| May 18, 2000 Dibs on the Window |
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The
little corner office is up for
grabs.
Now that
the Accounting Department
has been abruptly exiled to the first floor, a handful of offices -- of
various sizes, shapes and ugly furniture configurations -- have
suddenly (Think about that. Look at the layout in your head for a minute. Next to him. Not directly across the hall from him, the way I am now. That means that even though I would be closer to him geographically, by about ten feet, I wouldn't be nearly as *visible.* He would have to actually get up OUT of his chair and walk next door to give me The Big Frowny Face.) I've already taken the tape measure into the empty office: surreptitiously researching desktop space (an extra foot on each side!)... calculating bookshelf space (an additional six shelves, total!) ... figuring out if my filing cabinets would fit (they would: with about ten inches to spare!) ... checking out the view from the window (!!!). That's right. You heard me correctly. The window. Not a "borrowed" window, either, like the one I'm stuck with right now. My current office is a claustrophobic's worst nightmare. Stand in the middle of it, spread your arms straight out, and you can touch the walls on either side. There are no windows. I have to look out my open door and across the hallway, through Franz' window, for my spectacular view of downtown Oakland. And not a fake window, like the stoopid *trompe l'oeil* painted window in the reception area of Betty Barfy's CENTURY21 office, four or five jobs ago. Nope. I'm talking about a *real* window, with a *real* view ... ... of
the parking lot below us. No more comforting, life-affirming view of David's Trib Tower, in other words. But oh well: some things just might be worth the sacrifice. |
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E-mail from an irritatingly wise friend, re: Barbara's advice that I stay here at the Totem Pole Company for another year: |
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I'm not going to lie. The idea of staying here
at the Totem Pole Company for
another year fills my heart with the sort of dread usually reserved for
death row inmates ... expectant parents of octuplets ... ushers at
Celine Dion concerts. I would rather spend the next twelve months
regurgitating rotting mice into the beaks of hungry baby condors,
frankly. But Jennifer's e-mail -- along with the other 43,897,621
messages I've received this week via e-mail/voicemail/U.S. Postal
Service/Ouija board [Grandma says
*hi* btw], advising me to hang
tough for another twelve months -- has
convinced me to seriously consider it.
So I am. Considering it, I mean. But if I do stay here? I'm going to get something out of it, dammit. (And I'm talking about something more than an extra year on the résumé or another ugly Totem Pole Company sweatshirt.) I'm going to spend that extra year squeezing as much opportunity, experience, and self-serving tactical advantage (and maybe a couple of those groovy Papermate Gelstick pens)out of this place as possible. And I'm not going to waste a single solitary *guilt molecule* in the process.
But before I do any of this other stuff ... I'm going to go see the HRDP this afternoon and put in a bid for that corner office. What can I tell you? A window is a window. |
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