Not at home. At work.

Last week I think I was whining about relocating to an office in a different building. For the past 15 years I’ve worked in an office that it located out in some beautiful rolling Texas hills.

For 10 of those years I was in a corner cubicle that had open window space on two sides… beautiful view. I’d sit there and look at the window and try to have a serious work-like expression on my face. You’d see critters from time to time, the occasional skunk, or even a wild turkey wandering around looking for a date (they do this thing with their voice and their wings and stuff, imagine Gregory Hines putting some moves on).

But I moved.

It was a trade-off. I have an office now, with a door and everything. New furniture. It’s nice. I have a place to hang pictures. Here’s the first one I put up. It’s puppies.

Everybody loves puppies. People will sit in my office and think “awwww, what a nice guy he must be. Puppies”. And then I will negotiate them out of their ridiculous position on indemnification of intellectual property ownership and that will be that.

I have a window too. Not as big a window, but a window. Here’s what it looks like outside my window.

Nice dumpster.

Meh. The crepe myrtles help.

This office used to belong to the guy who was president of my Division when I started here 15 years ago. Another guy, who has worked here longer than that, was offered this office a year ago, but he passed on it. “Too many ghosts in there” he said. “Bad ju-ju”.

I don’t have any bad memories to associate with it, so no big for me. But that big dark stain in the carpet has me kinda curious. Explosive gastric distress, induced by fear? Or excessive blood loss from a severe ass-chewing? I’m not sure. Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been a good thing.

It’s funny how we get used to places, and how unsettled we feel when those places change. Packing is a chore. I’m sure unpacking is too, but I’ve been putting that off for a bit. I unpack when I need something, like a stapler.

I don’t really have a complaint, and where I sit and do my job is a nicer place than most people have. I know we have some cube-dwellers here and there (or pirates out on ships at sea doing, I don’t know, pirate things). So I should be gracious about it (although those of you who are getting to know me know I will rub it in if you tell me where you work sucks).

I got four walls. A desk, a phone.

And puppies.

It ain’t a bad gig, not at all.


The dumpster is a good reminder to Dave that he's come a long way.


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