Prairie Landing
Monday, November 29, 2004
Today I had to go to my client site up in BFE. I was at the visitors center getting a pass and this was the conversation:
#1: Got a puppy this weekend.
#2: Oh yeah? That'll come in handy when you go hunting.
#1: I don't hunt.
#2: [speechless]
You have to drive a long, long way to get to BFE when you live in Chicago. Once you get there, there is absolutely nothing except my client, which consists of countless low brick buildings sprawling across miles of close-cropped prairie, with all the style of municipal back offices. Less, actually, if last year's trip to the Providence building board meeting is any yardstick.
Inside, it's supremely Midwestern in that there is no guard station -- if you've ever been to a drug company HQ you know this is positively "X-Files" -- but there are sans-serif brown signs covering the walls. Every department, room, cube and individual is clearly listed on the wall. So you can find your way anywhere just by following the signs.
Leaving the world of Mulder and Scully, the actual offices are out of "Being John Malkovitch." All of the interior walls are temporary and they're squeezed so close together that you almost have to turn sideways to get down the hall.
There are also lots of signs informing you of ways to "SAVE [client] $$$." Nothing is free except water, toilet paper and parking. Although they look at you funny if you drink too much water, and in the bathrooms other signs urge you to wipe the washbasin as a courtesy to the next colleague. There is art on the walls -- on the ground floor, that is -- but it was clearly painted by some descendant of the founder. Also, they pay me 11 cents a mile to drive up there.
It's a long, long way from the beautiful campuses of my younger days, with dazzling science photos and 270-degree ocean views.
But I guess there are better ways to spend the money you get from desperately ill people. Like paying your shareholders.
#1: Got a puppy this weekend.
#2: Oh yeah? That'll come in handy when you go hunting.
#1: I don't hunt.
#2: [speechless]
You have to drive a long, long way to get to BFE when you live in Chicago. Once you get there, there is absolutely nothing except my client, which consists of countless low brick buildings sprawling across miles of close-cropped prairie, with all the style of municipal back offices. Less, actually, if last year's trip to the Providence building board meeting is any yardstick.
Inside, it's supremely Midwestern in that there is no guard station -- if you've ever been to a drug company HQ you know this is positively "X-Files" -- but there are sans-serif brown signs covering the walls. Every department, room, cube and individual is clearly listed on the wall. So you can find your way anywhere just by following the signs.
Leaving the world of Mulder and Scully, the actual offices are out of "Being John Malkovitch." All of the interior walls are temporary and they're squeezed so close together that you almost have to turn sideways to get down the hall.
There are also lots of signs informing you of ways to "SAVE [client] $$$." Nothing is free except water, toilet paper and parking. Although they look at you funny if you drink too much water, and in the bathrooms other signs urge you to wipe the washbasin as a courtesy to the next colleague. There is art on the walls -- on the ground floor, that is -- but it was clearly painted by some descendant of the founder. Also, they pay me 11 cents a mile to drive up there.
It's a long, long way from the beautiful campuses of my younger days, with dazzling science photos and 270-degree ocean views.
But I guess there are better ways to spend the money you get from desperately ill people. Like paying your shareholders.
