[Ed. Note: Here’s Part 1.]
Co-worker: [poking her head into my office] “Hi! How’re you doing?”
Me: “Doing well.”
Co-worker: “Great! So… I’m moving into this office when you move to the front desk…”
Co-worker: “… and I just wanted to make sure… I mean, that you… I mean, we… [She gestures helplessly, and I understand that she wants to know if I’m angry that she’s commandeering my workspace.]
Me: “Everything’s fine. I promise.”
Co-worker: [sighing with relief] “Oh, good. I’m happy to hear that! So…”
Co-worker: “Is any of this wall art moving with you?”
Me: “No. It was all here when I started, so none of it’s actually mine. Plus, I’ll be at the reception desk, and there aren’t any, y’know, walls up there.”
Co-worker: “Oh. Right. Well, I’ve always liked these David Cowles caricatures. Is it okay with you if I keep them?”
Me: “That’s not a problem.”
Co-worker: “Yay! Thanks!”
As we were talking, another co-worker pranced in to lay some claims, which led to a company-wide debate over who got what out of my office — including the chairs and the bookcase — while I was still sitting at my desk and trying to do my damn job. If I’m ever lost in the wilderness and glance up to find vultures circling overhead, I’ll be like, “Oh, hey! I remember this feeling.”
On the upside, the prints they were all fighting over turned out to be pretty much welded to the wall, with every attempt to pry them loose proving futile, so that was a pleasant little snack-pack of passive-aggressive vengeance. I was also able to register for that signing agent course and get all of my professional association memberships renewed, so with a little luck, my evolution from disgruntled clock-watcher to NOTARY OF THE GODS will be going down a whole lot sooner than later.
And when it does, and I’m settling into the corner suite of the Dominion Topography corporate offices, I am going to absolutely decoupage the place with David Cowles caricatures.
I’m also going to have the Working Girl soundtrack playing on permanent repeat. Hopefully, most of my clients won’t feel the need to stab themselves in the ears after suffering through “Let the River Run” for the upteen-millionth time.