, on those onsite days, I became a loud mouth.
It’s the same code switching a friend tells me she uses when she subtly stretches out on a plane so she’s not boxed in by a man who believes her personal space is his birthright.
Or when another friend acts like one of the guys to be taken seriously at work in her male-dominated field.
Or the way I switch from Garth to Biggie on hot summer days with my windows down as I travel from one part of town to another.
In the past, I had fallen victim to office politics when I didn’t fully understand the importance of changing up to fit in. Years ago, a colleague and I worked for a university dean. Every Monday, my colleague would come in and smile and share pictures of her baby girl and tell intimate stories about her personal life. I would come in, smile, say good morning and get to work. Guess who received the better reviews and most of the praise?
Now, in my loud life, I am worn out by the end of the day. Not from the workload, but from being on all the time.
I am older and wiser and I find noise to be draining. I crave peace and quiet.
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