When I was a wire service reporter, I could write about anything. It was the nature of the job. Politics, casino moguls, presidential visits, natural disasters, court trials, the Miss America Pageant, even, most terrifying to me, sporting events. I am sports-illiterate yet covered Tyson vs. Spinks and LPGA tournaments, and took dictation from short-fused sports writers calling in on deadline from NHL, NFL, and NBA games.

Eventually I took my journalism skills into the non-profit cultural world as Director of Communications at first, a historic house and garden, and later, a maritime museum. At the former, I quickly became adept at botanical names; at the latter, I mastered such nautical nuances as the differences between a skiff, a sloop, and a ship.

In my new position as Communications Manager at Metcalfe Architecture & Design, however, I fear I have crossed over into a whole new dimension of being out of my element. Let me count the ways.

First, there is the considerably intimidating architectural realm. My only architectural experience is that I live, work, and shop in buildings. Oh, and I did once rent and enjoy the film My Architect, about Louis Kahn. Thus, I am scrambling to learn about proposals, renderings, elevations, construction sketches vs. design development vs. schematic design, 3D, Sketch-Up, and competitions (BIG in the architectural world). I am also perplexed by the notion that anyone would attend a lecture on “The History of Concrete.”

Then there is a whole new set of office procedures and etiquette to absorb and new office co-workers to get to know. Timesheets, cleaning duties, keys, passwords – the usual. Similar names here add to the confusion – the first names of the two bosses both begin with “A,” two of the architects’ names begin with “J,” two begin with “D.” Although I know who is who, inevitably the wrong “A” or “J” or “D” name comes out of my mouth. Like parents who run through the names of all their children and sometimes the pets until they get to the right kid. It happens.

There’s also the gender gap. Initially I was the only woman in the office except for a part-time bookkeeper who comes in once a week. Admittedly, the extravagance of men is handy, like when the occasional creepy crawly invades the Ladies Room. It’s easy to be the damsel in distress with so many knights in shining armor available.

There’s also an age thing. I reluctantly include this, but there it is. To mix metaphors, let’s just say I’ve been around the block and sometimes wonder if I am too old of a dog to learn new tricks. (Which might account for the mixing up of names, mentioned above?) While the firm’s principals are in my age category, out here in the big room it’s me and the boys. I say that with respect and fondness towards my esteemed architect co-workers, as any male under 30 is a boy to me. With the age, gender, and professional (they’re architects, I’m not) differences, their conversations are mostly unintelligible to me. On the other hand, sometimes when they get going, the tidbits I catch here and there are often hilarious and I find myself chuckling in my little corner of the office.

The gender/age gap combo presents the “Office Den Mother” danger. For a long while I battled the urge to defrost the office fridge because that seemed just one step away from making the coffee (which, actually, the architects do). But I got tired of the freezer dripping on my sandwich every day so I did it. Although I organized the “Great Defrost,” the “boys” took over chipping away the iceberg that took two days to melt.

There’s also my geographic location. The main office is a big open loft with a wall of windows; quite nice, in fact. It’s just that the workstations are set up in quadrants divided by six-foot walls. I sit in the farthest quadrant (I do have a “corner office with windows”) and so am visually cut off from my co-workers and can’t easily join in their banter. This makes it difficult to become “one of the boys.”

Then there is profit vs. non-profit world. Let’s just say it’s MUCH easier to get free PR when you’re shilling for a cultural institution than a commercial company.

But it’s mostly that I don’t think anyone here – sometimes even my bosses – REALLY know what it is I do. PR and marketing are not bricks and boards and nails and sheet rock. The PR field is notorious for its dearth of demonstrable results; the architectural field is notable for its accountability through billable hours. At the end of the day, I don’t have an elaborate blueprint or a lovely building to show. A tweet, maybe. Breaking into the firm’s project loop (I can’t publicize what I don’t know about) has been a bit of a slow process. And I’m aware everyone knows I’m the only staff member whose hours are non-billable, except for the bookkeeper, and she hands out paychecks. Could I perhaps be perceived as a, gulp, parasite?

Fast Forward. It’s now almost five months since I joined the firm. I still have a lot to learn but I don’t feel quite as befuddled about the architectural world (although I’m still puzzled about the allure of “The History of Concrete.”). I finally feel like I have a grip on the firm’s important projects, have made contact with clients, and am avidly doing what I do best – publicizing. And, happily for me, MA&D is a firm comprised of architects and designers and focuses as much on museum exhibit design as building buildings. This I know about and enjoy frequently crossing paths with people from my past life in Philadelphia's museum, cultural, and tourism worlds. I think I’m making headway in getting ”the architects” to understand and value what I do. (Seriously, have you ever had to convince someone that Facebook and Twitter are IMPORTANT?) And recently a female graphic designer joined the staff so the testosterone tide has ebbed slightly. Even though she is just a bit older than my college-age daughter, she is already a dear friend – we both love Glee and So You Think You Can Dance. I’ve enjoyed getting to know my colleagues at after-hours office gatherings. They are a fun, friendly, smart, and witty bunch. Plus, we have an office dog.

What’s not to like?

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