Office Mates Oct 24, 2007
A friend of mine has been complaining lately that her office is getting a little too intense for human consumption, and she needs someone “normal” to talk to. (The fact that she’s chosen me to be this person should be a ready indicator that her work situation is really weird.)
Apparently this friend works with a guy who has become so incredibly filthy that the entire office refers to him as “dirt man.” He also keeps a very, um, untidy office that is littered with filthy clothes and food leavings—so much so that his coworkers have taken to maintaining a bug-spray perimeter around it in an attempt to corral the multi-legged beasties that are starting to exit it in search of greener pastures. And, as if all this weren’t enough, this poor soul has also started, in the past couple of days, to behave even more erratically, with uncontrolled outbursts mingled with murmured threats of violence. The police are coming to take him away today, she says. I hope they take him someplace where he gets the help he needs, but most of all I’m relieved for my friend.
Although this is an extreme example, I have always found that sharing a workplace is a unique relationship. Although it’s a tired, not entirely accurate cliché, we are like family here. Matter of fact, I know more about my coworkers’ daily habits and enthusiasms than I know of my own siblings’. I know who’s a morning person and who just can’t function late at night, I can pretty confidently order for most of them at any of the restaurants we regularly visit for lunch, and I know who’s going to come down with the first cold or allergy symptoms when the weather changes. I even know who drives each person most crazy in their own families. This makes the inevitable dust-ups more excruciating, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. As I type this, I’m being watched over by one of the Turkish good-luck evil eyes that Nancy brought back for all of us from her Mediterranean cruise, and most of the horizontal surfaces in my office are covered in little cars and tchotchkes that my coworkers have picked up from all over the globe and brought back as gifts. It’s a nice feeling, even if it is hard for the cleaning people to dust around it all.
Speaking of cleaning people, they come tonight, and I guess I’d better move some crap out of the way so they can do their job. Otherwise, there may come a day when I hear spraying sounds outside my office, and realize that my mates have decided to take action.
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