MB-Eish Part 2: Femgineer, tamed

**"Eish" is a South African slang term expressing surprise, dismay, anger or frustration.**

As I mentioned last year, I have joined the droves of engineers who have sold out to the dark side: Banking. To make myself more comfortable in my new, murky surrounds I have decided to do an MBA part-time. This is the second in a series of posts about my MBA experience.

I'm too tired to think.

Please do not have high expectations of being entertained as you read this post. I am suffering from an acute case of “sense-of-humour-failure”. There is no cynical point to be made with tongue deeply lodged in cheek. There are no quirky femgineering stories to share. There are no cutesy jibes at engineering jargon or Banking boredom. There is only exhaustion. If you’re a true fan you will keep reading anyway in the hope that this may get interesting. I apologise in advance if you are disappointed. There will be better posts again one day I’m sure...

Last weekend I watched a production of Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew at Maynardville open air theatre. (It’s one of those la-di-da Southern Suburbs Capetonian things I like to be part of every year.) If you've never watched the play the plot goes roughly like this: man marries feisty woman for her father's money. Man tortures feisty woman into tame submission through sleep deprivation, starvation and subtle humiliation. Woman finally submits and conforms to her husband’s - and society’s - expectations of her.

After what feels like a year at business school (but in reality is only 21 days), I can relate to this tale of torture. I've been at business school for nearly three weeks now. Emotionally, physically and mentally-speaking the fuel light is on. And I have the distinct feeling that I am being squeezed, pushed and prodded into tame submission by the school. (Warning: expect this blog to take on a different tone as the brainwashing ensues.)

In my first week I was forced to run.

Let's just pause there. Who enrolls at business school to run? To run around outdoors in the sun? To climb cargo nets and leopard-crawl through pipes? To pretend to like it? Apparently I do! In the name of “team building” with my syndicate group and greater MBA class, I put on my Summer Camp Face for a week. Being cheerful is draining in and of itself. Being cheerful while running? Grueling.

I was relieved when lectures began. Temporarily relieved. I expected to sit and listen, ask the occasional intelligent question and engage in the odd debate. But alas! There were classes purely built around digging into memories, emotions, values... and sharing them with people I’d known for less than two weeks. Once again, draining!

Adding to the fatigue, I've been doing work for The Bank - after hours, before class and during lunch - and trying to keep my head above the sea of MBA readings swelling up around me. Three weeks down the line I have had too many nights with minimal sleep, on average four hours. I have abandoned all efforts to eat healthily and have gravitated to my drug of choice: potato chips (“crisps” for the international audience). I could sleep for a week.

That is just the physical side. To get where I'm coming from emotionally and mentally, I need you to use your imagination. Imagine for a minute a world where play dough has feelings. Now imagine that play dough in the hands of a bouncy, bumbling brat. Imagine how that play dough would feel being pulled apart, stretched to breaking point, and squashed in that brat's sticky hands. Emotionally and intellectually I feel like play dough. As this first module draws to a close I feel like a half-formed creation molded by sticky academic hands – my brains hanging by a thread and my heart somewhere around my toes.

But for now... Best that I get on with panel-beating the dents out of my Game Face and catching up on sleep before I get back to work.

PPE Part 3: If you thought bras were bad...

PPE stands for Personal Protection Equipment (and Philosophy, Politics and Economics, but not on this blog). PPE, as the name suggests, is meant to protect you from injury and long-term damage to your senses as a result of exposure to operational health and safety risks. As a female engineer, it also protects you from flattery and compliments, and can cause long-term damage to your sense of femininity and style if you're not vigilant. This is part 3 in a series of posts dedicated to the joys of wearing PPE.

Black leather stilettos.

These are the first of my mother’s shoes that I remember trying on as a little girl. Well I remember them as stilettos - probably because I couldn't walk in them – but maybe they were just heels. She was a grade 1 teacher with a modest sense of style; her shoe collection was a conservative display of mostly black and navy blue heels... But I thought they were so glamorous! I'd see her dressed for work every morning in a dress or a skirt and heels - all lady-like - and I'd daydream of the day that that would be me.

Fast-forward a few years to my first real job.

I was a production planner at a factory. I thought I was avoiding the beaten path by going into Supply Chain rather than an engineering role. Naively, I also thought this was my turn to wear "glamorous" clothes and footwear. But the flaw in the plan was that I was still based at a factory...

And walking through a factory is to your feet as facing a fast bowler is to a batsman's balls: they stand to get hurt without protection.

So I got issued with my very first pair of safety shoes and I wore them whenever I entered the plant. They were hideous. They resembled Toughees (boys’ school shoes). They nearly scarred me for life. A few weeks later I got a pair of the funkier variety that made a feeble attempt to look like sneakers. At least they looked better than the "Toughees" but they were still uncomfortable and un-stylish.

A year later I took on an engineering role at another plant and things just got worse.

My new plant's safety department did not acknowledge my pseudo-sneakers as safe enough! I had to switch to Bovas: hard core, kick-your-shins-in-with-these-if-you-mess-with-me, steel-toed boots. Bovas are designed to withstand ridiculous tonnages of heavy things that could fall on your feet. The idea being that the steel toe protects the most vulnerable part of your foot, and if you have an incident your toes will break... and not break right off.

Walking with safety boots on is like walking through water with weights around your ankles. Also, they also have zero cushioning inside so in essence it feels like your feet are strapped to a pair of bricks. At first I tried to wear them only when required but as a process engineer in production support, I lived in the plant! So to avoid switching shoes ten times a day, I got over my vanity and the discomfort. After a while I got so “comfortable” being uncomfortable, and being seen in safety boots, that I wore them home in the evenings. And to work in the morning. And - horror of horrors - even to the mall during lunch or after hours. Of course it helped that I lived in Boksburg where the only people who knew me were fellow engineers...

In a nutshell, safety boots are to feet as bras are to breasts: necessary but terribly stifling even if they fit well. I wonder what most femgineers take off first when they get home: bra or safety boots? Naturally, the effect is worse in Summer. But one cannot expect to trot about a manufacturing plant in pink strappy sandals, now can you?

Consolatory PPE Perks: (1) Shoe preservation and appreciation – By wearing your safety boots to work every day, your ordinary pretty, feminine shoes last much longer and you find yourself utterly delighted and appreciative when you do get to wear them. (2) Pseudo-wellies – Safety boots are great in rainy weather. They are water-proof and have thick soles which make you taller, so your pants never drag on the floor and get wet.

Alternative uses: Image management tool – When people see an engineer at a factory walking around in the office area in ordinary shoes, they unconsciously assume that the engineer in question is not hands-on enough. After some time I cottoned onto this and started wearing my safety boots with pride - the dirtier the better. Dirty safety boots project the idea that you are working hard. So do dirty jeans. Complement this by consistently carrying a notebook around under your arm, and you’re golden.