office space

My favorite item of clothing a coworker has worn – the vest with appliquéd patriotic stuff sewn on. Come on ladies, a vest? Although I enjoy the puff painted Christmas t-shirts as well…so maybe it’s a tossup.

Also, I’m going to file this one as one of life’s mysteries, but how come my coworker with diabetes eats more cake, candy, and sugar than I do? (And I’m not exactly your model citizen when it comes to sugar…)

That same coworker with diabetes is also remarkably dedicated to her job. One day she packed it up an hour early and said, “You ready to go home?” When we pointed out that she was off by an hour, she said, “Oh good! An extra hour to get work done!” and raced back into her office. (This wasn’t said sarcastically, I promise you.) I doubt I need to point out that this is NOT the reaction I would have had. I believe swearing would possibly be featured in my reaction.

I work in a cubible, or ‘cubie’ as a coworker puts it. Have I ever mentioned that? Before we moved to the building we’re in, I had an office. Or should I say broom closet? Everyone was excited for me that I would be rescued from my tiny little broom closet and become one of the masses in a cubicle. It may have been abysmally small, but it was MY broom closet. It had privacy. I miss it.

I don’t know what came over us, but John and I had a fight one time over the phone, while I was at work, sitting in my cubicle where every word you speak is heard loud and clear. I believe I was crying. What the bleep?

Working in an office is weird. It's no wonder that this concept made its way into a TV show. Though why anybody who works in an office would want to spend time after work hours watching a show like that, I'll never know.