9 to 5

By Dolly Parton

The door handle turns. You know what’s coming, and your stomach drops. You try to bury your fearful expression in a mask of mild bemusement. You raise your eyebrows innocently. Shit! Too high! You should’ve acted even more nonchalant. You should’ve faced the computer and glanced out of the corner of your eye. Barely registered her presence. Your expectation is too palpable. The expression on your face is so fake, unnatural to hold. She’s gonna know immediately. Charlie had already conferred with you, and you’ve been rehearsing a response for hours.

This is the worst part of your job, the petty feelings aspect. At least you’re not in customer service anymore. You’re no good at pretending. At least with customers, they generally go away. Coworkers are indefinite. You tell yourself, it’s okay to like some people more than others. That’s okay, that’s adult. But really, she bothers you and you haven’t been too private about it. If Charlie had been confronted about talking shit, you were absolutely next.

As she speaks, her face is blank, unreadable as ever. Her eyebrows are slightly furrowed and her mouth neutral, but her tone is unexpectedly animated. She feels disrespected, like you don’t like her. Ughhhh, got me there.

Like a customer, eventually she leaves, satisfied by speaking her mind. You realize, with a tinge of humor, that she doesn’t know you at all. It doesn’t matter what say now. Every conversation with her was like talking to a hedgehog. You’d wanted her to speak, but she always seemed too nervous and it was socially contagious. You’ve heard other people spew facts about her life, and you are always shocked that anyone’s been able to get more than a brief acknowledgement out of her. She’s just one of those people you’ll never connect with. She doesn’t get you, and you’ll never get her. You feel proud that you have come to this conclusion, and she clearly hasn’t yet. It’s not personal, it’s just good business.

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Your face is red, breath shallow. After months of begrudgingly talking about it with your therapist, you have to follow through. It’s humiliating. But if you never shed your limitations, you’re never going to grow.

And you never know if these limitations are her or you. You have trouble with small talk, but you always do your work. Maybe if you spoke up more you wouldn’t feel so isolated. You don’t know that she doesn’t like you. It could be all coming from your head. But then you see her laughing and smiling with Charlie, and the cringe muscle inside you squeezes. You’re back to being 8 years old and playing alone at recess. You’ve obviously been rejected.

When you first started, you mentioned a fact about climate change to a group discussion. “…yeah…” she replied, as if what you said made no sense at all. You sent her an article. She never responded. You tried! Which is why, actually, you know that she doesn’t like you, which is why you stopped trying in the first place. You know that whatever you say will be dismissed because she’s an unfeeling, brutish tortoise. She’s slow and already made up her mind about you.

But you’ve done enough thinking. Now is the time for action. Heart racing too fast to process, you reach out for the door to her office and turn the handle.

One of the most exciting things that happened to me this year was on my friend Laura’s podcast, when we uncovered the meaning to a song together. That song was “Sweetheart Like You.” An hour and a half into our discussion of women in Dylan songs, Laura brought up a new idea on the song. In 1983, a huge shifting gender dynamic was the circumstances of women entering the workplace. The song has often been read as sexist, telling women to stay at home, but we posited that Bob could actually be warning about the abusive and slimy nature of corporate success. He was standing from the highest mountain and telling people, you can't achieve this and keep your soul.

While 9 to 5 is certainly more upbeat, it also acknowledges the reality of chasing the American Dream. The concrete challenges of getting through the day are soul-crushing, especially with prejudice keeping you back. She gives a voice to women who know they are more capable than the structures allow them to be. The corporate ladder seems ever Sisyphean these days. With these two songs in conversation, it paints a pretty clear picture of the hells of capitalism women have to contend with while trying to better themselves. One is of foreboding caution and the other with a cup of ambition, but both coming from sobering lived experience. While Dylan warns like an apparition, Dolly looks with her subject toward a hopeful day when the struggle ceases, when her “ship comes in.” A younger Dylan could relate.

These days, there isn’t any other option. Can’t just Not have a job. Warning or no, many women (and others) yearn for the option to stay at home and not compete in a losing world. When I’m feeling pessimistic about it, I’ll have a drink of Heaven’s Door and listen to Sweetheart Like You. When I still need to pay the bills, I’ll have a coffee and hype myself up to 9 to 5. A perfect pairing; Yin and Yang.

and your bonus song this week:

Shoutout to my bob bestie Definitely Dylan.