This is one of those days when I miss working in an office. No, really, I do. Today I’d like to be sitting in a gray-walled office, just a push of the wheeled office chair away from other employees that I could chat with while we all work to enrich The Man.
We could order take-out for lunch from somewhere interesting and think of a harmless prank to play on the uptight guy who works down the hall. We could play our illegally downloaded music from our desktops—only a minor no-no—and tap our business casual toes to the beat as we clickety-clack on our ergonomically correct keyboards.
We could talk about the fun things we’ll each be doing this weekend, only a few sweet hours away from now. And around 3:38 p.m., when time has slowed to a complete halt, I will ask you if you want to see which one of us can fit the most gummi bears in our mouths. At 4:21 I will offer you ten thousand dollars and my firstborn if you can obtain a Red Bull for me. At 4:42 I will pass you a post-it note that says, “If I am still working here in ten years, you have permission to kill me.” At 4:46, I will pass you another post-it note that says, “If you are still working here in ten years, can I kill you?”
I am a lot of fun to work with. This fact was brought up in many of my performance reviews, sometimes as a compliment and other times as a criticism. But the fact was never denied—I am a lot of fun to work with. And it’s days like today, when I am working all alone from quiet home with legally downloaded music, that I realize what a crying shame that really is.
What about you? Are you fun to work with? Do you want to order take-out? Do you know how many gummi bears you can fit in your mouth? And please, do you happen to have a Red Bull to spare?