Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Knock before entering

Various goings on here at my place of employ have propelled me from the gloriously democratic and not at all demeaning cube farm and into an ‘office’...

While the move is only temporary, I have nevertheless gained insights into a whole new world of workplace crapulence.

Because I have a heart of gold, I thought I would share these with you – I am all aglow with the spirit of giving that St Kerry Packer has left us with in his death, you see.

Firstly, I’ve never gotten away with so many unnoticed down-the-front-of-the-shirt lunch spillages in my life! I might even think about eating a mango at my desk. Or even a taco! Not that I eat tacos...

Secondly, I don’t think the people who congregate to gossip in the photocopy room next door realise that for some reason (probably due to the air-conditioning vents, or because modern open-plan offices are divided by walls made of industrial-grade marshmallow) I can hear precisely everything they say.

I wish I didn’t. There is only so much I wanted to know about most-hated-of-colleague’s bowel obstruction.

Thirdly, I don’t think I’ll be able to make a little bed under the generously sized, L-shaped desk (a la George Costanza) . There just isn’t enough space to construct a little ledge for my reading lamp, alarm clock and disturbingly large array of moisturisers. Maybe I’ll call Renovation Rescue – its about time I got in on that whole ‘get something for nothing’ TV culture that’s going on at the moment.

Fourthly – as I am now situated along the main corridor, I now know when everyone comes and goes of a workday, and I reckon you should all be concerned because on my completely accurate and gloriously professional amateur polling data, only about 13.48% of public servants are working their core hours and are therefore wasting tax payers’ dollars.

Corridors are now also, apparently, the place to complete those last 3 sets of lunges you didn’t get to complete at gym that morning. Lunges, let me tell you, are not flatteringly completed in a business skirt-suit and high heels. Although as I presume you are not all dribbling idiots, I would expect you to know this. My colleagues on the other hand….

Lastly, I have come to the conclusion that there is absolutely no need for people at this level of 'seniority' to actually have an office at all, other than to feel special and secluded (and, maybe, to sneak a couple of lines midway through the afternoon).

Go and ask your manager. I’m sure they’ll agree, if they aren’t quietly cleaning up spilt salad dressing from their shirt.


Ampersand Duck said...

heh heh heh. This is what blogs are for. Love it.

Of course, you get all this privacy and more when you work from home. I can walk around with mango smeared across my chin and no one gives a shit. No giggling fools, no Melbourne cup day sweeps, no endless morning teas, just quiet days with cats on lap. And blogs. Ahhh....

Enny said...

There's an office two down from my cube that has a tv in it and an often closed door. So you could add 'Bold and the Beautiful expert' to your resume.