My company recently paid a hefty fine to the SEC and in so doing avoided an admission of guilt. Spurred by the loss of cold, hard, cash we're making an effort to cut costs. "Rent" is a big cost.
So they're moving all of the employees on the eighth floor up here, and subletting the space.
Results
1. No Christmas bonus
2. I'm moving cubes.
Right now my floor is pretty space out. I've got empty cubes on three sides of me, and a printer on the fourth. Management thought it would be a good idea to use the move as an excuse to rearrange everything.
The five printers are going to be moved to the small conference room. The small conference room will now be referred to as "The Printing Hub."
Steve, the joker of the floor, is being moved to the farthest corner of the office where it will be very difficult for him to do any damage.
And I'm being moved to the VERY FIRST CUBE.
I'm closer to the door than the secretary. I'll be the first thing the VP sees when he comes in, and the last thing he sees when he leaves. Assuming, of course, I make it in to work before him.
They are putting me in a HIGH TRAFFIC AREA, people. This will make it exceptionally difficult to play Scrabble online, to sleep, and generally slack-off.
I'm right next to the kitchen! EVERYBODY will be walking past my desk! EVERYBODY!
AUGH. augh augh augh augh augh augh augh augh augh augh augh augh ...
The sole benefit is the proximity to the exit. I will now no longer have to walk the length of the office, in plain sight, trying to disguise my jacket and backpack as legal-size folders, when I try to cut out of work early. I will be ten feet from the door.
Which is eleven feet further than I'd like.
-t
2 comments:
Tom, I suspect you were moved to a high traffic area for the same reason Steve was moved to a desolate corner.
They know you blog/sleep/juggle/plot world domination from your desk in lieu of tying out accounts and balancing funds. This will possibly increase your productivity.
Possibly, not probably.
It could be worse. No, really.
At my last job my office was directly located across from two bathrooms.
Please note: I worked at a Center for people who were active drug users. And homeless. And just plain fucked up-occassionally.
If I got a nickel for everytime some random stumbled in my office and announced the following, I'd still have made more than my salary:
"Uh, someone shit all over the floor."
"Uh, lady, someone left a syringe on the floor."
"Uh, hey, someone puked all over the floor in the bathroom."
"Hey, lady, someone's passed out on the floor in the bathroom. And the door is locked from the inside."
Totally NOT awesome.
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