Enter at Your Own Risk

Today I went to work in a pair of jeans and my sorta beat-up tennis shoes.

All so I could fulfill the "Other Duties" part of my job description. The "other duty" being packing all the files in all 90 of our file cabinets into little tiny boxes.

And it's not that I mind either. I like doing physical stuff. Every so often I want to climb into the recess hole near the attic and search for old easels and files marked "Beef Confirmation 1997". I don't mind filing thousands upon thousands of reports into boxes. As an organization fetishist I enjoy looking at large piles of brown boxes all in a row. It's like a garden, a garden of spreadsheets.

But for some reason my cube is always the basis of operations for things like this. And because all the boxes and lids and pens and copies and rulers and coffee ends up on my desk, so do all the mismatch things that can't fit or don't go in the pretty storage boxes.

My cube is where things come to spawn and die.

This morning I had a few expense reports, a couple of lunch trays, and a few contracts.

This afternoon I have a dry-erase board, a lamp-shade, four cups of cold coffee, three copies of "Introduction to Access 2002", photocopies of "Powerpoint Intermediate 2002", seven Employee Handbooks from five years back, a book of Company Profits - also from five years back, someone's jacket, a book on leadership, a broken printer, ten expired markers and a box full of foam peaches.

And a partridge in a pear tree!

Well hopefully not.

Yet, as I continue to work at this desk for the next 30 days I'll just leave all this crap in here. And gain more, accumulate this and that and the other until finally my boss will come barge in, trip over the kitchen sink and crack his skull open on the sharp edge of the page holder that has no pages in it.

One can hope.