This year's model

In two weeks my office will be undergoing a major remodel. We have to fit 4 more people into a space already housing 13, but it shouldn't be too difficult, because there's a lot of wasted space in here. It's an old office, with old partitions and heavy, ugly file cabinets and half-assed design (things don't exactly match).

My cubicle, for instance. My cubicle, which is home to just me, my predecessor's files, my sneakers, my one pile of work, and my computer equipment, has room enough for at least two. And for some reason she (my predecessor) collected quite a few boxes of extremely large envelopes, which are now my albatross. Who needs 11 X 15 inch envelopes? What kind of mail are you sending, anyway? So my point is, my cubicle is so large, you could quite comfortably fit another person in here. As well as quite a few more boxes of 11 X 15 inch envelopes.

But that's not what they're going to do. Instead, they're going to tear down the existing walls and offices and install the Herman Miller Vivo system. I've seen it online: space age technology and hip design! It's pretty cool. Some of us are getting smaller cubicles, but the space planning seems a bit more, shall we say, logical. And I'm getting a chair for guests. For guests.

Now. I have friends who have their own offices. Like, with a door and everything. And that is duly impressive. Those friends also tend to have degrees, but I have friends with degrees who stare at a 15" monitor in a dungeon-like office under fluorescent lights 8 hours a day. So let's not judge.

I am impressed with those of you who skip to work in your electric cars, wearing your fancy outfits and perfect hair, and then get to go in your office and close the door. It's cool, and I think you should know that I think it's cool. Then again, I also have friends who work in their own home, wearing God only knows what, eating or watching television as they please, greeting the mailman by name ("Hi, Cornbread!"), with a kitty or two on their lap while they, you know, work. I have other friends who stand behind a register while they work and bemoan their aching feet; friends who get to play their instrument for a living; friends who work with children, which sounds fun and all, until someone pukes or poos on you (perhaps now you see why I never liked babysitting. And why I don't have children, yet), friends who stay home with their kids. I have friends who would like to work who are without jobs. Think about them for a minute, and then come back and keep reading.

I have a cubicle. I didn't scotch tape out a fake door line a la Less Nessman; I don't have to write my name on my (very own Swingline) stapler. I don't have a designated parking spot, or a window. I have a cubicle, a name plate, a pretty big monitor, and a scanner at my desk, and that's just fine with me. And soon, I will have new furniture, and I'm pretty psyched.

See, the thing is, I really like my job. It's been a long time since I could say that. I've been here almost two months, and I really like my job. It's kind of hard to get up on time, it's a bit further than I'd like, just this week I got a peak at something that indicates that things aren't as happy-happy as I thought at first, but I like my job. Most people are really nice. I find myself smiling at people in the hallway, saying hello to dudes in the parking lot. My inner voice, which tends to be overly critical, is quiet much more often. This is a nice place. I want to stay here for awhile.